#he’s finally getting to live his life his way

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou

Getou Suguru is the worst.

The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.

On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.

The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.

When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.

“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.

You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.

“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”

The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.

His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”

You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?

Wrong.

When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.

Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.

“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.

Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.

“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”

He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.

That was six years ago.

Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.

It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.

The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.

Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.

“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.

“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”

“His data compression wastes company time!”

“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”

“You stole that idea from me!”

“SHUT. UP.”

Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.

Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.

He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.

Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.

He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.

Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.

“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”

He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”

Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.

Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him. 

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.

“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”

But you’d underestimated Gojo.

By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.

Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.

As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.

His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.

But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.

That resolve lasts precisely one day.

The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.

Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.

He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.

Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”

You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”

“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”

Gojo grins triumphantly.

Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”

As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.

Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.

You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.

“Rough day?”

The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.

“Fuck off, Getou.”

You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.

“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”

You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”

Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.

“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”

He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.

“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”

“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”

His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.��� He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.

“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”

“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”

The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light. 

Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.

When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.

“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.

Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.

His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.

You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”

His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.

“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. 

“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze. 

A message lights up the screen.

Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)

beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X

[bisexualbaker]

Oh shit yeah I got this!

Okay, so our main characters, let's call them Steve and Monica, because I need names and don't want to think too hard. Anyway, they grew up together, were platonic ride-or-die for each other in high school, but drifted apart when they went to colleges in different states where they eventually settled down. Monica ended up in a very restrictive state and Steve ended up in a much more pro-choice state. They occasionally message each other on the internet, but nothing really meaningful, usually no more than a Hi on their birthdays or relevant holidays (etc).

Then one day Steve gets a call from Monica. Her recent ex-boyfriend—well, she'd really been thinking of breaking up with him for a couple of months before that, but the final straw was three months ago when she found him messing with her birth control. She immediately kicked him to the curb and went about disentangling their lives, went and got Plan B or equivalent ASAP, just in case.

Well, turns out it was too late: She was already pregnant, and didn't get real confirmation until very recently. And, well, surely Steve knows how things are in the state where she lives.

Steve does know how things are in the state where Monica lives. He also knows that Monica has never wanted to have children, since they talked about it some in high school. There could be various reasons here, from bad experiences with her own parents, to financial reasons, to health reasons, but he never saw fit to argue with any of them. Her choice, right? Meanwhile, Steve himself isn't really sure on the kids thing, but he's leaning towards "no thanks", because he is sure that anyone making the choice to bring kids into the world had better be 100% on board, and he's not, so that means no. (Also, if he feels the need to spend any time with kids, he's got local friends and/or family with little ones he can spoil.)

Anyway! Steve tells Monica that it sounds like she's been having a rough time, maybe he could come pick her up and she could spend a week or two at his place, get resettled after everything that went down with That Jerk (very clearly not saying what else they could, or rather will, be doing while Monica is visiting). Deeply relieved, Monica takes him up on his offer enthusiastically. Steve calls his job, takes a few weeks off of work, and drives over to pick up Monica.

They've got an appointment in Steve's state, but it's still some days away, so they take a leisurely trip back to Steve's. All the while they're reconnecting, and Steve is noticing that all of the things he liked about Monica as a friend in high school are still there, and are also things he'd really like in a life partner. Her sense of humor, her willingness to compromise, her determination to find a way to make things work, her money sense... She's also much more confident in herself than she used to be, which Steve finds really attractive.

Or at least, she's more confident in herself whenever pregnancy shit isn't getting to her. Steve already knew that pregnancy and kids aren't something Monica ever wanted, but if he ever needed more convincing, he's getting it both on this road trip and when they get back to his condo. Still, he does everything he can to try and keep Monica's spirits up, to distract her and/or make sure she's prepared for her abortion and everything it will involve. (All the while, he's also learning what he can to make sure he can help her through the aftermath. Apparently post-partum isn't necessarily just for giving birth; all those hormones and body changes can also hammer down after any other pregnancy ending circumstances!)

Steve drives her to the clinic, waits with her when she asks him to, waits for her during, and does everything he can to make her as comfortable as possible as she recovers. One thing after another is just more yes, yes, yes, this is what he wants in his life, Monica is who he wants in his life.

He's a bit stuck on how or if to confess, though; this was a deeply shitty situation for Monica, and it's also something he could hypothetically hold over her legally after everything, which he would never do, but he knows might make things more difficult for both of them. Then, a day or two before he's set to start driving Monica home, he checks in on Monica packing—only to find her crying.

Steve immediately asks Monica what's wrong, if he can help with anything, and Monica just starts crying harder. She ends up confessing her own feelings, how she started to fall for Steve when he didn't judge her for her shitty ex-boyfriend and how she wanted to terminate the pregnancy (which more than a few of her local friends had), and then everything else he did to make her feel happy and secure while helping her out just really sealed the deal! She got half way through packing before she realized that she didn't actually want to leave him, but she also didn't want to put pressure on him after he'd done so much for her already.

Steve immediately hugs her and confesses back, telling her he doesn't want her to leave either but didn't want to put pressure on her, and also maybe this was a little soon after all of the everything going on. But he would love to go out to dinner with her properly, before he takes her back home, and again when they get there, and then maybe they could see how things go from there? They can try doing long-distance for a month or two, and if they're both still certain, they can get together more formally and figure out where to live.

Fast-forward ten years, Monica and Jake are happily married, with three dogs and a tortoise. They still don't want kids.

The end.

Edit: Okay, this is not "and the person who got them pregnant", but it mostly still works!

there's an extremely niche plot in romance fiction wherein our invariably heterosexual leads fall in love after a night of passion leads to an unplanned pregnancy and they're now bound together by an impending child. I cast no judgment on anyone who enjoys this, but since I'm an evil gay and this is my personal nightmare scenario I want to see a zany romance novel premised on the opposite resolution: a couple falls in love while on a whirlwind roadtrip to obtain a legal abortion

[sweetdispatch]

The card - Q. Hughes

6 days of kinkmas

pairing: Quinn Hughes x girlfriend!reader

summary: Quinn and his girlfriend got into argument which led him to teach her manners

warning: NSFW, graphic sex (18+), safeword, dom!quinn, oral (f and m receiving), dacryphilia, slapping, orgasm denial

words: 1.8k

note: final day of kinkmas is here! but i have a surprise for 24th👀

---

Quinn, as a captain, was organising a Christmas party for his team. He needed your help but you were giving him a cold shoulder. A day earlier you two got into an argument and you didn’t want to forget this without apologies from him. You felt offended by his words and how low he thinks about you. As much as you wanted to help him, you didn’t want to give him satisfaction. 

“All I’m saying is that it would be nice if you would tell me about this party at least a week earlier. Not day before” You sighed, trying to explain to him why you were mad.

“You don’t do anything so what’s the issue that I told you this now?” 

“What is this supposed to mean?” His comment made you furrow yours eyebrows. 

“You’re sitting at home the whole day doing nothing. It shouldn’t make a difference that I told you now” He shrugged and you looked at him, shocked at the words he just said to you. You left the living room and went to the bedroom. 

This was yesterday and the two of you haven’t spoken since then. You had nothing to tell him because Quinn is the wrong one. If he thinks that you’re doing nothing, that’s exactly what you decided to do. You saw that he was struggling with preparing meals and cleaning at the same time but you were too stubborn to help him. 

“Could you help me with the cake? You're a much better baker than I am” He asked you politely when he saw you getting water from the fridge, but you hadn’t responded. You went back to the bathroom to do your makeup and acted like you hadn't heard anything. 

Quinn was furious at you. He couldn’t understand why you’re acting this way. In his mind, he hadn’t said anything wrong and you were the one who’s making a big deal of your conversation. He decided to let it slip for now, but after the party, he knew he’ll teach you manners. 

The party was going smoothly. You two acted like a loving couple around his teammates while you hadn’t sorted out the argument. You were chatting with other girlfriends when Quinn was standing with the boys near the kitchen island. One of the girls went to grab a drink and interrupted his conversation. 

“You’re a dick Quinn” She said and the boys looked at her. “You’re a dick for telling Y/N that she’s not doing anything in the house”

“Excuse me?” Quinn was taken aback by her words.

“She told us about your argument. How could you say this to her when she’s making everything so you could have a better life” She answered him and left. She sat on the couch and Quinn felt humiliated. 

The boys were chirping at him about this situation and he got even more mad at you. He started thinking about his plan to punish you for what just happened. You were completely unaware of the fact that one of the girls confronted Quinn and enjoyed the party. He could see you laughing from afar but he knew that you won’t be laughing when the two of you will be home alone. 

The party ended around midnight. When you closed the door after the last guests left, you sighed. All you wanted was to take off your makeup and get changed into something more comfortable. You started going to the bathroom when you heard Quinn. 

“Living room. Now” His voice didn’t leave a space for argument. You followed into the room and saw his furious face expression. “You think it’s funny to tell everyone about our conversation? You think this was nice when one of the girls came and called me a dick in front of others?” 

You were shocked. Yes, you told other girls about your argument but you never thought that they would direct this to him. You didn’t know what to say so you just stood there, waiting for his next move. 

“I’m using the card today” You froze hearing it. You completely forgot that a couple months ago you gave him a “card” that meant that he can use you however he wants and do whatever he wants. “You’re under my control and have nothing to say unless it’s a safeword, which is…?” He asked you to be sure you remember. 

“Sunflower” 

“Good, now I want you naked in the bedroom. Hands on your sides and no touching” 

You were turned on by the idea because sex with Quinn was always insane and you were curious what he’s gonna do to you. You took off your dress and threw it on the ground. You sat on the bed, waiting for him to come into the room. You trusted Quinn with your life and you knew that he would never hurt you but something in his voice made you nervous. You’ve been so caught up with your thoughts that you haven’t heard when he entered the room. He was standing only in his underwear. His voice brought you back from your trance. 

“Knees” You listened to him and positioned yourself in front of him. He was caressing your hair and tucked them behind your ear. “We could have a nice night but you had to run with your mouth. I think we need to put it into better use now. You already said too much” 

In a quick move, Quinn took off his underwear and you saw his hard dick. By instinct, you grabbed his dick and started playing with his length. He wasn’t happy with this and pulled your hair roughly so you could face him. 

“I said mouth. Don’t you dare to disobey me because it will end up even worse for you” You nodded and opened your mouth letting him put his dick inside. 

Quinn’s moves were rough. He was pushing his cock into your mouth without any mercy. You were gagging around him but this didn’t stop him. It turned him even more. You could feel the tip of his dick hitting your throat. Tears were spilling from your eyes and he laughed at the sight. Before he could cum in your mouth, he took out his dick. 

“Lay in the bed. Legs wide open” You do what he told you to. He kneeled in front of your pussy and started eating you out. “So wet and I’ve barely done anything” He chuckled and returned to licking your clit. 

Quinn pulled his fingers into your pussy and you moaned loudly. You felt incredible with his tongue on your clit. He could feel that you’re close to your orgasm but he stopped. You looked at him but he didn’t say anything. Only grabbed your hips and threw your body around. You were lying on your stomach when you heard.

“Ass up, face down” You positioned yourself and waited when you felt the first slap on your ass. You screamed by surprise not expecting this. “Next time you’ll want to act like a brat, remember how it feels” 

Quinn spanked you four more times. The pain became a pleasure for you and when the last spank laid, you moaned. He looked at your red ass for a couple seconds. He did this on purpose so you don’t know what he’s gonna do next. The next thing you felt was his dick deep buried inside of you. 

You were a mess under him. It felt so good when Quinn was fucking you roughly. You grabbed the sheet trying to find balance but with each thrust you were falling apart. It didn’t take him long enough to bring you close to your release. When he felt your muscles tightening around him, he pulled out. It was the second time when he didn’t let you cum.

“You’re not gonna cum until I say so” He stated and laid another spank on you. 

“Please Quinn, I need it” You begged him.

“Please Quinn, I need it” He mocked you. “You, my sweet girl don’t have anything to say” 

He thrusted into you again, this time you moaned loudly. He was keeping a hard pace and you went with your hand to touch yourself. Before you could do it, Quinn grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on your back. He did the same with your other hand. Now, you were totally at his mercy. Quinn was keeping your hands behind your back, still fucking into you. You were moaning and begging him to let you cum but he didn’t let you. Again, he pulled out of you and you cried. 

“I am gonna decide when you gonna cum, not you” He said not bothered by your tears.

Quinn threw you again and you were again on your back. He towered over you and thrusted into you again. You moaned but now, he shut you up with a kiss. It was the first time you tasted his lips today. His hand went to circulate your pussy and you started feeling overwhelmed. Other hand, I went to play with your boobs. This was all too much for you. All the touches, teasing and three denial orgasms. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sunflower” You said repeatedly, each time quieter from another.

Quinn took his dick out of you and panicked. He knew that he fucked up because you never used it before. He pulled you into a hug and started caressing your back. 

“Shh, you did so well. You’re safe” He was whispering into your ear and you started crying into his shoulder. It was breaking his heart knowing that he’s the reason you’re crying. “I’m so sorry baby, tell me what I can do to make you feel better” 

“Just hold me please” Your voice was breaking at each word. Quinn hugged you tighter and let you calm down. After a couple of minutes, you spoke again. “Can we take a bath and forget about it?” 

“Yes and no” You looked at him. His thumb wiped your tears. “We can take a bath but we have to talk about what happened. I need to know what exactly happened to push you to say this word. And don’t you even think that’s embarrassing. That’s why we have the word. To use it when it’s too much” He placed a kiss on your forehead. 

Quinn raised you and went into a bathroom to prepare your bath so you could relax. He stayed by your side all the time, reassuming you that everything’s fine and you’re safe. You appreciated it that he didn’t leave you alone to deal with this but wanted to help you. When you were ready to leave, again he raised you and gently dressed you up in his shirt and laid you on bed. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now but tomorrow okay?” You nodded and Quinn pecked your lips. “Goodnight babe, I love you and I’m sorry for today… and yesterday” 

“Stop, we’ll talk about everything tomorrow, now let’s just sleep… I love you” You curled into his chest.

[punkshort]

Evergreen | Chapter Five: Acceptance

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: It's almost Christmas, so you take the time to reflect on your accomplishments while enjoying the peaceful life you've created with Joel.

Chapter Warnings: language, soft!joel, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, food and alcohol consumption, Christmas, so much fluff it hurts

WC: 5.1K

Series Masterlist

"Alright, try some of this."

Ellie set down her spiked hot chocolate on your kitchen counter and stood to take the spoon from your hand. She blew on the soup before sampling a small taste and vigorously nodding her head.

"That's fucking amazing, we should make that a regular item."

You grinned and tossed the spoon in your sink before maneuvering around her to reach the spice rack. Your new house was just a two-bedroom ranch and the small kitchen took some getting used to, but you finally made the rented space feel like home. Although when you and Ellie occasionally found yourselves crammed in your kitchen to test some new products for the food truck, you couldn't help but long for the beautiful kitchen you used to have.

"I think I'll add this and take off the turkey chili, it doesn't do too well," you said before turning to your fridge and scribbling something on the white board. It was close to Christmas and you had already introduced your cold-weather menu for the food truck, but you were always actively looking to make tweaks where it was needed.

"Sarah really likes the chili," Ellie reminded you.

"I'll make her a big batch and divide it up so she can freeze it when she goes back to school."

"Is she helping out on the truck tomorrow?" Ellie asked before picking her hot chocolate back up, then she wandered over to your living room to examine some ornaments on your tree.

"Yeah, she's helping all day. Joel's gonna get a kick out of seeing her on the truck for the first time," you laughed. You checked the time and turned off the burners before lifting the huge pot of soup with a grunt and setting it on an unused side of the stove to cool. Joel and Tommy's crew were working on a retail storefront and you had promised to stop by with the truck for lunch the following day. You had figured it was in a busy part of town and you were hoping to also capitalize on all the holiday shoppers.

Chicks 'n Chicken specialized in, well, chicken, as the name implied, but when the weather turned colder, you realized sandwiches just wouldn't cut it for the winter, so you began to add soups and stews to pair with your signature sandwiches like The Ellie, The Sarah, and The Joel. It was the first big idea you had when you finally took the plunge and started a food truck: every sandwich was named after someone important to you, including sandwiches named after Mia and Daniel.

At first, it was hard. Really fucking hard. Harder than you expected. There was so much to do behind the scenes: bookkeeping, inspections, keeping the truck and your machines up to code just to name a few. Joel was a huge help with the business side of things and you were eternally grateful for his insight. In return, you let him be your taste-tester, a job he adored and took very seriously.

Once you got the boring stuff out of the way, things got much better. You hired Ellie to assist you, and even her girlfriend Dina worked part-time. The two of them painted the truck these gorgeous, vibrant colors and helped you design the menu, and before you knew it, you were up and running.

The first couple weeks were slow and steady. You didn't expect to make much right off the bat, but you would have been lying if you said you weren't slightly disappointed you didn't do more business.

But then Sarah and Ellie came to the rescue, and your entire world changed.

They had clued you in to the latest social media app and helped you create an account. They must have been avid users because they always knew what was trending, which is how you managed to create a video that went viral overnight. It was the three of you doing some silly dance to a song you had never heard before inside the truck. When you watched it, you cringed and begged them to delete it, but they promised it would be a hit. And boy, were they right.

Just a few months later, you were closing in on one million followers. The girls kept your page fresh and relevant and if you were a lesser person, you might have been a little put out that your marketing degree essentially became useless when competing with two girls in their twenties who were apparently chronically online.

But you absolutely loved it. You were beyond thrilled you had been so unexpectedly successful so quickly. It was the best gift you could ever have received, and you told them so every time they pestered you for Christmas gift ideas.

"Your parents coming up for Christmas?" Ellie asked when she spotted a framed picture you had of them next to your couch.

"Uh... my mom is, yeah," you said, dusting your hands on the sides of your jeans as you moved around your kitchen. Ellie picked up on the tone in your voice and swiveled around.

"But not your dad?"

You shook your head and pulled out the biggest Tupperware containers you could find.

"No. He's not thrilled with some of the choices I've made," you told her, keeping your gaze focused on your work so she wouldn't see the hurt in your eyes.

"The food truck or Joel?"

You cleared your throat and shrugged. "Both. He thinks I'm investing Daniel's money in something where I'll end up failing and he is not okay with Joel being a few years younger than him."

"Shit. I'm sorry," Ellie said softly, joining you back in the kitchen. "That's fucked. But at least your mom sounds cool, right?"

"Well, she's coming around to it. It'll be her first time meeting Joel and I'm really hoping once she sees us together and how great he is, she can report back to my dad and maybe change his mind."

"Ha, no pressure, right?" she laughed. You grinned and finally turned to face her.

"You know what? I'm starting to not even care. Is that bad?" you asked with a guilty look on your face. But before she could answer, you continued. "I mean, I'm happy. I'm successful. Joel and Sarah are amazing. Should I even care if they agree with my choices or not? I'm an adult. I don't want to ruin my relationship with my parents but I'm not willing to sacrifice my own happiness for it."

"Hell yeah, man," Ellie said while toasting you with her hot chocolate. "You got the right headspace. Therapy is doing you good."

"Yeah, surprisingly, it kind of is," you said with a chuckle. An alarm went off on your phone and you glanced at it curiously before your eyes widened in panic. "Shit! I promised Joel I'd be over for dinner, I gotta clean up and get the hell out of here." You snatched your apron off and then your eyes locked onto the huge vat of piping hot soup on your stove.

"I'll handle it. Go!" Ellie said, waving her hands. "I'll lock up before I leave."

"Are you sure?" you asked, but you were already backing out of the kitchen.

"Absolutely. I'll watch some movie or something while I wait. Dina's working at the bookstore til ten, anyway."

"You're the greatest, Ellie, thank you!" you called over your shoulder as you disappeared into your bedroom to change.

"How is it you look prettier every time I see you?"

You giggled when Joel's scruffy beard scraped against the side of your neck, then melted into his arms when they circled around you from behind.

"Did you know you left the oven on? You're lucky you didn't burn the place down," you teased, tilting your head to give his lips better access.

"I was just takin' a quick shower, I knew there was plenty of time left."

He wasn't wrong. The lasagna he made still needed fifteen more minutes. Joel had actually gotten a lot better at cooking over the last few months. He liked to give you all the credit since he spent so much time watching you in the kitchen test new dishes for the food truck.

"And look at that," he murmured when he glanced at the timer. "Still got extra time. Any idea what we should do?"

"Are you looking to get dessert before dinner?" you asked, feigning shock. Joel chuckled against your throat before pressing himself against your ass and - shit, he wasn't joking.

"Been almost a week," he groaned against your ear. "Missed you so fuckin' much

"I missed you, too," you whispered before twisting around in his arms. You pressed your lips eagerly against his, getting lost in the familiar way you fit together. Whenever you were with Joel, your soul felt at peace. Everything seemed to make sense again and any stress faded away. But those things were difficult to explain to your parents without sounding insane, so you stopped trying, perfectly content with keeping the happiness he provided just between the two of you.

You blamed your weak resolve on the fact you had a stressful few days without him, craving the comfort only he could provide. That was why you found yourself less than five minutes later straddling his lap on the couch with your jeans abandoned somewhere on the floor behind you. Joel didn't even take his pants off all the way. He had shoved them down to his knees in a frenzy, desperate to feel you again after a long week.

The air stilled when you sunk down on his cock, the both of you too caught up in the feeling to remember to breathe.

"Oh, baby," he breathed, head tipping back to rest against the back of the couch. "Oh, that's it. That's my girl. There you go," he whispered, eyes glued to the way he disappeared inside you. You shifted and a small whimper slipped past your lips, pulling his gaze back up to you.

"How is that? Feel good?" he asked while circling his arms around your waist. You hummed and nodded before you started to move a little in his lap. You went slow at first while sharing deep, messy kisses. The hair from his beard burned your chin when he pried your mouth open wider, tongues swirling together amongst shared moans.

His big hands spread wide over your ribs, holding you against him to feel as close as possible while you slowly rocked your hips. He finally gave you a chance to breathe and broke the kiss, but then his mouth trailed down your throat and you held your breath anyway when his teeth grazed against the sensitive spot he made a mental note of last time.

"Missed you," he reminded you again as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. "Missed this. Missed feelin' this close to you."

"I know," you gasped, hands grabbing at his shoulders when he mouthed at your breast through your shirt. You started to move faster, encouraged by the delicious sting from his bite. "Fuck, Joel, do that again. Please," you whined.

He smirked and did the same playful bite to your other breast, cock twitching inside you when a low moan slipped past your lips.

"You like that?" he pressed. He loved it when you lost yourself in the moment, too engulfed with pleasure to hold yourself back. When he had you like that, you had no trouble asking for what you wanted. Your polite little filter vanished and you allow yourself to be selfish, to take what you want to make yourself feel good, and his chest puffed with pride every single time that you would choose him to be vulnerable with. You chose him to seek out everything you desired. You trusted him.

"Yes, Joel," you rasped. Your head was tipped backwards and your eyes had slid shut as you began to bounce faster on his lap. "Yes, Joel, I love it. I love it. Fuck, you feel so good. I can't - ah! - Christ, Joel, I love you-"

Time stood still with your words sitting heavy in the air. It took you a few seconds to realize what you said, then your eyes snapped open and you slapped a hand across your mouth in shock, hips freezing mid-air.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, staring down at his surprised expression. "I didn't mean for that to be the first time-"

"But you did mean it?" he asked, stopping your muffled ramblings. Slowly, you nodded with watery eyes. He yanked your hand off your mouth and pulled you down for a searing kiss.

"I love you, too," he whispered happily against your mouth. His hips began to rock up into you, encouraging you to move with his hands firmly on your waist. "Keep going. Want you to come for me," he said with a grunt, lips still hovering centimeters away from yours. You nodded and began to move again, chasing the release you were moments away from tasting before you had panicked and stopped.

"C'mon, make yourself feel good. Take what you need, baby," he groaned when you bounced faster, breasts swaying underneath your shirt right in front of his face, teasing him. He lunged forward and pinched your nipple between his teeth right when his thumb began to work quick circles over your clit. You cried out his name, fingers clawing at his shoulders until he finally heard that content little broken moan and your release slowly trickled down his cock.

"Shit - gonna come," he growled. His hand left your clit so he could wrap both arms tightly around your middle, using you for leverage as he roughly fucked up into you. You had sagged forward, head resting on his shoulder while placing sweet kisses against his throat. You heard his harsh pants for air in your ear and smiled at the soft noises he made right before he stilled with a loud groan, pumping you full of his seed until his shoulders relaxed and he leaned back tiredly against the couch.

Your hand snaked around the back of his neck, turning his face towards you for a lazy kiss before whispering I love you one more time.

"I love you so goddamn much," he sighed, making you giggle. You pushed yourself up with a sigh, feeling groggy and satiated. You were in the middle of lovingly tracing the creases next to his eyes while he gazed up at you when the timer on the stove went off. You both groaned, neither of you ready to pull apart just yet, but the last thing you wanted was the smell of burnt lasagna permeating the house for the rest of the evening. With a gasp, you lifted yourself from his lap and turned to hunt for your panties on shaky legs.

"Go clean up, I got it," Joel said, standing and pulling his jeans up the rest of the way. You nodded and waddled towards the bathroom with your clothes while he tended to your dinner in the kitchen.

"So, you're comin' by the site tomorrow?" Joel confirmed around a mouthful of food. You nodded, only half listening to the television, your brain still blissfully quiet from earlier.

"Yep. Then after I'm meeting with this woman from the paper. They want to run a small piece on the truck, talk about the viral stuff, all that."

"My girl's gonna be in the paper?" Joel asked excitedly. You laughed, wanting to tease him for being one of the few people who still read an actual newspaper, but his support for you and your dream was so sweet that you didn't want to ruin it.

"Yep. Maybe even a picture, too."

"Well, damn. Look at you," Joel said softly, and you smiled at the tender look in his eye. "Gonna be famous. Can't wait to frame it. I'mma put one in my office at work and one here," he told you matter of factly. He pointed to the mantle, currently adorned with garland and christmas lights, where an old picture of him, Sarah and Mia sat, along with a picture of Tommy and Maria from their wedding day.

"I get to be on the mantle?" you asked excitedly.

"'Course you do. Woulda been up there sooner if we ever took a decent picture together."

"We take tons of pictures together," you began, but he quickly waved you off.

"And in all of 'em I look like shit."

"You do not! You look better than me most of the time with that goddamn smirk of yours," you teased, pinching his side when you added, "and you've lost almost twenty pounds."

Joel just laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking your plate and stacking it with his before turning his attention towards the television. His thumb drew mindless circles over your arm and you listened to the peaceful, steady beat of his heart with your ear pressed against his chest.

Closing your eyes, you breathed deep and thought back on your life from the past several months. You had some curveballs thrown at you, sure, but given the circumstances, you were pretty damn happy with where you ended up: curled up next to the man you loved, listening to him mumble the wrong answers to Jeopardy amongst the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree.

"Howdy, girls!"

"Hey, Uncle Tommy!" Sarah called down from the window of the food truck. He grinned at her crooked black cap stitched with your company's name and logo on the front. Wild little pieces of hair stuck out from underneath, framing her face which was dusted with flour.

"Looks like you're workin' hard," he said, waving when he spotted you hurrying by behind her.

"It's crazy busy! We've been moving non-stop since we parked!" she exclaimed.

"Well, get ready, 'cause I just brought twenty hungry construction workers," he replied while jutting his chin down the sidewalk where his crew had been carefully walking around piles of snow that had been packed down and pushed around by the feet of holiday shoppers.

"Good timing, 'cause we just got through the lunch rush," she said before straightening up and turning to you and Ellie. "Hey, guys - my dad and his crew are on their way! Want me to drop some chicken in the fryer?"

"Yeah, toss in a tray of breasts and a tray of tenders to get us started," you said, wiping your hands on your apron before turning to Ellie. "And-"

"Yeah, I know, I got the bread out of the oven already."

You grinned and turned to give the three soups of the day a quick stir and did a quick check on the stock of paper products, confirming you were in a good enough spot to take on another wave of business when you heard a woman's voice call your name from the sidewalk, stopping you in your tracks. When you saw it was the reporter you had promised to meet with for the write up she was going to put in the paper, you felt your heart sink.

"Carmen, hi! We're getting another rush, I'm so sorry!" you said while leaning through the window to shake her hand. "Can I get like, twenty minutes?"

"Of course!" Carmen replied. "I have some shopping to do anyway, take your time."

You were in the middle of expressing your thanks when the truck was suddenly bombarded with Joel and Tommy's crew, their deep voices laughing and talking over one another while Ellie began to take some orders at the register. Before you got back to work, you spotted Joel and excitedly waved him over.

"Hey," you grinned as you practically hung half your body out of the window to grab his face and pull him in. He chuckled and leaned up to kiss you, his cold lips pressing against yours and urging them apart so he could slip his tongue inside your mouth.

"Hey! People are tryin' to eat!" Tommy laughed while playfully swatting at Joel's shoulder. You both laughed and pulled apart, too giddy and love drunk on each other to care.

"You're cold," you said after you pulled yourself back inside the truck. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Joel replied, eyes glittering with pride as he watched you move around the truck. When you stretched forward to hand him the cup, you winked and said, "On the house."

"How's the job going?" you asked as you worked on slicing up the bread Ellie had pulled from the oven. Tickets fluttered in front of you and Sarah gave Joel a big smile and wave when she dropped off chicken fresh from the fryer.

"Alright. Glad we're workin' inside today but place ain't rigged for heat yet so we're makin' do," he replied, taking a sip from his cup. "How's business?" he asked, nodding towards the truck. His eyes drifted fondly over the front where you had printed out the menu in huge letters. Every time he saw his daughter's or his wife's names, his throat tightened. You didn't have to name dishes after them, but you did. Practically insisted on it. It made him emotional back then and it continued to make him emotional whenever he saw it.

"Great! I was hoping to capitalize on holiday foot traffic and boy, did I."

Your eyes were glued to your work, chopping and slicing, making sandwiches and wrapping them in paper while scooping out soup from the huge vats behind you and bagging everything with ease.

You were in your element. This was what you were meant to do.

"Joel! Did you order yet or what?" Ellie called from the register.

"He always gets the same thing," Sarah reminded her with a playful hip check. Ellie rolled her eyes and stifled her grin.

"Oh, yeah, duh. You," she said, narrowing her eyes in your direction. You felt your cheeks warm and you smiled but kept your focus on your work.

"You don't always have to order my sandwich, you know," you teased him.

"Now how can you blame me when you taste so damn good?" Joel smirked from the sidewalk, instantly eliciting a groan of disgust from each of the girls.

"He means the sandwich!" you laughed, feeling all flustered and praying your embarrassment didn't show.

"Do I?"

"Joel!" you hissed with wide eyes as Sarah called him gross and Ellie covered her ears. He threw back his head and laughed while you shook your head with a permanent smile stretched across your face.

This is true happiness, you thought. This feeling could never be topped.

Once Joel and his crew ate and slowly disappeared back down the street towards the storefront they were working on, you washed your hands and checked your reflection before stepping out of the truck with your coat draped over your arm. You glanced around the now mildly crowded street, searching for Carmen and smiling when you locked eyes with her a few doors down carrying a couple shopping bags.

"Perfect timing," you said when she was within hearing range. "Thanks again. My boyfriend is working around the corner and brought his entire crew."

"No apology necessary," she replied warmly, then glanced around with a shiver. "Mind if we pop into this coffee shop? Shouldn't take more than half an hour."

You happily agreed and followed her inside the warm café, breathing in deep the scent of cinnamon and smiling to yourself when you heard the faint sound of Christmas carols filtering through the speakers.

Carmen wasted no time. She dove right in, asking you how you came up with the idea for the food truck and then segueing right into the viral video Ellie and Sarah created that got you such a cult following. You explained that Ellie was a friend, leaving out how you met for her own privacy, and how Sarah was Joel's daughter.

"I'm noticing these names are familiar," Carmen said with a smile.

"Yeah, I named sandwiches after important people in my life. It felt like a sweet way to honor them and express my gratitude," you explained. Carmen hummed and reviewed her notes, phone recording quietly on the table between you.

"May I ask, then, who are Mia and Daniel?"

You cleared your throat and gave her a brave smile.

"They're no longer with us," you began. Softly, Carmen murmured, oh, I'm sorry, while scribbling something on her notepad. "It's okay. Daniel was my fiancé. He passed away over a year ago from a car accident. And Mia was Sarah's mom."

Carmen nodded thoughtfully as she continued to write.

"Oh, so you knew Sarah's mom, too?"

"Well, no," you said, "but based on how much Sarah and Joel have told me, it feels like I've met her."

"That's sweet," Carmen said, letting her pen drop on her notepad. "And these sandwiches - do they reflect anything significant about the people they're named after?"

"They do," you replied while straightening in your chair. "I tried to make the sandwiches based on each person's preference. For instance, Mia loved spice, so hers is a fried spicy chicken sandwich with chipotle mayo. Which I find hilarious because neither Joel or Sarah can handle any amount of spice," you said with a soft laugh.

Carmen nodded and laced her fingers together.

"And how about the sandwich named after you?"

"Well, that was the very first one we created and decided should be on the menu," you said. "I hadn't even thought about names yet but the girls convinced me I should name it after myself and I guess they've got a knack for persuasion."

Carmen laughed and you felt your shoulders relax a bit, not even realizing you were tense until that very moment.

"Well, it's incredible, I must say. I was sneaky last week and got one for myself when you were out on Brunswick."

You gasped, feigning dismay and making her laugh.

"Thank you, I'm so happy to hear that," you replied with a wide smile. "It happens to be my boyfriend's favorite, too."

"Joel doesn't order The Joel?" she asked, cocking her eyebrow.

You shook your head and tried to forget his earlier comment when you said, "Guess not. But he helped design The Joel. In fact, he also helped with The Mia. Sarah did, as well."

"That's so lovely to hear," Carmen said softly, pressing her lips together and leaning forward. "I think it's such a wonderful detail, by the way. How the two of you came from relationships that ended in tragedy and managed to find peace and happiness with one another. And to honor your partners in this way is incredible."

"Thank you," you answered. Your chest warmed at her compliment. "Even though I never met Mia, she was important to the people I love the most, and therefore, she's important to me. Joel and Sarah feel the same about Daniel. Grief is a complicated thing, but I like to think I've found a way to live beside it."

Carmen smiled and dropped her gaze to the table. "That's so comforting and reassuring to hear. And an incredible quote to leave me with because it looks like our time is up."

"Quote?" you asked with a tilt to your head.

"I usually like to run a quote from my subject as my byline," Carmen said while she packed up her things. She began to stand and you stopped her.

"Wait - could I give you something else to put as your byline instead?"

She grinned and sat back down before pulling out her phone and pressing a button.

"Of course."

One Week Later

"You nervous 'bout your mama comin' up?" Joel asked, tugging you closer to his side as you walked up the snowy sidewalk.

"A little," you admitted. "But whatever she ends up thinking doesn't matter. I love you, Joel," you said, tilting your chin up to meet his eye. "I love you and nothing is ever going to change that."

He smiled and gave your lips a quick peck as you rounded the corner, closing in on the nearest grocery store.

"Well, back in my day, I used to be a big hit with a girl's parents."

"Oh, yeah?" you teased.

"Yep. They all loved me. I'm real respectful, you'll see."

You wanted to tell him to just be himself and to not stress about your mother's visit, but you knew there was no use. He was going to do everything possible to win your mother over and while you found it admirable he cared so much, you didn't want him to feel like he needed to make your parents come around. In your several talks with Ryan in therapy, you had come to the conclusion that nobody's approval was needed for you to be happy. It would be nice, sure. It would make holidays and special occasions easier. But nothing was going to change anything between you and Joel.

"Alright, now. Here we go," Joel said excitedly when the automatic doors slid open and you were met with a blast of warm air. You grinned and squeezed his arm while letting him drag you towards the newspapers and magazines. You both scanned the rows of periodicals before Joel spotted it first and grabbed the whole stack. He handed you the extras and eagerly flipped through the pages of the one on top before he paused with a slow smile.

"What? How does it look? What picture did she-"

You cut yourself short when you peered over his shoulder. Your breath hitched and you caught Joel's eye before looking back at the page.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmen and grabbed a quick shot of you leaning out of the food truck to kiss Joel. You were both smiling as snow lightly fell around you, the background highlighted by twinkling Christmas lights and laughing holiday shoppers. It looked like a photograph straight out of a movie: two people finding a quick moment for love in the midst of a busy street.

"You think that's a good enough picture of the two of us?" you asked, looking up at him adoringly, but his focus was on the byline. His eyes kept scanning the words over and over until you swore you saw tears begin to cloud his vision.

"You like it?" you found yourself whispering. He swallowed and nodded, bottom lip quivering before he let the paper drop to his side so he could cup your jaw and pull you in for a kiss.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too," you said softly against his lips. He gave you one more kiss before he sniffled and opened the paper again so he could reread the words:

This was all made possible because of Daniel, who taught me what true love is, and because of Joel, who showed me love during my darkest days - I owe you everything.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[starfilmz]

close to you | rafe cameron

summary: you and rafe are together and no matter how long you two have been together, he still gets jealous. even if you’re admirers are 80% girls.

a/n: basically the jealousy trope but girls. bc i love girls :D

navigation

rafe cameron wasn’t the type to get jealous. at least, that’s what he told himself, day in and day out. but when it came to you—his girlfriend, the one person who had him wrapped around her finger—he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something every time a group of girls swarmed around you.

it was always the same. the way they’d giggle, whisper behind their hands, and act like they had some secret world he wasn’t a part of. he didn’t mind the guys; they were easy enough to brush off. a few sharp words and they’d back off, retreating into the background where they belonged. but the girls? it was different. they didn’t look at him like they were trying to size him up or steal him away. no, they acted like he wasn’t even there.

and that, to rafe, was a problem.

“you look good today, yn,” a girl would say as she sidled up beside you, eyes lingering just a little too long.

"thanks," you'd smile, not noticing the way rafe’s jaw clenched. you were always polite, always kind to everyone, but it did little to ease the tension in his chest.

he’d stand there, arms crossed, waiting for the moment to pass. but it never did.

“i can’t wait to see you at the next surf competition, yn! i’m sure you’ll crush it like always.” one of the girls would chirp, grinning like she had just made the most profound statement in the world.

rafe’s fingers dug into his palms as he glanced over at you, a possessive, yet proud look flashing across his face. he had to remind himself that it was because of you that all these girls were so…obsessed. you had that effect on people, on both guys and girls alike. it didn’t matter how many times he told himself he should be happy for you, that you deserved all this attention—there was still that sharp edge of irritation whenever you were in the spotlight.

“yeah, can’t wait to see you in action again,” another girl added, leaning in a little too close to you.

rafe resisted the urge to step in, though the thought of it brought an all-too-familiar feeling of frustration. you weren’t just his girlfriend—everyone knew that by now. yet somehow, you seemed to be this magnet for attention. people loved you. especially the girls.

but it wasn’t just the compliments or the giddy talk of your next competition that bothered him. it was the fact that these girls seemed to have no problem showing up at boneyard parties just to catch a glimpse of you.

“i heard yn's gonna be at the party tonight. i’m so excited!” one of them said to her friend, eyes practically sparkling. “i’ll be there early so i can get a good spot by the bonfire.”

rafe rolled his eyes, his hands curling into fists. you didn’t even notice them, didn’t care about any of this. you were just trying to enjoy yourself, trying to live your life, but it was like everyone wanted a piece of it. and most of all, they wanted a piece of you.

finally, rafe couldn’t hold it in any longer. as the girls continued to talk and laugh around you, he walked up, his presence undeniably commanding. he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close, his face a study in controlled frustration.

“let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. the girls hesitated, looking from him to you with a mix of confusion and intrigue.

“rafe, don’t,” you whispered softly, reaching up to touch his arm, trying to calm him down.

he gave you a tight smile, but there was something unspoken in his eyes. his possessiveness wasn’t something he liked, but when it came to you, it was almost uncontrollable.

“i’ll catch you guys later,” he said, his tone colder than usual, and with that, he guided you away from the crowd.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you let out a soft laugh. “you’re a little dramatic, you know that?”

“i don’t like them around you,” he admitted, his voice low but serious. “it’s not like i think you’ll do anything, yn. but you’re mine. and i hate how they act like you’re some prize to be won.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “and i’m supposed to be okay with you making a scene every time some girl talks to me?”

“you’re my girl,” rafe repeated, his eyes narrowing with that familiar intensity. “why would i want anyone else thinking they can just get close?”

you shook your head, a playful smile curving your lips. “you know i don’t belong to anyone, rafe. but i’m with you. only with you.”

he snorted, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “that’s not the point. the point is—i’m not sharing, not now, not ever.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, pushing his shoulder lightly as you continued to walk away from the crowds.

rafe couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was still a little irritated. at least, for now, you were his—walking beside him, oblivious to the crowd and the chaos you left in your wake. he could live with that, for now.

“just don’t let them get too close next time,” he grumbled, eyes scanning the horizon as if daring anyone to make another move.

you rolled your eyes, but there was something in your expression that softened. “okay, rafe. i’ll try. but i can’t promise anything.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the smile tugging at his lips said it all. for now, at least, he had you all to himself. and that, for him, was more than enough.

[ylangelegy]

unknown / nth ⭐ minghao x reader.

your boyfriend gives you a language lesson before bed.

★ minghao x translator/interpreter!reader a.k.a the lost in translation couple ★ word count: 1.9k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, conversation about mandarin (my reference). takes place post-lost in translation! not entirely necessary to have read the fic prior to this. title is from hozier's song of the same name. not proofread. ★ footnotes: minghao did a brief weibo live and i've been missing lost in translation for quite some time now, so i jammed this out really quick 🚬🦆 may write more for/about this couple in the near future, so take this as the first of many! ♡

“I think Cold Love really represents me well. It’s probably because I’m an INFJ.”

You press your palm to your mouth to stifle your laugh. Minghao doesn’t react visibly, but his hand waves at you off-camera. A wordless reminder of Be nice. 

The two of you are across the room from each other— him, perched on the couch of his hotel room, while you’re already tucked in bed. Minghao had promised his fans a quick Weibo live to discuss his most recent EP, leaving you to your own devices for the next hour or so. 

You didn’t mind. It was one of life’s simple joys, listening to your boyfriend talk. 

He spends the next thirty minutes or so discussing his creative process and answering fans’ questions. You don’t bother him, knowing you’ll have all the time in the world later to tease him for some of his remarks. Like his indignance at growing taller or his jabs at his age. 

As you busy yourself with mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you relish in the familiar sound of Minghao’s Mandarin. It’s probably your favorite version of white noise, really. The mellow tone of his voice contrasts the rapid, sharp way that he speaks. Despite being well-acquainted with the language, there are still some words that elude you. You make a mental note to ask Minghao about them later. 

Less than an hour has passed before you hear Minghao beginning to wind down. “Good luck on all of your exams. To the people working, keep working hard! Make lots of money,” he says hurriedly. “And good luck with love, too. I hope you all find someone who loves you back so you can experience all sorts of feelings.” 

He’s never been the type to drag out his goodbyes, so you’re not surprised when— after a final heart sign and wave to the camera— Minghao is finally clocking out of his live. 

Immediately, he slumps back onto the couch like the whole thing had drained him. Sure, lives weren’t necessarily one-sided, but he did have to hard carry when it came to the talking part of the affair. You flash him a sympathetic smile as you sit up in bed. 

“Done, xīngān?” you call out. 

Minghao doesn’t respond right away. You don’t hold it against him. He sometimes needed a moment, needed a minute or two to pull himself together. 

After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, Minghao lets out a shuddering exhale. “Done,” he responds, and he’s moving before you can register it. 

He gets to his feet and crosses the room in a few, quick strides. Once he gets to the bed, he wastes no time in reaching for you. His knees sink in the mattress; his hands dart out. 

You let out a slight squeal when Minghao tugs you into him. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. This had been a premeditated act. You can tell in the way his arms immediately snake around your waist. 

You let out a defeated sigh against his chest, but make no move to pull away. “Tired?” you ask, your hands resting on the small of his back as you return his embrace. 

He hums a quiet ‘mhm’. “I’m not built for this anymore, xīngān,” he whines. 

The two of you know that’s a bold-faced lie. Still, you indulge your sulking boyfriend lest he begin to pout even harder. “My poor baby,” you coo, running your hands up and down Minghao’s back in a show of comforting him. “Gonna blame it on being an introvert?” 

“Shut up.” 

You let out a small laugh. You can’t see it, but you swear you can feel the curve of Minghao’s smile as he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “It means a lot.” 

A part of you wants to insist that it’s nothing. It’s not every day that you can steal away to his hotel room, though. In between your own work of interpreting for the boys and working on subtitles for videos, there’s also the added layer of keeping your relationship on the down low. 

Tonight, Minghao had just tried to asked. Texted a couple of hours ago that he wanted to see you. And you could never really deny him anything, not even on your best days. 

“Anything for you,” you respond as you stroke the short hair at his nape. 

Minghao buries his face in the crook of your neck, his smiling mouth warm as he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t give me that much power,” he warns. “I’ll abuse it.” 

You chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.” 

The two of you lapse into another bout of quiet. This had always been your way, even back when the two of you were friends: Comfortable silences, unspoken agreements. Your new relationship had only given you two the carte blanche to be a little more touchy during your shared moments of peace. 

You’re fairly sure that Minghao has fallen asleep when he speaks up again. “How do you think I did?”

“With the live?” 

“No, with cuddling. Yes, with the live.” 

“Ask nicely.”

“Please?” 

You put Minghao out of his misery by returning his earlier gesture— leaving a quick kiss, this time to the line of his jaw. “Stellar as usual,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pick up on everything, though.” 

“That’s new.” Minghao shifts around on the bed until he can prop himself up on one elbow. He rests his chin in his hand but doesn’t stray too far. He stays hovering over you, his free arm remaining around your waist. 

He goes on to goad, “Your Mandarin must be getting rusty.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “How can it be rusty,” you retort, slipping into the language as if to prove a point. “When you’re always insisting that we use it?” 

No matter how many times that you speak to him in his mother tongue, Minghao always seems momentarily startled. The surprise always fades into affection, evident in the fond way that he gazes down at you. 

He matches your code switch without missing a beat. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I love it when you speak Mandarin,” he says, punctuating his words with a quick pinch to your side. 

You swat his hand; he giggles down at you.

“Which parts did you miss out on?” he asks. 

It takes you a moment to recall the terms and phrases you’d wanted to question him about. “撒娇?” you ask, the unfamiliar word sounding almost hesitant on your tongue. Sājiāo.

A thoughtful ‘ahhh’ escapes Minghao. “Think of it like aegyo,” he offers delicately. “It’s— often in the setting of a relationship. Acting cute to be endearing.” 

“Like when you gripe about me not responding fast enough.” 

“Examples aren’t necessary,” he says wryly. “But, yes. Like that.” 

You flash Minghao a grin before snuggling a little closer to him, entangling your legs. The added touch makes his expression softens in the way it only ever does when it’s you. 

“Anything else?” he prompts. 

It’s not everyday that Minghao gets to play the ‘teacher’ role in your relationship. In the beginning, you had been his Korean tutor. In the longer run, you had helped him translate and transpose words that he couldn’t reach. Every so often, you would run to him for some Mandarin help, and you could tell that he relished in the shift in dynamic. 

The thought pushes you to keep asking, even though the words are inconsequential. “You used the term 暖男,” you note. “What was that one?” 

“Nuǎnnán,” he echoes, correcting your intonation. You repeat the word as he said it, and he gives a small smile of approval.

“It’s our version of ‘nice guy’,” he explains. “But it’s rooted a lot in culture. A nuǎnnán is a man who can be considered inherently warm-hearted in an otherwise patriarchal society. And no—” Minghao’s tone takes on a more chiding quality when he sees you about to interrupt. “Do not try to call me a nuǎnnán.” 

You jut out your lower lip slightly. “Why not?” 

The arm that Minghao had around your waist rises, just enough so he can tap the tip of your scrunched nose. “Don’t pull out sājiāo on me,” he scolds. 

It’s not necessary for you to act cute. Your boyfriend would be endeared by you either way. 

You chuckle at being caught, and Minghao’s sternness mellows. “One last.” You hold up a finger as you try to nail the phrase that had first caught your attention. “裸婚?” 

There’s a flicker of surprise on Minghao’s expression. “That was from a fan making a joke,” he warns before repeating the word himself. “Luǒhūn translates to— hear me out, okay?— ‘naked marriage’.” 

The sight of your raised eyebrow draws a sharp laugh from Minghao. “It’s another one of those cultural things,” he says. 

When he doesn’t add onto his words, you shoot him an incredulous look. 

“What?” he asks with feigned innocence.

“That’s it?” you prod. “You’re not going to explain what ‘naked marriage’ means?” 

“You have access to the internet, don’t you?” 

“Xīngān.” 

“That’s me.” 

At Minghao’s continued evasion, you merely huff and give up. It’s getting late, anyway, and he has to be up early in the morning for sound check. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to slip away before anyone can come looking for either of you. The boys aren’t privy to your relationship yet, and God forbid any of the other staff find out.

“Fine,” you say, unable to resist the urge to just be a little haughty. “Let’s go to sleep.” 

Minghao is undeterred by your contempt. If anything, it only makes him smile a little wider, gives him an excuse to pull you into his chest. He goes to cradle the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair. 

You lean into his touch, burying your face into the front of his shirt. There it is again. Those few, precious moments where the two of you can just bask in each other’s presence. 

The silence stretches on this time. You’re properly drowsy by the time Minghao speaks up, his words quiet as he mumbles them against your shoulder. 

“No house, no car, no fancy ring,” he murmurs, his tone contemplative and sleepy. “Luǒhūn.” 

“A naked marriage,” you respond mid-yawn. 

“Mhm.”

“Nothing but love.” 

“You got it.” 

The conversation feels like it’s teetering on the verge of something consequential, something of value. But with the two of you already halfway asleep in each other's arms, there’s not much you can do besides exchange some light pecks and mumbled words.

“I think I’d want at least a house before getting married,” you say. “Or, like, an apartment.”

“What, you wouldn’t live out on the streets with me?” he teases lowly. 

Your eyes flutter close. “You would have to convince me,” you shoot back. 

Minghao responds with a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

“How long will it take to convince you?” 

It’s a little too early in your relationship for the topic of marriage to be seriously brought up. It’s fun to dream about, though. To talk about in hushed tones, to toy with in Minghao’s mother tongue. 

To imagine a time where this might be your every night— falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

“Might take you years and years,” you answer, a giggle rising from the back of your throat. 

Minghao’s arms shake as he laughs. His lips stay on your head, almost like he can’t bear to peel away from you for a minute too long. 

“I don’t mind,” he says as the two of you begin to succumb to sleep. 

The last thing you hear is his affectionate, soft promise of, “I’ll start working on convincing you, xīngān.” 

[trypo-p]

TF2 ISSUE 7 SPOILERS //

Alright alright I know everyones going crazy over the ending of the comic (I am too) but I don't see this moment talked about enough and how beautifully done it is.

We start with the Administrator: The man who took everything from her is finally dead. She reigns victory. She is now living alone in peace, leaving flowers for each and every gravestone that was left before Zepheniah Mann's passing. The gravestones left before him are carved out beautifully, time and effort put into each and every one of them. The Administrator even lays out the roses so they look like they're grown out around the gravestones.

And here we have Zepheniah Mann's grave. A slab of rock with only his initials carved into it. The other gravestones are large, extravagant, and have their full names carved into them. Zepheniah's remains small; little thought put into it.

The gravestone wasn't even for him in the first place. It was for whichever of his son's died first, whichever one failed him. He himself didn't put much care into the gravestone, so why should he deserve anything better? In the end, he was treated the way he treated others. He was the failed son.

The Administrator leaves the stems of the roses out for him. She just places them there, no thought put into it seemingly. But there is SO much thought in this very moment. She had everything planned out from the very beginning.

Every day, she watched as the man grew older and older. She was there for his passing, and as far as we can tell, she caused his death. She leaves out roses for each and every grave, except for his. She leaves the stems. To her, he doesn't deserve the flower, he deserves the thorns. They aren't placed with care like the other flowers had been, they are simply put down. She gives him exactly what he deserves.

The atmosphere has suddenly lost that beautiful lighting and vibrant colours, the sky has become more gray and dreary. The Administrator is waking up more devastated, putting less time and effort into her daily life. The stems are turning brown, wilting under her eyes. She cares less. She seems relatively unaffected by the things around her. She gets stung by a bee, but doesn't seem to care. However that last panel says everything. She's growing tired of doing the same thing day in and day out. The cycle of depression is a tiring one. Soon enough you realize: is it even worth it? After all of this, after I finally got the one thing I wanted. But what now?

The scene is now almost completely devoid of colour. The weather is gloomy, and the Administrator looks like she has been bedridden for a while. She has taken the gravestone into her bedroom, now having to wake up to the reminder that he's dead and gone, she got what she wanted. But at what cost? There's nothing left to do anymore. She set herself out for one goal and one goal only her entire life. What was the point anymore?

There's so much to unpack in these panels, I doubt I've even scraped the surface of this. She's lost all emotion, the next few panels showing that she doesn't believe there's a point in living anymore. It's a terrifying thought, setting your entire life up to do one specific thing, getting that thing done, and then having nothing else left to live for. It's such a well-done portrayal of how depression can destroy you from the inside out.

Revenge is sweet, but it has a bitter aftertaste.

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

Simon Riley is an enigma—a brooding, complex man with a shadowed past that he can’t escape. You’re just an ordinary person until he claws his way into your life and you can't help but give in to him. The only problem is that you try to keep things casual, while Simon's never been one to settle for that.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 3

(He longs to be) Close to you

***

You freeze, heart pounding, the moment shattered. Who the fuck is that? You think to yourself, panic creeping in. Another knock then a familiar, playful voice from the other side of the door.

“Bitch! I know you're home!”

“Oh my God. Ishta.”

You completely forgot about your little watch party with her. This can't be happening now. Of course it's happening right now.

“Hm, that a girlfriend I don't know about?”

Simon murmurs, nuzzling his face to your neck.

“You need to go.”

Your voice is low, urgent, but it only seems to amuse him. His hands wrap around your waist, pumping his hips upwards, rubbing himself against your soaked underwear.

“What, you're kicking me out? Just like that?”

He nips at your neck, making you yeep. He tightens his hold, long arms locking you in.

You tense, trying to wiggle from him but him and his stupidly defined arms aren't budging.

“I'm serious; you need to leave, now.”

You twist in his arms, your anxiety growing as Ishta's knocking gets louder. She's never been patient.

You can feel his lips curve into a smile.

“You're tense, should relax a bit.”

“Relax?! Oh my God, I'm gonna kill you.”

You snap in a hushed tone, yanking yourself free (well, more like he finally relents and lets you go). You tug your shorts up while he follows suit, much more leisurely than you. He quips while letting you drag him towards the fire escape,

“Can't believe I'm the other woman, thought I was special, angel.”

“You're not making this easy.”

“Mistresses rarely do.”

Simon smirks, while you pull him to the window. Ishta knocks again, louder this time.

“Stop jerking off, the ice cream is melting!”

Simon snickers and you push him through the window onto the fire escape. His large frame steps out, stretching out while he turns to you.

“What? No kiss goodbye?”

“Simon!”

He doesn't budge until you lean out the window, planting a quick, chaste kiss on his scared lips. His hand cups the back of your neck, practically shoving his tongue down your throat, before you wrench yourself away.

“Bye.”

The words come out harsher than you mean while you shut the window, watching him slip into his place, not trusting him to sneak back into yours.

Ishta's voice whines from behind your front door. You smooth out your clothes, pasting a sheepish, wide smile. You take a deep breath before opening your door.

“Hey girl! Sorry I-”

“Was jerking off thinking about your neighbor? I know girl. Get that nut in friend.”

She empties her tote, sets some wine bottles down and grabs two cups from the kitchen before bending to sit on the couch. You wince watching her try to sit where his bare ass was.

“Oh! No don't-”

She looks at you curiously, frozen mid-squat— your brain scrambling to find something remotely plausible.

“I spilled tuna juice there earlier.”

She narrows her eyes at you, searching your face. She must be satisfied with what she sees because she shrugs and moves to the other side.

“Can't smell fishy. Got a date later.”

She pops open a bottle, pouring a generous amount into each cup. You grab the one she offers and take a seat on the arm of the couch.

“A date, huh? Is it that finance guy from last month?”

She rolls her eyes, turning on the TV.

“Oh God, no. He was so fucking annoying, trust fund baby.”

You laugh a little, grateful for her not pressing you on the couch thing.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

She waves her hand vaguely, her attention already on the TV, looking for a show.

“Met him at the park. He was jogging—shirtless, obviously—and tripped over his own fucking shoelaces. Adorable. Total himbo vibes.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling into your glass.

“Thought you liked nerds.”

“That's the thing,”

She turned to you, grinning like a fool.

“Ok so, we were talking about showers,”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. Anyways, he starts going on about different hypotheses of 'the shower curtain effect' with this dumbass smile on his face. I'm trying not to stare at his tits and just ask him if he wants drinks before I start drooling. Obviously, he says yes, and here we are!”

She finishes her glass and helps herself to another. You lean closer to her.

“So what's the plan? Drinks, talk about nerdy shit, and then stumble into his place and ogle at his star wars figurines?”

“First off all,”

She raises a finger.

“He’s an artist, so get it right. And secondly, he's Scottish. So like, the accent makes everything hotter.”

You hum curiously.

“My apologies, I clearly underestimated his international flare.”

“You did. Also, you're welcome for letting you live vicariously through me, by the way.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, oohh my goodness. Thank you for your graciousness.”

You say in mock appreciation, hand over your heart. Her eyes twinkle when she winks at you.

“Freely granted, my dear. I'll text you all the juicy details.”

“Lucky me.”

You say dryly, swirling your wine glass. Ishta lightly hits your knee.

“Look at us. You got your English guy, I got my Scottish one. Just gotta snatch up an Irish and Welsh one, and we've got a whole set!”

“Please be serious, girl. Also, he's not ‘my guy’, he's just a neighbor.”

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. We'll see how long that lasts.”

***

You've been more moody lately. From Ishta unintentionally cock-blocking you, to work being particularly demanding, and finally, Simon terrorizing you relentlessly.

Ever since ‘the incident’ he's been on you like white on rice. He'll stop you in the mornings in the foyer and casually talk about how he came to the thought of you last night or stand behind you in the elevator and grind up against you, laxly apologizing.

“Sorry. It's just such a tight fit here, right angel?”

You silently thank God Simon has the sense to pull these stunts when no one else is around to witness his brand of debauchery (he doesn't, you just got lucky no one's there when he pulls that shit).

You're barely holding onto your patience. Every word he says, every deliberate touch grates on your nerves. He has you on edge, dangling by a thread. A simple nudge could send you tumbling— yet he never quite gives it. Instead, he leaves you like this, toeing the line.

Waiting. Waiting on you to make the jump.

It kind of surprises you, given the whole…incident. You expected him to follow you into your apartment one day and finally consummate whatever twisted, simmering thing you had going on. But he didn't. Seemed to enjoy making you squirm.

***

You could almost forget about him during the day. Almost. Work has been a circus lately, thanks to your boss—the museum curator who seems to thrive on chaos. She’s brilliant, yes, but she’s also impossible. Barking orders, demanding perfection, treating every missed detail like a personal betrayal. You spend your mornings running errands and your afternoons fielding phone calls from artists who need their egos stroked. The only moment of reprieve is when you’re in the gallery itself, away from the madness, the artwork pulling you into a quiet, timeless space.

But even that doesn’t last. Today, you spent hours installing a new piece—a massive, fragile sculpture—and as soon as it was in place, she decided it needed to be moved six inches to the left. Six inches. By the time you got home, your nerves were frayed, your patience long gone.

He’d been waiting in the lobby when you arrived, as if he knew you’d had a long day. His presence suffocating, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he stood too close, his hand brushing your hip when you reached for the elevator button.

“You look tense, angel.”

“Simon, please.”

“‘Please?’ Wow, must've been really bad today.”

He chuckles to himself, like he's so fucking funny.

You rub your eyes, the tired dryness a reminder of the day you'd had. He sees this as an invitation to step behind you and wrap his arms around you. Large frame towering over you, long arms sliding around you.

“Not in the mood for this today, Simon.”

You mutter, void of its usual bite.

You don't even have the energy to push him away when he plants a kiss on the side of your neck, softer than the last time his lips touched your skin.

“So sweet when you're tired out. Wonder if you're like this after-”

The elevator dings and you pull away, pushing his head off your shoulder and trudging to your place. At this point, you're too drained to care about his games, too tired to rise to the bait.

If he wasn't going to stop playing, wasn't going to do anything but pussyfoot around, you had better things to do—like collapse on your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight.

You reach your door and fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when they decide now is the perfect time to be elusive in your bag.

“Need help?”

You don’t jump. You’re too used to that voice coming from behind you, low and amused. His words echo in your head more than you’d like to admit these days.

“No.”

You say, sharp enough to bite through the air as you finally fish the keys out and shove one into the lock.

It sticks. Of course, it sticks.

He says something you ignore while he leans against the side of the doorframe, watching you struggle. Your head lands on the door with a soft thud, forehead pressing against the cool metal.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Not like you to let me have the last word.”

“I’m too tired for this.”

“For what?”

“For your bullshit.”

You spit, jiggling the key rougher than necessary.

Simon hums, entertained.

“There she is. Was worried I lost you for a minute.”

The key refuses to turn. Between him looking over your shoulder and the fucking door mocking you, your patience starts to shred, gossamer-thin.

When the door finally opens, you turn to him.

“Do you ever shut up?”

He shrugs.

“Not when I’m having this much fun.”

“You call this fun?”

“Watching you fight with a door? Yeah, a little bit. Had my money on the door though, unfortunately.”

You swear his grin is almost audible under that mask.

Your eyes narrow, heated.

“Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

He doesn't miss a beat.

“No, actually. Not tonight.”

“Of course not, when do you ever?”

You mutter, yanking your keys out of the lock.

“Just keeping the schedule free for you, love.”

“Free to annoy me?”

“Something like that.”

Your eyes drift from his face down to his arms crossed over his chest. His compression shirt doesn't help, the material stretching in a way that feels obscene.

Then while he watches you stare, he flexes subtly.

It pulls a laugh out of you, the sound slipping out before you can help it,

“Whore.”

He pulls his mask down, showing off his own smile. His canines sharp and slightly crooked, but somehow it makes him more attractive. Like he doesn't just accept his imperfections, but wears them proudly, fully aware of their charm.

“Just for you, angel.”

“Your persistence is coming off pathetic.”

You huff half-hearted, crossing your arms.

“Doesn't seem to bother you much.”

Simon goads. You think this is the happiest you've ever seen him.

“It does.”

You lick your teeth, feigning irritation. He mirrors the movement, finishing it off with a smile that makes your face hot.

“Go on then,”

His voice drops lower, thick and languid, molasses poured slow on a hot day.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

It's quiet for a moment. He tilts his head, eyes glinting and the edge you've been teetering on crumbles underneath you, all reservations and restraint gone. You grip the strings of his hoodie and pull him down to your face.

“You're insufferable.”

“Yes.”

“A tease.”

“Mhm.”

“Worst neighbor I've ever had.”

“Ouch.”

He says, though his tone is anything but wounded. If anything, it sounds downright gleeful.

“Makes me wanna do awful things to you.”

You say in a hushed tone, a newfound energy pumping through your veins. The space between you grows smaller as you tug him even closer, his hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you.

“Yeah,”

His voice is low, molten. A scorching heat that flows from his mouth down your chest and stomach.

“Probably use those pretty little hands, leave marks. Bruises I'd feel every time I breathe.”

You twirl the strings around your fingers, leading him into your place. It feels like tugging on a leash tied to a dangerous dog— wild and unpredictable, tethered to you and you only. He catches the door before it slams shut, closing it without looking, dark eyes honed in on you. Makes your stomach do flips.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

His silence is answer enough, a smirk playing on his face. You muse, shoving him toward the couch with a playful push,

“Maybe I'd keep it simple, knife to the heart. If I could find it.”

He spreads out on the cushions, pulling you to him, making you straddle one of his thick thighs.

“Sounds painful, tell me more.”

“Maybe I'd tie you up. Make you beg for your life.”

When you say that, he groans— an honest-to-god groan and his grip on your hips tightens.

“It’d be hard, getting through all that muscle and bone,”

He grabs your wrist, making you press two fingers on the hard, fast pulse right under his jaw.

“Be quicker and easier to hit it right here. Faster way to go out.”

You cock your head to the side, biting back a moan feeling the beat of the vein under his skin go impossibly fast when you hum.

“Think I'm gonna go easy on you?”

His response is instant, almost desperate if you thought he was capable of that emotion.

“I hope to God not.”

He wraps himself around you, pressing you up against his solid frame like he's trying to meld his body to yours.

***

He's been at this for long, too long. He hasn't even taken off either of your pants, all too happy to have you grinding your pants against his denim. It's got you so pent up, you're half crazed, panting in the crook of his neck and mumbling pleas for relief.

“Want you, Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head and you groan in frustration.

“Been a real brat lately, can't reward that kind of behavior.”

“Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Sound so pretty, begging for me.”

You're trying anything at this point. Anything but ripping his clothes off. Or yours.

“Don't you wanna feel good too?”

Your tone is so dulcet, it's almost too sweet in your mouth, words dripping with a carefully calculated innocence. You play with the waistband of his jeans, before you can get too far he takes hold of your wrist.

“I know what you're trying to do.”

There's a pause while you pull back to look at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Is it working?”

“Hmm…”

“Simon!”

You huff, almost whiny. He relents, only a little, bouncing you on his thigh once before forcing your hips to grind down harder on him. It makes you lean into him again, he presses a soft kiss on your temple, the kind of gesture that feels almost like he's mocking you with a false sense of soothing. As if he feels bad for you—his touch gentle but somehow condescending.

“Poor thing, could've gotten it sooner if you wanted to. Closed mouths don't get fed, you know?”

He sounds amused, lips still brushing against your temple. Your mouth finds its way to his neck, he lulls his head back, giving you more access to it. It's sweet, tender, starting at his collarbone and moving up slowly until you get to the artery he made you press up against earlier. The moment your teeth press up against it, he comes undone.

“Gaggin’ for it that bad?”

The sound of his belt clicking makes you downright giddy, you lick his neck, feeling his heartbeat under your tongue.

“Mhm…”

He grabs your hand to shove it down his pants and your brain goes static for a moment.

“Had me waiting all this time, and now you want it?”

It's growled into your ear, something about the way it's almost spat out, mean—it sends jolts of electricity between your legs.

“C'mon, show me how much you missed it.”

Your face heats up at his words and he lets out an entertained huff.

“He missed you too, ya know.”

A breathless giggle escapes you when he flexes, making his dick jump in your hands. You pull him out of his pants, eyes going wide. You've felt how big he was before, but seeing it was a whole different thing. Made it all real. Something about the way his pink tip peeked out made you laugh a little, a fleeting thought of him blushing everywhere, even on his dick.

“What?”

He furrows his brows a little, curious.

The truth tumbles out of you before you can stop it. You think you've made a mistake until you see him. His face is unreadable at first, and you brace for some sharp quip or a look of annoyance.

But instead, Simon’s reaction is… different. His ears go pink first, followed by a deep flush creeping up his neck. You want to laugh again but he creeps a hand up your spine to the back of your neck, guiding you into light kisses. You still manage to slip out a few giggles in-between, a smile creeping up across his face. It's such a warm moment, you almost forget about holding him until he twitches in your hands.

“Got the prettiest laugh.”

“Is there anything that you don't think is pretty about me?”

You ask, teasing him.

“No.”

His answer is quick, unwavering, and so serious that it makes your breath catch. You search his face, expecting the usual smirk or a sly remark, but there’s nothing there but honesty. He clears his throat, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he tries to mask it.

“Right, let's get these off.”

He guides you off him so you can stand, he shimmies your pants and underwear off. Once you kick off the fabric pooled around your feet he leans forward, breath hot on your mons.

“Missed her.”

He says so quietly, almost to himself.

“Your pretty girl?”

You run a hand over his buzz cut, and he grips the sides of your bare thighs.

“Yeah…my pretty girl.”

A wet kiss on your most sensitive spot makes your legs tense up. He traces slow, indulgent circles, like this was more for him than you. The tension in your body mounting with every flick of his tongue.

He goes on like this until your knees almost give way from a quick, hard suck. He holds you up with a strong grip under the crease of your ass.

“Think you can stand on your own for a minute, love?”

You’re far past the point of throwing a smart remark his way, your body humming with the tension he’s left simmering under your skin. Instead, you nod quickly, eagerly.

“So good for me, angel. How'd I get so lucky, hm?”

It’s less a question and more an indulgence, the kind of thing he says to soak in the moment while he shoves his pants down to his thighs. When he pulls you towards him, guiding you to settle on his lap, just brushing his tip over your slick entrance, you follow without hesitation—soft, pliant, docile.

“Such a sweet thing. Only for me, right?”

Before you get to answer, he drags your hips down, pushing himself inside you. The stretch borders on discomfort—not just because it's been a while, but because he's thicker than anyone you've ever had before.

It's all so overwhelming— his voice, his touch, his body—all glut and heavy with want. The weight of it crashes over you, leaving you dizzy, untethered. Every word he speaks seeps into your skin, warm and lingering, while his hands, firm yet reverent, treat you like something both fragile and fiercely desired.

When he slides you down more, you tense up. Thighs flexing, clenching around him. It draws a curse from him,

“Fuck…yeah, only for me.”

The moment is so much softer than you imagined it to be—aside from him trying to lick the inside of your mouth. It's coos and words of encouragement,

“Look at you, taking it like a big girl,”

“Bet you needed this as much as I did,”

Big, rough hands gliding up and down your body, squeezing gently. Slow, deep strokes sink into you until you're a shaking mess, arms wrapped around him, clinging onto him like he's your lifeline, mumbling nonsense into his neck. He's taking full advantage of the moment, of course, his voice low and dripping with amusement as he watches you come undone for him.

"Gonna be like this all the time now, pet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Only like this for me, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You whisper, the words spilling out as easily as your control.

“No one else gets to touch you like this, huh?”

“Uhn-uh.”

Your lips brushing against his neck, your heartbeat hammering against his chest, sweat slick against the skin.

And it goes on like this, making empty promises with the devil. Signing yourself away with no hesitation, no second thoughts. Because he kisses you so tenderly it makes you flutter everywhere. Because the way he lifts you up just to buck his hips up into you makes your brain leak out of your ears. Because here, pressed against him, drowning in his voice and touch, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

He hits that spot that makes your nerves taught. You're a string wound up too tight, his name spilling from your mouth again and again, each time more ragged, a little more whiny and desperate, until it finally snaps. You shatter, the force knocking the air from your lungs while he throws his head back, your name leaking out like it's the only word he knows. You're overstimulated, thighs burning and shaking while he ruts into you. You're pushing him with flimsy arms, whining about how ‘it's too much’. That only seems to egg him on, though, spurring him to murmur filth between honeyed kisses,

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,”

“Split you apart everyday and you'll fucking thank me for it, won't you?”

He doesn't even look for an answer from you, more than happy to bask in the mess he made of you. A few more strokes has him choking mid-sentence, sinking so deep inside you think he might've been serious about splitting you apart.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breaths shared between the two of you

“You with me, angel?”

He sighs, his lips press against the skin right over your heart. He lingers, sucking softly, the kind of pressure that's going to leave the skin tender for days—a reminder of him.

You nod, barely able to find your voice, but he waits-patient, his hands wrapping around yours.

"Yeah…”

You finally manage, squeezing a hand that completely engulfs yours, brushing against it with your thumb.

"Good,"

He whispers, his lips brushing against yours again.

"That's all I need.”

And in the back of your mind, as his touch lingers, there's a small fleeting thought:

Oh, you're fucked.

prev |

[kitkat13001]

𝄞 𓍢ִ໋ ✮⋆˙ 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚜

⤷ tomura shigaraki / tenko shimura x reader

⤷ au where shigaraki grows up normal, emo loser neighbor pining tomu, rambunctious reader, inspired by “me & my dog” and “not strong enough” by boygenius, you can all thank kisa for this

tomura wishes he was as brave as you. 

you always say whatever you’re thinking, no matter what it is or who’s around or whether or not it makes sense. 

you always know what you want, even when you don’t. tomura never knows what he wants, even when he does. 

it’s always been like this, ever since you were kids. you talk, you yell, you joke, and tomura listens. he runs after you when you take off sprinting. he sits you on his bed and puts bandaids over the scrapes on your knees after you’d tripped from running too fast, from pushing another kid over on the playground.

tomura wishes he was more like you. he wishes he’d speak up when other kids made fun of him. he wishes you didn’t have to fight his battles for him. 

he spends a lot of his time wishing things, staring up at his ceiling fan like it’ll magically make these things come true. 

you don’t wish for things. in tomura’s eyes, you reach out and bend reality to your every whim. things work out for you like that, he thinks. you mold the universe with your bare hands and wring every drop of life from it until you get exactly what you want. he admires your tenacity, he really does. he just wishes it would rub off on him. 

you’re sleeping over at his house again. it was raining when school let out, and you had got into another fight again. he’d noticed the way you winced on the way home as the water ran over the raw scrapes on your elbows and knees. so he took a page out of your book and spoke up. 

he feels stupid bringing it up, insisting you stay because of the rain like you don’t live just a few houses down. he’s eternally grateful you don’t bring this fact up and instead shrug and agree to stay the night. 

it’s not the first time, and it’s probably not the last. you follow him in, kick your shoes off at the door and stand dripping in his bedroom’s doorway as he rummages around for spare clothes for you. 

he turns his back while you change, and then you both sit on his bed in silence. there’s been some strange tense energy in the air all day. you’ve been quieter than usual. and tomura’s never been good at filling the silence. 

he’s grateful for a split second when he hears you speak. 

“tomura, do you like me?”

and then it hits him. god, he could just die. 

“how do you do that?” he asks in an embarrassed sputter before he can stop himself. 

“do what?”

“just say things like that!”

you blink at him. “like what?”

“like you don’t think about it a million times before you say it.”

“i don’t?” you tell him, and he wonders how someone can look so beautifully confused. 

tomura buries his burning face in his hands, unable to even look at you. 

your hands are soft when you pull his arms away, soothing away the itch on his skin before it forms. 

“tomura, why didn’t you ever tell me anything?” you ask him quietly, eyes like a campfire in the night boring straight through his own. 

“i can’t…i’m not…” he’s scrambling for purchase on reality now. you’re so close he can feel the warmth coming off your face, smell your faint shampoo and perfume. “i wish i was more like you,” he whispers finally. “i’m not good with words, and i…”

he trails off and you shake your head a little. “tomura, i don’t like you because you’re like or not like me. i like you because you’re you.”

every time he thinks you can’t possibly surprise him more, you do. your hands are warm against his where you’re holding them in your lap. 

he wants to ask you why, how, why, why why? but he doesn’t. he just lets his eyes close when he sees you lean forward a little to kiss him. 

and then, nothing. he opens his eyes after a minute and you’re standing there, barely an inch from his face. your lips almost brush his when you speak. 

“nuh-uh. if you want me to kiss you, say it. tell me you want me.”

“i want you,” his whispers immediately, like a prayer. almost against his will, just because you told him. 

so you smile, huff a little, and lean in to kiss him just like he’d asked. 

maybe he can be brave, tomura thinks. at least, with you by his side. 

icons from pinterest (not mine) and divider by @/cafekitsune — this has me feeling some typa wayyyyyy ugh loser bf shiggy has a VICE GRIPPP on me. anyways this is dedicated to kisa (@/shigarakislaughter) and their very big big brain, thanks for putting me on boygenius 🫶🫶🫶

[cherrygirlfriend]

(not) lost and found pairing: reader x sistersfiancé!rafe synopsis: when reader has to return her sister's shoes, she sees her fiancé again. this time, in a different state than before. warnings: hurt and comfort, reader stitches up rafe wc: 1.5k

people have been wanting me to write more for them and i've been meaning to i swear!! just haven't gotten around to it lmao but more interesting stuff for this pairing is coming

"jenny, no." you sighed exasperatedly into your phone, "i already told you, no. i'm doing homework."

"but it's technically your fault?"

"how is it my fault that your drunk ass left your damn shoes in my car?" you scoff, and if it wasn't so typical of jenny, you wouldn't be able to believe the nerve she'd have to even say it was your fault that she was too drunk that she couldn't even remember to take her shoes.

"just take them to my place, alright! i'm on a trip right now and i don't need your shit."

"i'm not a damn lost and fo-"

before you could finish your sentence, your sister had hung up on you, and although you tried to call her again, she wouldn't answer. the bitch was ignoring you, as usual.

so, that was how you ended up driving to the house your sister shared with her fiancé while rain was pouring down the sky, your windshield wipers working overtime to make sure you'd get there without slipping off the road.

when you finally parked in front of the house you'd been at only a few days prior, you leaned the back of your head against the headrest, gazing at the lit-up windows of the home. you wanted so badly to not be jealous of the life she had, to not give her the satisfaction of knowing how much you'd always envied her; envied the way your parents had always preferred her, how you'd always felt more like a burden to them than a child.

taking a hit from a vape pen and tossing it to the passenger side of your car, you breathed out the vapor before getting out of the car, slamming the door closed behind you, flimsily holding onto your older sister's louboutins, a petty part of you wanting to accidentally drop them to the ground as you made your way to the door.

but when you reached the door, lifting your hand to knock on the door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. with furrowed brows, you stepped inside, your ears filling with the noise of loud shouts and sounds of glass breaking.

you placed down the heels as quietly as possible, pulling your phone out and dialing 911, holding the phone close to your chest as you walked closer and closer to the source of the noise, prepared to press call.

but what you came across caused your brows to furrow.

jenny's fiancé's back was facing you as he threw a vase on the ground, the smashing noise ringing in your ears as you brought your hands to cover them.

"fucking bitch!"

you didn't know what to do, simply watching the man throw a picture into the ground, the glass of the picture frame blending in with the glass from the vase. what used to be jenny's glamorous living room now looked like it was one of those rooms people go to smash up old electronics and plates, just missing the graffiti on the walls, but in place of them were a few fist-shaped holes.

when rafe picked up a glass of amber liquid to his lips, you figured it'd be your best chance to make your presence known, so you cleared your throat, saying his name in a soft voice. "rafe?"

the man turned to look at you, letting out a soft, dry chuckle as you pursed your lips, looking around at the wrecked room. "what are you doing here? is your sister drunk again? 'cause if she is, she can sleep on the fuckin' lawn for all i care."

"no, she just left her shoes and..." you shook your head, taking a few, wary steps towards the man, pocketing your phone. "what's up? did something happen with...?"

"your sister?" rafe let the now-empty glass fall to the ground, a few drops of whiskey now decorating the pile of glass as it smashed, rafe collapsing onto the ground, leaning his head against the back of the formerly-immaculate white couch, that now seemed to be covered in red wine. "that'd be the understatement of the century."

you noticed a gash on his arm, a rather large piece of glass sticking out, red blood staining his white sweater, "rafe, you're bleeding."

the man chuckled, looking down at the cut and shaking his head, "i didn't even notice. woops."

"let me go get my stuff."

"it's really-"

"shut up." you say sharply, rushing outside to your car.

you were kneeling next to rafe, the man pressing a cloth to where the piece of glass had been lodged in while muttering something under his breath while you poured disinfectant onto another cloth. "this is gonna sting, but if you're gonna be a baby about it, i'm gonna let you bleed out."

rafe let out a small, nearly inaudible chuckle and the ends of your lips twitched slightly upwards, "i'm pretty sure i'm not gonna feel it with how much whiskey-"

his sentence was interrupted by a loud hiss he let out when you took away the cloth he'd been holding against his arm, starting to press the one with disinfectant against the wound, your lips curving into a proper smile.

"is my pain funny to you?"

"no." you looked at rafe to see a small smile on his lips, "it turns me on."

rafe let out a guffaw at your statement, shaking his head as you began putting monofilament thread onto the curved needle, the man's brows furrowing as he watches. "how do you even know how to do all this?"

"you don't know?" you let out a chuckle, "of course, why would i assume my dear sister ever speaks about anything other than herself. i'm studying to be a doctor."

"i didn't know that." rafe watched as you brought the needle to his wound, "have you done stitches before?"

"on fake skin." you shrug, starting to stitch up his wound, "so, why did you do all this? you're lucky that thing didn't lodge any deeper."

"i could've just gone to an actual hospital."

"yeah, but wouldn't you rather give your future sister-in-law some practice?" you said, not noticing the way rafe was gazing at you, your tongue peeking out, your brows furrowed in a way that caused small wrinkles to appear on your forehead. "spill."

rafe let out an exasperated sigh, looking away from you, instead focusing on all the broken glass on the ground. he'd have to figure out a way to fix it before jenny got home.

"your sister's cheating on me."

a small oh left your lips as you continued.

"i saw texts on her phone before she left. she told me she was going on a work trip for the law firm she's interning with but she's currently at some hotel with the guy she's seeing."

"she... she always told me she was going out with you, at least once a week, but i'm starting to realize it's not true, is it?"

you chewed on your lower lip as you continued stitching the wound, letting out a soft, quiet, "i'm sorry, rafe. i see her like, once a year on christmas."

rafe nodded his head slightly, "lucky you." the man chuckled dryly, "it all just... made me feel like i'm not enough. that no matter what, the people around me are gonna keep betraying me. that i can never trust anyone."

you let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "i know how that feels."

"you do?" rafe looked down at you, as you finished tying the end of his suture, cutting the thread.

you sat up straight, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you started packing away your stuff. "everyone's always preferred jenny over me. everyone's always picked her over me. my parents always preferred her. every guy i liked always thought she was prettier. all my friends always thought she was cooler." you chew on your lower lip, your throat starting to hurt from the emotion you were trying to hold back, avoiding his gaze, "my entire life, i spent living in her shadow. my entire life i've been 'jenny's sister' and nothing else."

"that can't be true."

"you know what my parents' reaction was when i got into med school?" you chuckled dryly, your eyes turning glassy as you finally looked to rafe, "'that's great sweetie. anyway, did you hear that jenny got engaged? her ring is so gorgeous. oh, and she's doing so well in law school!'" you mimicked your mother's voice, letting out a sigh. "and jenny thrives from it. she's always loved that she's better than me. even as kids, she did everything she could to one-up me."

"she's not." rafe took your shaking hand in his, enveloping it in his larger one, "you just stitched up a half-stranger when you could've just left when you saw me destroying shit. your sister would never do something that selfless. i don't even think she has a selfless bone in her body."

"you're starting to sound like me." you let out a chuckle, shaking your head, "how come you're engaged to her, then?"

"maybe i don't have any either." rafe shrugs, "but i'm not letting her get away with this. i'm not someone to be messed with."

"that sounds ominous."

"you have no idea." he smiles, squeezing your hand.

[mellowwillowy]

Your boyfriend had always been charming with how easygoing he was toward everyone. That was what drew you to the younger man, he knew which buttons to press to impress you a tad too well.

Everyone envied you. You were just a nobody while your boyfriend was an everything. A rich sole heir from a prestigious family which you weren't aware of until it was two years into the relationship. He might be testing you or whatever but the result proved to be satisfying when he learned that you were someone far from the shallowness he had been seeing. You did not measure him by his competency and wealth, you measured him by his compatibility with you.

You were a fresh breath for him who had been living a suffocating life for 25 years, bound by decisions that were made by his family.

You were something he could finally obtain by his own hands, his own decision, and something he could finally be obsessed with. It wasn't a fleeting obsession like an attraction toward a trending band. It was far from it. It was an addiction, a drug injected into his vein. And you would never notice it until it was too late for you. Cillian was a man far from your ideal but he could mold himself just to be your boyfriend. He would play pretend to be a funny man who just went on his harmless whims and your dictations. He knew he hated his family's dictations on his life but you?

He was just playing along. You were far from the terror his family gave him for all these years alive. But he wouldn't let you know to protect that one fragile pride you could only rely on.

... He was starting to sound like your best friend...

For someone who had reached their late 20s, you never expected to date someone who had just reached their mid-20s. A charming, handsome man who loved to crack countless jokes just to see you smile. Romance didn't suit you. You had always thought you'd live until the 50s single while working endlessly for a hopeful retirement.

But everything changed the moment you dated him. You'd lead a domestic life together where the two of you would work together for a future you had carefully planned.

"I think you might graduate in 1998 so how about we get married after you get your doctorate?" Cillian asked you tenderly as he eyed your occupied ring finger, measuring your finger size while also disdainfully tugging on the silver ring your best friend gave you as a bridesmaid gift.

"That sounds just right to me, it might be too late for me already but it's a perfect age for you to marry me."

Cillian was five years younger than you and he would be 28 by the time you two got married. You didn't care about people's opinions. Their snickers did not determine your choice of life.

Cillian pulled your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes closed while he ran his mouth about how much he loved you. About how much he couldn't wait for the future where the two of you were bound by the wedding vow and rings, as one.

"I'd never leave you. We are meant to be one." he mumbled as he intertwined your hand with his, "... I will find a way to have you close to me forever."

You cocked your eyebrow at his words but said nothing in response, shrugging it off as some melodramatic profession of love until it finally hit you that he meant it. Four years into the relationship, he decided to break it off because he was called back home to marry a woman of his family's choice. It was exactly one year before the two of you were supposed to marry each other and yet he selfishly ended it.

He was the one who professed his love the most yet he was also the one who ruined it. He ruined everything, your life plan and schedule all burned down just like how you burned the wedding invitation. He'd pay for the flight ticket from America to France and cover all the commodities because that was all he could do to see you again.

He could never pay you back for what he had done to make you suffer. The year wasted on college leave, the hospital and psychiatrist bill to mend your broken dream and mental and the life schedule you had planned before you even met him; he could never fix it back.

"Because the only thing you have is your stupid wealth and stupid power scandal with everyone around me, destroying bits of my life!"

The man dared to see you personally in your home country. It was 1999, a year after his marriage and a few months after you graduated. Everything had been a living hell ever since you two broke up. Your education journey went into a downfall along with your career dream as a perfumer and now he proudly destroyed your career as a professor as well.

All in exchange for you to become his secret lover and move to France together with him yet he worded it as though this was more of an opportunity for you to finally be a professor in one of France's prestigious universities.

"... I will find a way to have you close to me forever."

Cillian had always been a charming young man but all you saw now was the sight of a faceless monster who tore your future apart out of his idealism with love.

He knew he was no different than you. The two of you were a match made in hell and now you had to live in hell itself.

Reference: Episode 5.0 and 5.5 from Power Scandal

[slvttyplum]

"an apprenticeship? really? he should be studying under you, why are you letting him do it." the tone in your voice changing causing naruto to turn around, his eyes furrowed as he walks over to you, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed, staring at you wash your hands in the sink.

"what's that supposed to mean?" your voices going quiet.

the silence was damning, you knew what you said and how you said it was wrong, but you were the only one who could talk to naruto in a way where you weren't coddling words, that's why he loved you.

"you gonna answer me or just say what you want without expecting a response?" naruto also said shit like you did, causing lots of arguing.

"excuse me?" quickly turning off the sink, and he could read your face like a book, his body stiffening and his blood running cold. he just couldn't let you have the last word, and he got into deep shit for it.

"you wanna do this now?" turning off the water and quickly wiping your hands off with the towel that hung beside you, wasting no time to mimic his position while looking at him, eyebrows furrowed and all.

"you know what? let's do it." his conscience telling him to back down now and not to cause any more drama, to just apologize and say that the both of you would talk about it in the morning, but his pride was just too damn big.

"alright, let's do it. one. you're never home, the only time you're home is when it's a life or death situation or for sex." naruto's mouth opening for a rebuttal but quickly closing back when you hold up your hand holding up two fingers.

"two. i have to do everything around this damn house including parenting, yet you don't want my advice on what your children should or shouldn't be doing." naruto once again opening his mouth trying to defend a case he hasn't even built yet, but you're a little too fast, adding a third finger to the mix.

"three. i'll go easy on you and let this be the last one." every time i critic sasuke, you're the first to defend him. this man made your life a living hell, the least you can do is not defend him every fucking time."

a few seconds of silence pass and naruto's face unclenches, his whole body does. a smile forming on his face as he turns towards you, leaning on the counter again.

"you know, i missed this." your face scrunching in confusing as you tuck your arms in again, you could always count on naruto to look like he just one a million dollars when getting degraded.

"are you fucking delusional? did you hear anything i just said?" naruto still smiling, walking towards you, his hand around your waist and his eyes tracing your face.

"i did, loud and clear, my love. i missed you putting me in my place, telling me how it is, because you're right." your mouth open with shock, narutos hands rubbing over your ass and a grin on his face, this was the first time in fifteen years he's said that you were right… fifteen years.

"i'll be better, i'll do better, starting with us. i won't let him do the apprenticeship, he'll study under me. hm?" his eyes now locked in on yours, the sincerity written all over his face, showing you that he was serious.

scoffing as your arms wrap around him, snuggling into his chest.

"finally got your fill of scolding?" naruto would be lying if he said he didn't get scolded every time he walked through the door, because he most definitely did.

before this, he didn't know when he would start being home consistently, being with you, helping around the house, helping his son.

he finally got the realization that there could be no more waiting, his family needed him now, he couldn't rely on his best friend to train his son, you put that into perspective for him, and he couldn't begin to thank you enough.

"i love you, im always listening when you think im not. let me be there for you." his hands rubbing back up to your waist, his arms squeezing around you, kissing the top of your head.

[thedeskofaltoclef]

How I became The Desk of Alto Clef.

My response to a SCP Group designed around Hate and Bigotry who have targeted me and others in this community.

Nah, man, my daughter is dead.

It has been brought to my attention that there is a group of people on the internet who are fascinated with my fascination of Alto Clef and Meri. Hurtful and yet cute in a way so I think now I'll choose this time and these screen grabs from their discord to explain how I came to be 'The Desk of Alto Clef'.

My Daughter died six years ago and it sent me spiraling deep into the bottom of whatever bottle I could find.

I was completely prepared to take my own life and even had the things to 'finish the job' because my life had no meaning at that point. What was another statistic going to matter anyways, right?

It was in one of these dark, drunk moments with a gun when I fell across the Volgun's video on 'reality benders and you' and fell into a rabbit hole.

Drunkenly I fumbled around the wiki and learned more about this broken man known as Alto Clef.

A man whom I could relate to in my own way. A man who, no matter what he did, could never see his daughter as I will never be able to see mine. So thus, I became a very, very shitty cosplayer.

I like to believe that over the past four years my acting ability has increased to a sustainable level and as much as I joke about things I do try to stay humble about it. Though I like to think I've become better but I digress.

I love the lore of Clef and Meri, on or offsite, to the point that I am weird about it I know, but that's how I stay connected to my daughter. Writing the Deskverse is how I stay connected to my daughter.

I am also autistic which causes me to hyper fixate on Clef as a coping mechanism.

Because of this group of people I have greatly considered leaving the community and going back to my own personal solitude. Acting, Voice Acting, Cosplaying as Clef gave and still gives me something to live for again. I may not be this group's cup of tea but I do like to believe that I have helped others. My main goal has always been to uplift those who need uplifting. I do not want anyone to ever feel how I felt in my lowest and darkest moments.

The main story in the deskverse is about a father and a daughter torn apart by the actions of an abusive mother. My real life story.

I also have ZERO clue as to why I am being involved with misogyny or yuri things. If I have offended you in any way I do apologize.

I do not plan on posting the more 'suggestive' or 'lewd' responses they have made. Overly sexualized content does make me extremely uncomfortable.

This group of people have broken my heart into pieces. Seeing this list of images and names dragging me through the mud has already smashed my unstable self-esteem as it is.

At this time I do not plan on releasing any names associated with all of this because I am honestly tired of reliving the most horrid event of my life over and over because I, for whatever reason, do not fit what this group feels is acceptable of an actor/writer/fan.

I cannot say the same for the others in which they were assaulting.

In summary Alto Clef is an outlet for the pain I live with every day. I can never see, hold, hear, smell, or speak to my daughter. I have scars on my body from her mother that will never allow me to forget that life I had. I will always remember the taste of gunpowder but thankfully my drunk ass was too weak. If your going to be bad at something, be bad at that I suppose.

I will leave all of this with a final image from the copious list and the one that honestly hurts me the most. I am honestly a shy and reserved person and frankly it takes a lot for me to get out of my comfort zone. Not long ago I went to another SCP discord server because I wanted to meet new people and someone in there was awesome. I truly enjoyed my time with this person and just found them amazing. They were kind, open, willing to listen to my ideas, and gushed over Numberonedoggo. I thought I had finally made a new friend on my own. I was apparently wrong.

Art, from some of my favorite artists, was made for the sole reason of mocking me specifically. To laugh at me for finding joy in something that gives me purpose. Something I use to drive away the darkness.

No age, disorder, illness, or reason at all can be acceptable for anyone to act in this way. You are all a mockery of everything the SCP community should stand for.

-TheDesk

[01zfan]

bad friend: AITA | s. es

boyfriends besfriend!eunseok x reader | 5.8k words

uhm…a little something i’m working on. i don’t condone cheating in any circumstance UNLESS you’re getting your lick back but most of the times I DON’T CONDONE IT. Also, nothing in this fic reflects either eunseok or sungchan's personalities. all fiction and all fun heh.

contains: cheating on your boyfriend with his bestfriend, sungchan and eunseok are bestfriends they swear, sungchan is a bad boyfriend and arguably a worse friend, eunseok is no better.

Eunseok knew you first. He made sure to stress that. He specified that he knew you long before Sungchan entered the picture. 

You were the barista who worked every weekday, standing behind the espresso machine that made Eunseok cortado and rung up the bottled of pressed orange juice that he nursed every morning.

With his computer in the corner closest to the outlets Eunseok knew you first. He talked to you first, he built a rapport with you and got close to you first. He knew about how being a barista was your part time job until you found a something related to what you studied in college, that you lived in the apartment complex ridiculously close to where he lived. 

Eunseok blamed the closeness of the cafe to his apartment for the reason you and Sungchan met. He didn’t say it was fate that you were at the cafe on a Saturday, but instead that it was by terrible design of your work schedule and coincidence that Sungchan wanted to tag along so badly. Eunseok said his roommate was awful for wanting to know how he spent his early mornings. Eunseok described it as keeping his lives separate, his safe haven away from his regular life. The balance was disrupted when he came in with Sungchan in tow and saw you perk up behind the counter to greet him. The slowness of the cafe early in the morning allowed you to ask about Sungchan, and his tendency to swoop in and steal things he knew Eunseok wanted made him talk your ear off for hours. 

Eunseok didn’t blame you nearly as much as he blamed himself. He didn’t expect you to know that he mostly started coming to the cafe to see you and steal bits of conversation throughout the morning. He didn’t expect you to pay attention to the way he paid attention to you. But that was his method of courting. Months of hopeless pining, and then one day when he could finally get the courage, he’d ask for your number. He swore he was going to do it soon, written on the back of a receipt he’d give to you before leaving the cafe swiftly. Then he would wait for a text back, or find a different cafe entirely if you messaged him that you weren't interested. Eunseok had a plan, an inkling of one, but a plan nonetheless. 

The plan was ruined when Sungchan leaned in close to him and asked your name. A simple question, but he knew the infliction of his bestfriend’s voice all the same. He had an interest in you, and Sungchan had a different way of courting. One that didn’t include months of reconnaissance but instead one that manifested to him getting your number before they even left the cafe. Eunseok watched it with his own two eyes. He was looking past his laptop screen in the corner of the cafe locked in on you and Sungchan. Leaning across the bar towards you and telling you his latte was well made. 

(Even though he told Eunseok that there was too much milk and the shots were burned. He also said that the pastry was dry, and that the music from the playlist you made was too boring. He also said that there was a better cafe ten minutes away, and Eunseok was wasting his time and money coming to this one.)

Sungchan smiled at you and you ducked your head as you smiled back. Eunseok watched with his own two eyes how you fell head over heels infatuation with Sungchan just from a single compliment. Something Eunseok had been working at for weeks, Sungchan did it in a span of ten minutes right before the morning rush started. He timed it perfectly. Right as customers started coming in he put his phone on the counter, asking you something Eunseok couldn’t hear. Then he saw you steal the fastest glance towards him before you wiped your hands off on your apron and reached for Sungchan’s phone. 

Eunseok also made sure to mention that you two had more in common than you and Sungchan ever did. You were both quiet, something Sungchan bothered Eunseok about but loved on you. He would always brag to Eunseok about how quiet you were, how you were so shy anything he did made you look down and smile sweetly. You both had nonconventional interests, ones that Sungchan mocked Eunseok for, so much to the point that you silently let your interests go. The first time you ever came over you looked at Eunseok’s manga collection. Eunseok didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up in familiarity before Sungchan remarked that his roommate was a weeb. Eunseok watched you let go of the manga before you nodded your head and smiled at your boyfriend’s joke. He even brought up the time that Sungchan said jokingly you two would make a good couple. Eunseok counted his lucky stars that his skin was already red from the liquor, and not from the shame of knowing you two would be a better couple.

Sungchan knew it too, Eunseok knew he had to. Sungchan unfortunately knew what Eunseok liked after years of knowing him and living in close quarters practically their entire adult lives. He saw the meek girls his roommate would bring around on the rare occasion. Shy just like him, they gushed over his manga collection and had quiet conversations about their interests. A majority of them were a spitting image of you. 

Sungchan had to have known that he was trying to do things right with you, and that’s why Eunseok tried to keep you two far apart. Long before their stark personality difference became a point of contention, Sungchan always had the habit of taking things Eunseok wanted. The toys in the sandbox. The valedictorian spot. The last pan fried dumpling. The bigger room in their shared apartment. 

Eunseok had his fair share of taking the things Sungchan wanted, but he made sure to omit that. He also made sure to omit the fact that he never explicitly said he wanted the aforementioned things. Sungchan often cautioned his friend on being so easygoing, that it opened the opportunity for people to take advantage of him. Sungchan prided himself on being attentive, but he could only do so much. How was he supposed to know not to take if Eunseok said nothing about it? Of course he noticed the touching and the stolen glances and Eunseok’s kicked puppy expression, but he is only human. You didn’t stop him from getting your number and Eunseok didn’t do anything about it either.

Sungchan knew that Eunseok was meek. He knew his bestfriend had the tendency to let Sungchan walk over him in the name of diplomacy. But Sungchan would’ve never thought it’d all culminate into what happened apparently a week ago from last night.

You and Sungchan were really happy together at first. Everyone knew it. Opposites attract, he got you out of your shell and you showed him new things. In the beginning, when you two were finding out about eachother, each day was something new. Your giggles filtered through the walls and boomed in the quietest of places. You two went outside dressed the same, hand in hand trying new places together. Eunseok even mentioned in the beginning that you two seemed to make a good couple. He was looking at his game when he said it and it was a quick comment thrown over his shoulder, but it was validation nonetheless.

You two were good for eachother. 

Were.

Towards the three month mark there was a bump in the road. Sungchan told Eunseok in confidence that there was hesitancy in your side. The cocked eyebrow in Eunseok’s expression should’ve told Sungchan to stop talking. But he kept going, laying into his grievances of you and your relationship. You were too quiet, too shy. You didn’t like going out, but you were always breathing down Sungchan’s neck when he would enjoy his nights. Sungchan could admit he was being a little dramatic, but when you are drunk two texts seems like your phone is being blown up. 

He chalked it up to you two not being matched well. Eunseok chalked it up to that too then. His friend asked him carefully after a beat of silence if Sungchan was going to break up with you. He couldn’t describe the emotion then, but now Sungchan would define it as indignation that bubbled in his chest when he shook his head quickly and said no. 

Towards the four month mark, you and Eunseok started to get close. Sungchan believed then that it was another one of your small acts of defiance. When you really broke out of your shell and started bringing up your grievances, he was quick to find an excuse. Those girls that hung around Sungchan were just a part of his much larger friend group, and it wasn’t fair to take Sungchan away from his friends. Even if they had the habit of hanging off of him and calling him their boyfriend when drunk, they were just friends. You were reading too much into it, and you decided to test if you were overthinking things when you got a friend of your own. But it wasn’t your coworkers, wasn’t the strangers you met throughout your day. You didn’t look far to find Eunseok, and it wasn’t long before you were leaving to hang off of his arm when Sungchan was busy.

In the beginning, it was innocent. Atleast Sungchan can have peace of mind that in the beginning when you would take Eunseok to things he didn’t want to go to it was for companionship. Even though you had girl friends that were interested in those things, but Sungchan digressed. He didn’t want to have another fight and be forced to confront the fact that the girls he hung around wanted more than to just be his friend, and that he shamelessly entertained it when he was feeling like it. In the beginning, Eunseok was just your friend and a pawn in your game of chicken. Who would be the first to set the boundary, who would be the first to admit they were in the wrong? Sungchan knew then it wasn’t him, and he still had trouble admitting it now. Even if he was allegedly the one who pushed you right into Eunseok’s arms.

Eunseok didn’t spare the details after the warning. Sungchan couldn’t help but lean in even closer. He ignored the pain in his back as he focused.

The first instance of there being something more was when Sungchan chose his friends over you. The situation was so minor, something as simple as getting lunch with them over going to the store with you. Eunseok was with you during your errands, insisting on paying for your food and meandering through the aisles of a store with you. When you guys were in the game section you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the games you wanted to look at. Something that was so simple turned into something that had you two ducking your heads and never bringing it up again.

Until it happened again. The guilt was something you only seemed to bare until Sungchan chose someone over you again. This time it was at one of the few parties Sungchan was able to bring you to. He noticed that you were more than willing to go after Eunseok asked if he could tag along. Sungchan should’ve picked up on the signs, how you two had stopped talking for a few days after the lunch he didn’t ask you about. But you visibly perked up, asking Sungchan which outfit you should wear while Eunseok bit his tongue to hold back a suggestion.

Sungchan didn’t even know about the second time. He was admittedly too involved in a game of beer pong and brushing you off the whole night to know what you were doing. He was certain you had found a lawn chair in the backyard and stayed there, looking at your phone and sipping on a beer. He knew now that you were sitting there, waiting for your boyfriend to be done before the knight in shining armor came in. He crouched beside you in the lawn, the same beer in his hand as he offered you the bottled water that was in the other. You looked to Sungchan one last time before you took the water, and thanked Eunseok so sincerely but he only shook his head and said don’t mention it. He was entirely too cool as of late, and now Sungchan knew why. He bet Eunseok didn’t even ask you if you wanted to go somewhere else, he only flicked his head back towards the party that was continuing on inside before you got up from your chair and dusted yourself off. 

Sungchan could admit now he remembers you telling him where you were going. He wasn’t paying much attention to your quiet voice as he tried perfecting the bend in his arm to throw the ball into the cup across the table. But he did know he acknowledged you leaving because he thought you’d be right back. He didn’t know you were leaving to sneak upstairs through throngs of people.

The dimly lit bathroom let Eunseok see all of you. The way you pulled him closer, the way you locked the door before looking up to him entirely.

Eunseok described your lips as shiny. The were covered in a thin layer of the gloss that he bought for you on another run to the shop. The cashier told you that you had a good boyfriend and you didn’t deny it, even if the man swiping his card was very much not your boyfriend. Your lips were soft and slow pressing against his, and hesitant until Eunseok looked you deep in your eyes and asked you if this was alright. He could swim in his reflection in your wide eyes as you slowly nodded your head up and down. When he said you could stop him at any time and moved his hand to cradle the back of your neck you went in more sure of yourself. The light pecks Sungchan complained about turned into something more hungry quickly. The hunger made Eunseok’s other hand wander your body quickly, feeling the parts of you only Sungchan had touched. Your mutual hunger made Eunseok lift you up to place you on the edge of the sink, it made you stick your tongue into his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” 

That was the first time Eunseok ever let the confession slip out. He meant it with everything in him, and it showed that he didn’t regret what he was doing. He would never leave you alone the way Sungchan left you alone, he would never leave you to think that anyone in his life held a candle to you. You didn’t refute his claims either. You only pulled away and nodded again with tears beginning to dot your waterline before you went back in again. 

Eunseok only took his hands off of you to take his jacket off. The top layer was entirely too hot as you pushed it off his shoulders. He didn’t care if his jacket fell to the floor of the bathroom, black hides stains and he didn’t want to take his lips off of yours. You two breathed into eachothers mouths to avoid breaking apart entirely, and when his jacket was off you pulled him so close and so fast by his white shirt he had to brace himself by holding the edges of the ceramic sink. He gave you his tongue quickly, laving the top row of your teeth as his hands found your thighs again. 

Eunseok had to take a detour just to say how everything about you was just so soft. He couldn’t believe it. A tiny part reserved only for himself he talked about your soft hands, soft lips, soft legs, and soft heart. It wasn’t fair someone as kind as you was pushed to do such terrible things. He lamented that you were so loyal, and Sungchan often said one of the best things about you was that you were too shy to cheat.

But as the tight skirt Sungchan suggested rode up your legs, you weren’t that person anymore. When you nodded as Eunseok wedged his hands between your thighs you weren’t meek. He was enamored by the soft feeling of your thighs closed around his hand, bringing him closer to the fabric of your panties. Eunseok was completely surrounded by you as he dragged his hand against you, the heavy pressure against your cunt made you whine into his mouth. Sungchan and Eunseok could both agree on your sounds being beautiful. Your reactions made him want to continue. He would’ve done it, if your phone didn’t start vibrating from a call on top of the toilet seat. The sound of the vibrations pulled you from Eunseok entirely. Sungchan’s picture taking up your entire screen made you realize the situation you were in. 

He had to go through another week of radio silence from you after the party. Eunseok described it as guilt. Even when Eunseok found out Sungchan never found out, you two refused to go back to normal. Even when he continued to choose his friends over you, you were still quiet. The third time Eunseok had to go to you.

Sungchan should’ve seen the signs. He knows that now. He came into their shared living room entirely too heated. Eunseok was already there, his interest piqued as he paused his show. He asked Sungchan what was wrong, and he could only pretend nothing happened for a second before he spilled everything.

“She broke up with me.” Sungchan said.

He opened the fridge just to close it. Leftovers from your takeout sat right next to his, and your tiny reminder of him not to eat it was the first thing he say. 

“Did she say why?” Eunseok asked.

Sungchan had to furrow his eyebrows at the sudden tension that was in the room. Why did it feel like Eunseok was asking that question for all the wrong reasons? When Sungchan had been broken up with in the past, the only thing Eunseok offered was a drink and well wishes. Now he had the show completely paused, leaning forward like he was trying to pick up on every word. He should’ve listened to the hairs that raised on the back of his neck, but instead he shook it off. Maybe his friend was trying to be more involved, that had to be it. Eunseok was his friend before he was yours, and he didn’t have it in him to have ulterior motives. 

“She said we weren’t a good match.” Sungchan answered.

He was too distracted to see that Eunseok’s expression shifted. The tension dissolved and Eunseok let out the smallest sigh of relief before his sights cut back to the television. Sungchan was too focused on the comfort his friend was giving him. A pat on his back and an it’s okay was enough to convince Sungchan everything really was okay. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, he just didn’t meet his match. Sungchan went to bed telling Eunseok he was such a great friend.

He had no idea that once he went to bed, Eunseok was on his phone in an instant. Opening up your message history to tell you that Sungchan told him what happened. You told the truth and said you didn’t tell him about what happened at the party, but you lied by saying Eunseok wasn’t one of the reasons. If he truly wasn’t it wouldn’t have been so easy to open your door to him. All Eunseok had to tell you was that your leftovers were still in the fridge, and he could bring it to you and you two could talk. Just talk, both of you specified that.

Sungchan would’ve loved to not know how long you lasted before you folded. But unfortunately, he knew it all. You invited Eunseok into your apartment visibly cleaned up from the crying you did all day, and you took the leftovers before throwing it in your fridge with the rest of your takeout. You didn’t even like the food from the restaurant. You put it in the fridge just to see if Sungchan would be a bother and eat it just like all the other times you left food in his fridge. Sungchan knew that you two started by talking on Eunseok’s couch, mentioning everything but the reason he was there and why you had used tissues balled up on your coffee table. It wasn’t until the movies credits started to roll that you two looked at eachother knowingly.

“He broke my heart.” You said truthfully.

The tears were so obvious. Eunseok was a mediator. He was a thinker down to the bone, always trying to get people to look at the situation objectively. But you crawled closer to him, your head resting over his heart as he put his arm over you. Eunseok gave in immediately, rubbing your shoulder before kissing the crown of your head.

“You deserve better.” Eunseok said.

Sungchan imagined that when the situation sunk in and you realized Eunseok was his friend everything fell into place. His comforting words served their purpose, but you wanted more. He even described the sad look in your eye shifting to lust with a hint of contempt as you looked up to him. Eunseok brought his other arm to your waist. That was soft too.

“I do.” You said quietly, looking to his lips.

The only part Eunseok spared was you leading him to the bed. Sungchan imagined that part vividly though, after a continuation of the makeout session Sungchan rudely interrupted by calling his girlfriend you jumped off the couch to grab Eunseok by the hand. He only wondered if Eunseok got undressed there, if you gave him a show taking off your clothes the same way you’d always do with him. He imagined his friend sitting there dumbfounded as you took off your shirt and bra. He imagined him drooling as your fingers messed with the band of your sleeping shorts. 

Eunseok didn’t know what to do with all of you, Sungchan refused to believe that. He was just a good storyteller, crafting a lie filled with the tiny habits Sungchan noticed very early on. The tiny squeaks you make, your affinity to being manhandled into place. Your tiny talk to me’s, because you need someone to talk you through everything. There’s no way Eunseok had it in him to flip you from your back to your stomach, to lift your bottom half and spread your legs apart with his hands as he slotted his body between them. There’s no way he could muster the audacity to lean in close until his front was pressing to your back to whisper he was so mean to you baby right in your ear. His meek friend didn’t have it in him. There was no way.

Sungchan looked on in disbelief at the thought of you whining and nodding hopelessly. You liked being crushed, to feel someone’s frame over yours. Eunseok would’ve superimposed your body as he separated from you, looking down at where he was about to be inside of you. If he fucked you in the dark he would be able to see you glisten, if he was able to get the bedside lamp on he’d see the way you preened and wiggled your ass towards his cock. You’d preemptively grab a pillow to muffle your moans as Eunseok pressed a hand to your lower back. He had to have everything perfect, he had thought about this for too long. Fucking you in missionary would’ve been ideal—he was a romantic after all—but he didn’t think you were ready. So he settled for fucking you in one of Sungchan’s favorite positions, one he raved about when it came to you. 

Eunseok slid in slowly. He said it himself, hand on the bible like he was testifying in court. Your hand quickly reached underneath you to feel the rest of his length as he slid in. When his hips kissed yours, and your hand was looking for somewhere else to go, he held it so tight and pressed it to your lower back. You started babbling about wanting him when he slid all the way out to his tip just to go right back in. When he started picking up the pace and clasped a hand around both of your wrists you started talking about love. 

Apparently your walls were soft to. Wet and warm and soft, clasping around his cock like you two were made for eachother. He made it his mission to make you forget about anyone else you had in that moment. Eunseok picked up the speed and let go of your wrists just to watch them fall heavy to the mattress. His hands grabbed at your waist to help guide you back. Eunseok put his hands behind his head and watched you do your own thing for a short period of time. He disappeared inside of you, the lewd sounds combining with the muffled whimpers behind the blankets. 

When you ran out of energy, like you always did, Eunseok moved his body forward. His front was against your back again, but the layer of sweat kept you glued together. Eunseok applied more and more weight on your body until you collapsed all together, your stomach flat against the mattress while Eunseok somehow wedged deeper inside of you. He was able to take away the covers entirely at this point, and your unbridled moans filled the room. They were pathetic whimpers at this point, cut off words, and the beginning of Eunseok’s name all rolled into one. He nodded and cooed to each one, kissing the side of your face to show he was with you.

“I got you.” Your pussy clenched around his cock again at the rough edge in his voice. “I’m here.”

He eventually had to start swiping your tears away with his thumb. He stayed still inside of you for a long time as you regained yourself. He selfishly wanted to draw out whatever this was, because after tonight you two would actually have to talk about what this was before going any further. So while you helplessly clenched around Eunseok in preparation for your orgasm he kissed you gently, trying to back you away from the edge.

“Seokie.” You babbled.

“Hmm.” His heart jumped at the nickname and how sweet it sounded coming out of your mouth in such a whiny tone.

“Feels good.” You uselessly tried lowering and lifting your hips in an effort to fuck yourself on his cock again. “Please keep going.” You begged.

You begged for more as if the line of drool and your body twitches weren’t enough of an indication. Eunseok still nodded and kissed your cheekbone again as he pulled back his hips to slam into you roughly. That’s what you always liked in the end. Rough and slow, Eunseok’s heavy pants on the sweaty base of your neck as he pressed he head against yours. He was feeling the edge himself as he started rambling off at the mouth.

“You’re so perfect.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I’d treat you so well.”

“All mine.”

These were all things you agreed with. Nodding against your blanket in between your loud moans and declarations of your own. You told Eunseok he was so much better right before you told him you were about to cum. You told him that your cunt liked him better, that it hit a spot deep inside of you. Sungchan didn’t know you had it in you to say such crude things in bed. He didn’t know you were capable of such intimate pillow talk afterwards. Asking him to stay the night, kissing and cuddling until the two of you fell asleep.

Sungchan knew that there were other times he had seen you. His friend that continued to come home at odd hours in the morning and midday with half-assed explanations was seeing you instead. Fucking you, holding you, talking about Sungchan with you. Even though that night was the only encounter Eunseok talked about explicitly, he knew there was more. 

When Sungchan saw that there were other dates marked underneath the conclusion paragraph that’s when he finally pulled away. He looked at the top of the Word document again, blinking hard as he tried to make sense of what he read. But it was right there for him, in big black bold letters, less than an admittance of betrayal but moreso the beginning of a thesis paper.

AITA: ME AND MY BESTFRIEND’S EX-GIRLFRIEND HAD SEX WHEN I WENT TO COMFORT HER ABOUT THEIR BREAKUP.

With his fingers on the trackpad, Sungchan scrolled to the bottom of the document back up to the top. The TL;DR summed up the situation Sungchan read with his own two eyes. 

He was still hanging off every word, from the beginning where Eunseok defined the codewords fro your two names down to the scroll blinking on the very last period, silently asking if the writer wanted to continue. The music playing throughout the lobby of this new cafe was more Sungchan’s taste, but he couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. 

He felt sick looking at the last edit made timestamp at the top. Less than ten minutes ago, while Sungchan sat right in front of Eunseok talking about his recent breakup. His friends reaction made sense now. The tiny nods to the details Sungchan didn’t remember mentioning before. How involved he was in the conversation, when just a week ago Eunseok seemed like he wanted nothing less than to talk about the relationship. Eunseok’s habit of asking about you first, his eyebrows knit in worry as he asked how you were handling all this. Eunseok taking your side instead of his. Everything made too much sense. The timelines coincided too. Sungchan remembers that stormy night when your location was off and he caught a whiff of you on his bestfriend the next morning. He thought it was the remnants of you taking up his mind, but now he knew it was really you.

Sungchan felt anger replace the bile when he remembered all the times Eunseok lied to him too easily. He was seeing you when Sungchan told him he was at the store, he was sneaking off to see you at parties in secluded rooms when he said he was getting drinks. When Eunseok looked his bestfriend dead in the eyes and said he hadn’t even thought about you, he had seen you the previous night. 

Sungchan was played a fool by the one person he believed to be dumber than him. He found solace in the fact that he could walk over his complacent friend, take what Eunseok wanted so desperately to be his. From the time they were kids up until a week ago, it was too easy. Eunseok’s submission was what made their relationship work. Now that Eunseok has turned their dynamic into a pissing contest—one that Sungchan didn’t know he was horrifically losing—he didn’t know what to do. 

His first instinct was to smash Eunseok’s laptop on the ground. The cement floor would’ve turned his laptop to smithereens. He could grab his coffee and poor it right over the keyboard. Maybe if he was lucky the thing would produce smoke, maybe even catch fire right before his eyes. Sungchan could also wait until Eunseok emerged from the bathroom, wait until he was unaware of everything and sucker punch him. They could start a brawl between these two tables, absolutely make a mess of this fine establishment. 

But then Sungchan thought about how Eunseok would have that smug look on his face. As of a week ago, Eunseok got increasingly better at pushing Sungchan’s buttons, saying comments so slick that it left him confused on how to react. He imagined it now, Eunseok’s calm demeanor before telling him Channie, why are you so quick to anger? Like he already knew how his friend would react if he knew what he was writing for the past hour. 

Being predictable is what made Sungchan take a deep breath. He  couldn’t behave the way he wanted to, the way Eunseok would expect him to. Also, there was that one time the two of them fought in grade school and Eunseok beat his ass. He’s sure he could take him now, he’s absolutely positive of it. But Sungchan tells himself he goes back to calmly sitting across from Eunseok because he has a plan. He smiles instead of letting his emotions show on his face when Eunseok comes out of the bathroom because he knows what he’s going to do. Sungchan doesn’t know what he’s going to do just yet, but it’s going to wipe the worried look off Eunseok’s face when he leans in close to Sungchan’s scowl.

“Is everything alright, Sungchan?” Eunseok points to Sungchan’s drink. “Is it the coffee?” He asks.

Sungchan shakes his head and takes a sip to prove it’s alright. Eunseok nods his head and goes back to typing. Sungchan nearly chokes on his drink.

“Better than the other cafe, right?” Eunseok asks, looking at his screen.

Sungchan watched his friend look from the document back up to him. He calms the fire in the pit of his stomach as he nods to his friend. Eunseok goes back to the document and Sungchan can see him switch to a different window. He grips the armrest of his sofa, something Eunseok doesn’t notice as he goes back to typing.

“Way better.” Sungchan says.

He messes with the rim of his cup. Another breath in.

“Eunseok.” He says.

Eunseok stops typing to look at Sungchan. The genuine concern on his face makes Sungchan want to lunge over the table.

“What did you ever do with that food left in the fridge.” When Eunseok looks confused Sungchan clears his throat. “From a week ago.” He specifies.

Sungchan watches him register what happened a weak ago. He has the nerve to hesitate and look up to think like he doesn’t already know. Sungchan’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he looks down at his coffee.

“I threw it out. So you wouldn’t have to deal with it.” Eunseok answers after a beat of silence.

Sungchan takes another deep breath in. He looks up to Eunseok with a smile on his face.

“You’re a good friend.” Sungchan says.

He can see the hesitancy in Eunseok’s head nod. Eunseok knows he can see it too.

[onekmaway]

(giving this blog some love 💚)

Rich. men. 🗣️

when he approached you and proposed the idea of being his sugar baby, you thought it would be those cliche stories

but those stereotypes were quickly thrown out when he said that he wanted to be the one taking the backshots 💔 telling you that for every orgasm he have, 10 grand (maybe more) would be inserted into your account ❤️

ofc he takes you to lovely dates outside of the bedroom too 🥰

-🌹

Rich. PATHETIC. men. 🗣️

Imaging you're a college student, your studies having drained you of life, you barely get sleep, and not to mention- you're broke, barely getting by, and not to mention, you had student debt too. But one day, you're scrolling through some dating app (that down bad, huh?), and suddenly gotten a match by some guy- it seems you two had a lot in common (or you simply lied), though, he was older- hell, almost old enough to be your dad, but hey? A pull is a pull- at least he was hot. And after a few dates, you started to like him, though, mostly because on each date, he paid for everything, and I mean everything, which... you did not mind, not at all- hell, you were too scared to even look at the bill, seeing that most of the places you two visited was fancy or expensive at least, so you weren't complaining- it wasn't like you two didn't hit it off, and he was happy enough to pay for all of you expenses.

One day, when you were visiting his penthouse apartment (yeah, he was that rich), and jesus, it made your dorm room look like a cubby, the view was nice too. While you two were drinking a bit, talking and what not- it got quiet, till you heard him ask: "Would- would you mind being my sugar baby?" He asked, making you just pause- god you were a bit scared of him asking this, why else was he spoiling you so much? But god, you were too broke, so pushing your pride away, you agreed. After a month or so, being his sugar baby, it was... well, smooth, he hasn't asked you to do anything, well, maybe a kiss here and there- and hell, he paid for all of you school debt, so that was a plus, you were allowed to live comfortably again. That is till one day, when he invited you to his penthouse, it started slow, talking, and then it turned into kissing, which was slow, passionate- till it turned hungry, needy even- this was the moment you dreaded, when you pulled away, trying to subtly telling him that you weren't really the type to take it up the ass, and that you were kind of a virgin in it- to which he simply chuckled, almost laughing out loud "Wait- no, no, no- I don't want to fuck you- I want you to fuck me" When he said that, you could feel some relief leave your body, but then it turned into a bit confusion- he, your sugar daddy, wanted to be fucked? "Look- I get it, I... probably didn't make it much clear, that, I apologize for... you probably thought I was like- this super dominant CEO type or something?" He asked nervously- everything made sense to you now, the way he acted around you, making sure you well and satisfied, staring at your arms, your muscles, each time you wear a tight shirt or tank top- the fact that you only realized now made you feel a bit dumb "So... will you fuck me?" He asked, bringing you back to the present, the situation finally dawning on you- and like that, you were balls deep inside of him- his hands holding the pillow like a lifeline, your hands gripping his hips oh so tightly as you bounced him back on your cock each time you thrusted inside of him, and god, those moans and groans coming out of his mouth was like a melody- despite him having told you it's been a very long while since he got fucked- he was taking it so well, like he was just made for your cock

His hole was gripping your cock so nicely- much better than the chicks at your college, their cunts pale in comparison of how his walls wrapped so nicely around your cock, "Oh- fuck! I think I'm close, please" He would moan out, his hole gripping your cock even tighter (if that was even possible), moaning each time your cock reached that one spot, that is till you slowed down a bit- wanting to prolong the pleasure just a bit longer, "Oh- fuck, please.... don't edge me now- not now, not when I'm so close" He whined out, pushing his ass back against your hips, trying to get you to fuck him faster again, and after torturing him just a bit longer- you began to fuck him faster again, a moan of delight leaving his lips, gripping his pillow harder as you fucked him into the bed. Now after all of that, he was spent- he knew sleeping with someone younger would drain him, but god, he was much more drained than he thought he would be- and you weren't even tired... yet at least, you were trying to find your boxers, confused where you threw it, he just reached for his bedside drawer lazily, digging around it till he found what he was looking for "Here... buy something nice for you... you made me cum after all" He mumbled out before just simply throwing his wallet at you, practically limp on the bed

Yeah, you could definitely get used to this

[sturnlsstuff]

FAMILIAR STRANGER | chapter six

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter five

— warnings; smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, rough, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, bratty reader, cursing, - english isn't my first language.

~~~

you have gone through many stressful situations in your life. most of the time you didn't care about anything, always chilling and thinking logically, not emotionally. however, there were moments when even you started losing your shit and they were always more intense than they should have been. one of them, for example, was taking your driving test, which kept you up at night. or your 18th birthday that stressed you out so much that you had to drink a bottle of wine alone before the party to get rid of the anxiety. or choosing what college you wanna go to, and whether you'll even get there or not. lots of stressful days in your life, lots of situations.

but your heart had never beat as fast as it did in this moment.

your thumb hovering over the 'send' button while you consider all the pros and cons of what you're doing. biting your lower lip nervously, feeling the taste of blood in your mouth, but even this doesn't stop you. you had to make a decision whether to text chris or not, and that wasn't supposed to be so stressful, but it was.

after he left you alone in his room at the party, you didn't see him at all. after fixing your makeup, you went back downstairs and found emma, telling her you were going home, needing to process whatever happened in chris's room and how it made you feel. she knew you were with someone, anyone would notice by the state you were in, even if you tried to make yourself look presentable for twenty minutes in front of the mirror in chris's room. somehow you managed to get rid of emma and her questions for now, ignoring her for two days. in fact ignoring everyone, needing some time alone, but it didn't feel like you were by yourself at all, with the way chris was in your mind every second of the day.

finally, before you could change your mind, you sent the message and threw your phone to the other end of the couch, hugging your legs to your chest and clutching your heated cheeks as if that would somehow help you. tense silence remains in the living room for the next two minutes, as you start to regret texting him.

another five minutes and you finally reach for your phone, ready to delete the message when you see three dots showing that he is replying. with w muffled scream, your phone flies across the room as you throw it again, a notification indicating a new message heard. for a second you just sit still, wheels turning in your head, but then you almost jump from your place, your legs on the couch, the rest of your body hanging off it as you steady yourself with one hand on the floor, the other picking up your phone and reading the message. you could feel the blood rushing to your head.

"bitch," you mutter to yourself, looking at the screen in pure disbelief. there's no way you were stressing for the past hour to send that fucking simple message, overthinking all night if you should even text him and how to do it to not sound too desperate, even wondering if three question marks is too much and maybe you should put one, and he just said he's busy.

unfortunately for him, you weren't a person who gave up easily, and if you finally decided to talk to him, you will do everything to make it happen. so you reply back, not having to wait for his response too long.

you roll your eyes, upset that you even tried to start any conversation with him, that you wasted the entire day yesterday and today thinking about him when he was clearly busy and definitely not overthinking anything like you did. you're not only mad at him, but also at yourself for being so stupid. after all it was chris, there's nothing to talk about here. he had his way with you and that's it, nothing changes.

not that you wanted it to change anyway.

leaving him on seen, you decide to take care of yourself a little bit, to relaxe since this stress made you feel and look terrible, bags under your eyes after two sleepless nights. so the next hour you spend in your bathtub, cool music filling your ears as you read a book, careful not to make it wet.

then you hear a noise coming from your room, at first thinking it's some hallucination from the lack of sleep, so you stop the music and listen, immediately hearing another muffled bang that makes you jump out of the tub, almost soaking your book. cursing under your breath, you wrap a towel around your waist, looking around to find anything which could be useful in defense. all you find is a glass flowerpot, so you take it, poking your head out from behind the bathroom door.

silence.

you carefully step out of the bathroom, water dripping onto the floor from your body as you walk slowly barefoot towards your room where the door was slightly open. it seemed stupid to go there, but you were acting out of adrenaline.

you heard another curse and the sound of the window closing, a frown appearing between your eyebrows as you gently opened the door, ready to attack whoever the fuck was in your room, clutching the flowerpot in one hand and holding the towel that was sliding off your body with the other.

"chris, what the fuck?!" your eyes wide as he turns around to look at you, dressed as a ghostface.

"i got fuckin' stuck," he removes his mask, running his hand through his hair, eyes immediately traveling up and down your wet body, covered by nothing but some thin towel.

immediately pressing the material against your body, now feeling strangely naked, your expression questioning him before your mouth could. he rolls his eyes, "told ya to remember 'bout closin' this fuckass window, didn't i?" he takes off his robe, leaving him in black pants and a t-shirt, his gaze had not left your figure, a strange shiver pass through him, which he only felt around you. "i knocked on the door, but you didn't answer again."

"couldn't you call me?"

he blinks stupidly, his eyes moving back up, "right." then he notices the flower pot in your hand, a low mocking laugh leaving his lips, "wanted to kill me with this?"

you glance at the flower pot, rolling your eyes and walking into the room to put it on the desk, feeling his eyes on you. "i was taking a bath, you idiot—" turning around, you almost jump when he's suddenly in front of you.

"i noticed," he smirks, tilting his head to the side. you try to ignore his intense gaze, "what do you want anyway?"

"you wanted to talk."

"weren't you busy?"

"took care of that," he retors. your eyebrow arches up as you peak out behind him at the mask and knife placed on the bed. "yes," he simply says, noticing your expression. you didn't need to know anything else.

"well, okay," clearing your throat, you grab some clean clothes from the dryer. "let me get dressed first."

"no need to rush," at the stare you give him, chris lifts his hands up in surrender and flops on your bed just as you leave the room.

you put on some shorts and a two size too big shirt, quickly cleaning up the bathroom as well. honestly, you were playing on time. you didn't expect him to come after he definitely said no in the text, and now you had no idea what to tell him, and the stress you were feeling earlier came back stronger than before.

finally finding the courage you leave the bathroom, finding chris in the living room looking at the photos you had on the wall. stopping in the doorway, you quickly tie your hair into a ponytail.

"i remember that," he points at one picture with you, him, his brothers and nate on it after one of your old friend's birthday party. you liked this one a lot.

"crazy night—"

"we danced together," he says casually though his voice a little weaker as if the memory of it was doing something to him. you're taken back that he even remembers since he was awfully high that night.

"yeah..." your voice unsure since neither of you ever mentioned it before. "-- yeah, we did."

the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile but he quickly hides it, licking his lips and settling on the couch. you take the seat next to him, keeping your distance.

after a short silence, he speaks up, "it was fun. that party." you agree with a nod of your head. that night you two were pretty chill, he was high, you were drunk and both of you just had fun, for a few hours not remembering that you disliked each other. sometimes you thought of it and wondered why couldn't it be like this all the time.

"so," he clears his throat, getting more comfortable on the couch, arm resting on the back of the sofa as he looks at you. "what's this super important conversation you've wanted to have with me?" his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"uh, right... about that—" you think about how to put it into words, heart pounding in your chest while your brain working at full speed. finally you just blurt out mindlessly, "we fucked."

chris raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, "really? didn't notice."

you open your mouth and then close it again, trying to ignore his comment. taking a deep breath, you continue, "i mean... well, i was kind of drunk, let's be honest. so i didn't think—"

"c'mon, kid, we both know you'd fuck me even sober," he rolls his eyes, slight annoyance in his tone at the clear delusion coming from you.

"that's literally not even close to what i'm talking about..." a wave of heat washes over you from embarrassment of being called out like that. you had to find some excuse, because to be honest, you didn't know how you ended up in chris's bed. well, you knew how, but you needed some explanation for yourself. though, what you're for sure aware of, is that the desire and arousal you felt was real. "it was, like, another moment of weakness."

"you got a lot of 'em with me recently," he teases, scanning your face as if looking for something. for a moment you were speechless from the intensity of his blue eyes. and chris noticed it. of course he did. "it was good though..." he adds, his voice lower now.

you try hard not to look too nervous while agreeing, "yeah... it was." his lips curve into that smirk you knew so well while he shamelessly checked you out again, his eyes lingering on your exposed thighs for too long. noticing that, you quickly add, "it shouldn't have happened and we won't do it again."

"yeahhhh," his tongue clicks against his teeth. chris makes eye contact with you again and that's when you know you're screwed. "we won't."

with these words you look at each other too long and too intensely, almost as if communicating between the words. and you didn't even know when or how you ended up straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders desperately trying to steady yourself while he pumps his fingers rapidly into your cunt, curling them up to hit that sweet spot inside you. his thumb rubs circles around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. the ghostface mask is back on his face, making you clench around his fingers. it all happened in less than ten minutes, that's how weak you were for chris and how addicted to you he's become.

"mhmmm, look at you... so fuckin' pretty, drippin' all over my hand..." he says, his voice hoarse with arousal. his cock was rock hard already, uncomfortably straining against his pants. "your body doesn't lie, even if your mouth does," chris watches you closely, taking note of the way your chest heaves, lips parted with little whimpers escaping them.

"chris— mmmh, f-fuck.... so... so g-good— oh!" your walls tighten around his fingers, hips slightly grinding against his hand. he flexes his fingers inside you, stretching you, his thumb on your clit picking up speed.

he smirks to himself at how responsive you are to him, "you jus' fuckin' love when i manhandle you, huh?" he adds a third finger, scissoring them, his other hand tugging on your hair, forcing you to keep your eyes on his mask. chris was now aware of the effect it had on you and it was making him so turned on. "constantly tryin' to make me mad, messin' with my fuckin' head, kid... not really nice of you."

you let out a loud pornographic moan when his fingers once again curl inside you, hitting your g-spot perfectly, his thumb pressing more against your bud. at the feeling of you tightening around him, a low groan escapes his lips. "thaaaat's it— yes, c'mon, give it to me... show me how bad you fuckin' hate me..."

"chris!" your eyes roll back as euphoria consumes you, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. "my... god...f-fuck you—"

he pumps his fingers languidly to ride out your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure for as long as he can. "mhm, i will," he smirks, slowing down his movements. "no need to rush, princess." he finally pulls his fingers out of you, lifting up your head, "open up."

as you obey, he brings his fingers into your mouth, your tongue immediately cleaning them up, tasting your own release on your tongue. "fuckkk—" he bucks his hips up, his clothed hardness pressing against your swollen bud, stealing another whimper from you.

you were sure you had lost your mind. you really wanted to make it clear today, that what happened at friday couldn't happen again, but it was so hard when he was... him.

"chris, we need to stop," you say as soon as he removes his fingers out of your mouth, immediately placing them back between your legs, gently caressing your swollen folds and spreading your wetness around, which makes you flinch from the over sensation.

"stop sayin' that when you react so strongly to me," his other hand moving to unzip his pants and pull them down his hips, freeing his leaking with precum dick. you look at him, the ghostface mask sending shivers straight into your core and you already know there's no coming back. "so?" he asks, gripping your hips, "still wanna stop?"

"no," you mutter annoyed at the way he was making you feel. chris bites his bottom lip with a grin, his body begging for any kind of release. he's never wanted anyone so badly. he lifts you up a little, then impaling you on his length in one swift, deep motion. both of you moan, his head throwing back at the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. he missed this.

"fuckkk, you jus' feel so good..." he praises, holding you still for a moment to savor the feeling of being burned inside you. then he starts pounding into you, his grip on your hips painful as he doesn't let you move at all, wanting to have the control over everything.

"...what a fuckin' slut you are f'me— jesus..." he looks down, watching as he slams deep into your heat, not caring about the noises or the mess. he's too far gone to worry about anything expect the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his dick. "sooo perfect, fuck— and what'd you say, huh?" he pants, looking up at your full of pleasure expression. "not happening again? fuckin' watch."

you're practically bouncing on him from the strength with which chris fucks you from below, your walls immediately clenching around him, the overstimulation from your previous orgasm makes your head spin.

"chris, s-so-- deep..." you whine, gasping for air as he changes the position to get a better angle. he flips you onto your back on the sofa, pressing your knees against your stomach which caused him to go even deeper.

"yeah? you like to feel my fuckin' cock? look..." his fingers wraps around your wrist and he moves your hand to the noticeable bulge in your gut as he slides in and out of your wet pussy. the feeling of him like that, makes your toes curl as you quickly feel your second release approaching.

"gonna... c-cum! oh—" your whines and moans now filling the room with chris's eventual groans when he feels you constantly clenching around his dick.

"come all over me, c'mon... and m'gonna fill you up, yeah? gonna do it so fuckin' deep, you'll be leakin' my shit for days..." he snarls, his thrusts becoming harder as another orgasm washes over you, your eyes locked on his ghostface mask, even if you could barely keep them open. he doesn't even slow down while you tremble from the intensity of your release, moans leaving your lips and back arching up. "squeezin' me so tight, shiiittt— you were made f'me...."

with a feral groan, he buries himself as deep as he can, his dick pulsing as he explodes inside you, his hot seed filling your cunt to the brim. both of you panting, chris props himself on his hands of each side of your body so as not to crash you with his weight. both of you panting heavy, your eyes now closed while you try to come back on earth.

once the last waves of his climax subside, he pulls out with a wet squelch, his cum dripping out of your hole. a smirk appears on his lips at your disheveled form as he takes the mask off, pulling back to have a better look on your swollen, glistening cunt. just as your legs weakly were about to drop onto the couch, he grips your thighs, keeping you spread open for him. "that's a sight..." he runs a finger through the mess he'd made, making you whimper. "sensitive much?" his tone mocking. his fingers slipping between your folds, gathering as much as he could of his and yours release and pushing it back inside, a muffled scream escaping you.

"chris!" you smack his hand away, your legs automatically try to close. he tsks, his face full of mock innocence, "what? just cleanin' you up." his eyes glistening when he makes eye contact with you and he adds, "unless you wan' me to lick it off instead?"

"no, thanks," you mutter fully aware he'd love to overstimulate you.

"a'ight, drama queen," he rolls his eyes, grabbing the tissues from the coffee table, cleaning his own mess before passing them to you. he sits up, pulling his pants up while you proper yourself on your elbows, starting to clean up.

a silence remains in the living room, he takes a rolled joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips, and looks towards you noticing how your hands and legs are shaking a little. you weren't able to clean yourself thoroughly, the mix of your and his cum running down your inner thighs.

"kid," he lights up the joint, taking a long drag. "the fuck you doin'?"

you give him a death stare, "it's quite clear to see."

he exhales, smoke billowing out as he speaks, "but, like... you don't— just..." he groans, putting the joint back between his lips, his voice muffled, "--fuckin' gimme it... can't even clean y'self up, jesus... so annoying..."

chris practically snatches the tissues from your hands as he spreads your legs, ignoring your confused and surprised expression. he simply starts wiping the mess between your legs, his touch strangely tender, "can't do shit with that shaky ass hands..." he keeps commenting under his nose more to himself than to you, the smoke from his joint filling the room.

you watch mesmerized, as he grabs the joint between the fingers of one hand, the other still focused on the task, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth in concentration. he was gentle, or at least chris tried to be when he saw how red and puffy your pussy looked. it was such a simple action but it made your heart do a backflip. and not only you felt this way, chris himself was somehow, almost nervous.

he finally catches up on your stare, a frown appearing between his eyebrows, "the fuck you lookin' at..." his eyes traveling to the marks he left on your hips, some of the bruises older from friday, others fresh and reddish. this sight fills him with a sense of pride. he finally leans back on the couch, throwing the used tissues aside, glancing back at you. "stop starin', kid."

your face all flushed as you finally tear your eyes away from his and manage to sit up, adjusting your shirt and looking around for your sweatpants.

"here," he hands them to you, taking another drag on his joint. you put your clothes back on, wondering what the hell was going on.

you sit next to him still slightly breathless, after a moment he passes you the joint, neither of you looking at each other as you take it.

"y'know..." chris finally speaks up, "for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure do let me do all sorts of nasty things to ya."

that's what causes you to finally make eye contact with chris, annoyance flickering through your face at the sudden call out. "for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure want to do a lot of nasty things to me."

he smirks amused at your response, looking like you exhale the smoke. "well, yeah, hating you and being insanely attracted t'you aren't mutually exclusive, y'know..." you raise your eyebrows as he continues, "besides i never said i hated you, i jus' said i hated you."

the clear confusion and how your cheeks were burning after his words, makes chris's grin widen. "what the fuck is the difference?"

"don' worry 'bout it," he retors, grabbing the joint from between your fingers to finish it.

"insanely attracted to me, huh?" you process his words. chris rolls his eyes, "insanely is a strong word actually, what i meant is—"

"nuh, uh," you interrupted him with a grin on your face, pointing your finger at him. "you said what you wanted to say."

"no, i—

"lalala, i can't hear youuuu," you cover your ears like a kid, the mix of annoyance and amusement building up within him. "you're a child," he puts out the butt of the joint in some empty can on the coffee table, and takes your hands away from your ears. "child."

you just smile, feeling unfamiliar warm spreading across your chest. it was strange, chris usually saw you smiling but at other people, not at him. it made him want to... kiss you? hold you?

"weirdo," he mutters, leaning back, but there's no usual bite in his tone. his arm rests on the back of the sofa behind you, his wheels turning around in his head. he glances at your side profile, his tongue clicking against his teeth, "i always wondered why you were with this idiot jake." you're taken back, glancing at him with a frown, but it doesn't discourage him from continuing. chris felt like he has to. "you were always annoying, but i thought you're better than that. he had no idea how to treat you right and you kept comin' back to him, what was insane to me. he was just a dick—"

"you wouldn't understand..."

"no, i definitely fuckin' wouldn't," he retors annoyed. "so m'not even gonna try, but he was pissin' me the fuck off. i was waitin' for the day you finally leave him for good."

"it wasn't that simple," you try to explain, but chris wasn't having any of that. "kid, don' bullshit me. you even try to defend him now when he's gone? don't tell me you..."

"no, i try to defend myself, 'cause you don't get it," you interrupt, not wanting to hear whatever he was going to say. "he was awful, but at that time i kinda just... craved affection, i guess," your cheeks heat with embarrassment. "and sometimes he was giving me that."

"what affection he could give ya? bet, he fuckin' sucked. and you deserve to get affection and all this other shit all the time, not just sometimes. that's fucked up."

"and what do you know about all of that?" you question him, which annoys the hell out of chris. "every week you have a new girl to fuck, then moving on to the next one."

he knows you're right, chris had no clue how to show affection either, he never was good at this because he simply never let himself attach to anyone. but he knew, if he had you, he would never be like your ex. chris would try his best to make sure you know you're loved.

"there's nothing wrong with that, they all know m'not lookin' for a relationship. i always tell 'em at the beginnin' that it's only a hook up. i don' play anyone..."

"always?" when chris nods, you add, "i didn't hear you saying that to me."

now he's surprised, quickly hiding it, but the way his eyes scanned your face was telling you everything you needed to know.

"well..." he slowly licks his lips, carefully thinking of his next words. "i never... i mean, i knew we'd do it again at some point... but i just— fuck, i don' know..."

your voice is dripping with sarcasm when you say the next sentence, but there was genuine curiosity behind it, "maybe deep down you expected something?"

his expression is unreadable, but chris's heart was beating so hard, he was afraid you'd hear. the question you asked stirred weird feelings inside him and he had to get out of this situation fast. you knew one of his deepest secrets already, there was no way he'd let you know his other ones.

"be serious, kid," his smirk doesn't reach his eyes. "enough with that talk. i gotta go..."

his reaction saying more than he would ever say. you watch as he stands up, "i am serious and you're running away right now—"

"shut your goddamn mouth for once, holy fuck," he snaps at you, gripping the bridge of his nose. "i have shit to do so i'm leavin', simple as that. not that is any of your business anyway."

your blood boil at his words but you don't say anything else. you were afraid your voice would betray you, so watching him gathering his stuff from your room and then hearing the front door shutting, was all you did.

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck