ballowvalence

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

HE COMES AT NIGHT (Vampire!Zoro x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Zoro Roronoa x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You suddenly find out why the people in the village you recently moved to become so strange at night when you discover that the legend Zoro Roronoa, the bloodthirsty Swordsman, is real. And he’s got his sights set on those who wander the streets after sundown and don’t believe in him…that being you.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Period Piece AU; Porn w/ Plot; Stalking; Horror/Fantasy; Supernatural; Dubcon/R*pe; Knife Play; Stripping; Forced Deepthroat; Cunnilingus; Mating Press; Breeding Kink; Dom!Zoro + sub!Reader; Black-Coded!Reader; Cum Play; Biting; Blood Play; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Three one shots in one day. There’s something wrong with me. Take my laptop AWAY. Enjoy!! -Jazz 🖤🖤

Japanese Term Wordbank:

Minka — A traditional Japanese house; translates to “house of the people”

Kimono — Traditional Japanese garment & national dress of Japan

Sake — A alcoholic beverage from Japan; can be served hot, cold or room temp; often enjoyed with Asian cuisine & appetizers

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The new village you’ve recently moved to is….strange.

Or rather, the villagers are. And you feel awful and terribly guilty for thinking this way. They are an extremely kind, humble, generous, and helpful group of individuals. Living in a small village means community to them, such as watching children when their parents aren’t home; carrying groceries for senior citizens; delivering gifts to homes for birthdays and housewarmings…

And warning those to be inside by nightfall.

You were lucky enough to fall victim to the villagers’ kindness and hospitality when you moved to the quaint little village of rolling hills, forests, small businesses, and hanoks just a month ago. You were freshly out of your parents’ home to pursue a career in the medical field and were accepted into a medical program to become a nurse just five months ago.

Your parents were originally apprehensive about the idea, but after seeing how small and low in crime the village is, and how close your new home would be to your class location, they allowed you to move. Immediately, your neighbors delivered cakes, bottles of sake, and good wishes to you. It made you feel at home.

You are now aware of how sweet and humble these people are, but you’re also aware of how superstitious they are too. It’s not as simple as your mother leaving a candle in her dark house to ward off spirits when you were young or not walking under a ladder.

You started noticing it while walking home from your classes with your friend from school in the evening time. Your classes, which begin in the afternoon at 11 AM sharp, end every evening at 5 PM just as the last of the autumn sun glints over the horizon and the small village before nightfall.

And every evening, like clockwork, small businesses close their doors for the night. Parents urge their children in the house after playing all afternoon. You had thought it was nothing at first, but then you started noticing more strange things: curtains being drawn; lanterns and candles being snuffed so the entire village is dark as night; homeowners putting candles and expensive sake on their doorsteps.

One day while walking to dinner in your flowery kimono and carrying your medical book for studying and wicker basket for your lunch, you decide to ask your friend about it. She’s been living in the village since birth and you bonded over your shared love for cooking and cute men.

”Hey, hold on a second,” you call to her from up the trail. You decided since it’s Friday and you were dismissed early to go for dinner at a ramen place she knows about just up the road from your school…with the intention of coming home before dark, of course.

She stops, turning to you in her own pretty kimono and slippers. “What’s wrong?” She asks, concerned before grinning at you. “Those spicy rice balls making you nervous now? You seemed so confident earlier.”

You roll your eyes at her teasing. “No, it’s not about the food. It’s about that food.” You point at the offering sitting on the steps of a Minka. Perfectly sculpted rice balls, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a bottle of sake with a cup sit there surrounded by vibrant red flowers.

“What’s this for?” you curiously ask your friend. “I see people leaving food out all of the time. Is it an offering or…”

Your question trails off when you catch your friend’s expression. She looks absolutely terrified, her eyes wide and her body stiff. “You mean…you don’t know?” She softly asks, like someone will hear her. “No one told you?”

You scowl at her, confused. Is she joking with you? “Told me what?” you demand. “What do you mean by that?” Your friend looks around to make sure no one is listening. You find that odd too. “C’mon,” she whispers, waving you along. “I’ll explain at dinner.” You tentatively follow, your hairs standing up on end for some reason.

Your friend keeps her promise. While at dinner, over a plate of spicy rice balls, two small bowls of miso ramen, and a bottle of Kamikokoro Peach Sake, she starts explaining the ways of her people. She leans in like she’s telling a scary story, eyes narrowed and her hands planted firmly on the table.

“Long ago, hundreds of years before us, a swordsman once lived here. He was known throughout the land and beyond for his great craft of fighting with his swords. He is said to have carried three—two in his hands and one in his mouth between his teeth. He went by the name Zoro Roronoa.”

You are already giggling, sipping more of the sweet sake as you listen to the obviously-made-up story. Who the fuck carries a sword in their mouth?

“His name still puts fear in the hearts of those who know it, so much so that it’s only whispered. One day, the swordsman died. It’s still unclear how it happened—some say it was illness; others say he was brutally murdered by an enemy…but he didn’t die. Not in the way all humans do.”

You quirk a brow at her, playing along in her game as the sake makes you feel fuzzy and warm. “His body was discovered, but he wasn’t buried. When a casket was bought and a grave was dug for him, his body suddenly vanished without a trace.”

Now you really laugh. There is no way she can believe this is real! “As time went on, villagers started disappearing in the dead of night. If they were lucky, their bodies would be found the next morning completely slashed, sliced, and diced.”

She takes a sip of her sake, calm and cool. “Almost as if a sword had gotten them,” she adds. You feel a sudden chill and wrap your kimono tighter around yourself.

“It became a pattern in the village: people who were foolish enough to walk at night would fall victim to Zoro the Swordsman. If they were completely spirited away and not found, their bodies would come up completely unrecognizable.”

“But why?” you find yourself asking. “Just because people are out at night, he goes and kills them?”

Your friend’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Oh, Y/N, no. People who know of him aren’t out past sundown. The people who are are disbelievers. Those are the people Zoro goes after.”

You scowl at her, confused and becoming irritated with this supernatural BS story. “He thrives off of belief,” she explains. “It fuels him and makes him more powerful…it also keeps him away. But if you happen to be one of those unlucky souls that come across him at night, you’ll be responsible for fueling his bloodlust. Zoro is said to be a merciful being.”

“And this was a real person?” you smirkingly ask. “Not just some urban legend or spooky story to keep bad kids inside at night?”

Your friend sighs and shakes her head like you’re deluded. “He’s not just either one of those things. He’s considered so much more here—a God to some, a demon to others, but he is worshiped and his rules are closely followed…unless you have a death wish.”

She pauses to slurp down her ramen and so do you, the food suddenly tasting like paste. “Have you seen him before?” You curiously ask.

Your friend looks like you just admitted to murder. “Are you insane?! No way! I’m always in the house before sundown. I’m not trying to get killed!”

You cock your head at her. “Then how do you know he’s even real, hm? How does anyone know this supernatural swordsman even exists?”

Once again, your friend shakes her head at you. “Just because you don’t see him doesn’t mean he’s fake. The bodies that have popped up around here are proof of that. But you keep acting like he’s a bullshit bedtime story.”

She reaches across to play with a loose strand of your hair. “He likes pretty little things like you…pretty, careless little things that don’t believe and refuse to believe.” You swat her away and you both laugh, but her words make something in your stomach roil.

The rest of dinner is normal and filled with laughs. You polish off the rest of your sake with ease along with your supper, feeling full and drunk once you finish. Your friend asks if she can walk you home, but you decline. “I’m a big girl,” you drunkenly giggle. “I’m only a two-minute walk away.”

Your friend looks worried, but hugs you nonetheless. “Just get home safe and be very careful. It’s already nightfall.” She looks around the dark, semi-empty streets with concern and alert, but you don’t. The alcohol makes you feel fuzzy, giddy, and a false sense of security.

But once you wave farewell to your friend and depart, heading off in the opposite direction, that security fades. You suddenly become hyper-aware of how…empty the streets are. They are completely deserted except for an animal here and there-a stray dog; a hooting owl; a fox scurrying into a bush).

There is no sign of a human anywhere.

Swallowing roughly, you keep a hand on the small knife your father forced you to take with you and keep your footsteps brisk yet careful. Your walk is short. All you have to do is keep walking. You don’t think about turning around to run back to your friend or to the restaurant (it’s probably closed, anyway).

You don’t think about how dark and quiet it is. You only think about your bed and how good it’s going to feel once you’re in it.

Yes, your fluffy, warm bed. Your cozy, warm home. Nothing bad happens there. Nothing can hurt you there. Nothing can—

“Stop.”

The voice comes out of nowhere. It is unfamiliar and deep, but also soft and quiet. It blends with the wind, but it is so distinctly manly that you know that it’s not the wind at all. And what do you do? You stop, out of shock. Turning around, you grip your knife harder as you peer down the cobbled road and row of dark, quiet homes.

“Hello?” you call.

You see nothing. You hear nothing. No voices, anyway. Figuring it’s just your paranoia, you turn and keep walking a little faster this time. “I said stop,” the voice, again, demands. He—whoever he is—sounds irritated this time. There is an angry rasp in his tone that sends shivers up your spine.

You turn around again and this time, you do see something…or someone. All you see is a shadowy figure…a big, bulky, shadowy figure with broad shoulders and towers over you despite it being feet away. You squint at it in the darkness, perplexed and afraid. “W-Who are you?” You shakily ask. “Why are you following me?”

The man, or what you think is a man, doesn’t respond. He just stands there. Menacingly.

“Sir?” you call. “Can I help you with something? If not, I need you to stop following me or—“

”You didn’t listen,” he says. His voice is deep and raspy echoing across the empty courtyard. It shocks you to your core and immediately, your intuition kicks in. You feel your stomach drop and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Suddenly, his hand moves to the long handle jutting out of his side. A sword. “What?” You gasp, finding your voice again.

“I said. You didn’t listen.”

He slides the sword out of the sheathe at his side. The metal glints in the moonlight, stealing your breath away.

“You didn’t listen to your friend, so now you’re mine.”

Slowly, he lifts the sword to his mouth and licks it, his pink, pierced tongue sliding down the silver blade. A smirk appears on his lips along with a menacing glint in his eye that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s real. Zoro the Swordsman is real. “O-Oh, my God,” you whisper. You back away, your body shivering, but he only steps forward. “Don’t run from me,” he growls. “It’ll do you good to stay exactly where you are. I’ll catch you.”

You don’t listen. Fear has taken over, kicking your fight or flight switch on. You choose the latter. “Stay away!” you scream. “Stay away from me!”

Quickly, you turn around and begin to blindly run away, your shoes furiously clicking across the cobblestones. You think you hear the swordsman behind you, but you don’t turn around to look. You’re too scared.

You run and run and run, pumping your legs even as they burn. Tears begin to spring into your eyes as your desperation and terror increase, pumping more adrenaline in your body. You can’t die out here. You can’t. Not like this. So you continue to run, dodging between buildings and dark corners to hide yourself even as the moon glows above.

Then you finally see your neighborhood and run faster, puffs of air leaving your lips. When you finally, thankfully, make it to your front door, you look back to see if he’s still there. All you see are swaying trees and dark houses. He is nowhere in sight. You’ve lost him.

You laugh in relief, almost hysterical. You’ve never been so happy to see your front door before. Quickly, you dig into your bag for your keys and fumble a bit with them, not quite able to get your door key together because of your shaky hands. “Come on, come on,” you whimper, your nerves frazzled.

This lapse in judgment and calmness would be enough for any predator to sneak up and take advantage of you…and it is. Suddenly, you’re being pushed against your door by a big, muscular frame and your keys are tumbling to the ground. You let out a scream, but it’s quickly muffled by Zoro’s big hand and thick, ring-covered fingers.

“You’re a cute little thing,” he growls, “but you’re also very stupid. I told you not to run. I told I’d catch you. And you still ran.” You feel him press harder against you, his knee wedging between your thighs. “But I also like stubbornness. Makes it a lot more fun.”

His chuckle sends shivers down your spine. “Pwease!” you say behind his hand. He moves it away to let you speak freely, still trapping you against him.

“Please,” you sob. “Please don’t hurt me. I-I’ll give you whatever money you want, just don’t—!”

“Shut up,” he demands, sounding enraged by the idea. You quickly button your lip despite the soft sobs spilling from you. “Don’t disrespect me like that. I don’t want your fucking money.” Confused, you turn your head slightly to look at him. He is truly a handsome man with emerald, green hair cropped short, crimson eyes, and three gold earrings dangling from his right ear.

“T-Then what do you want?” you whimper.

Zoro reaches a hand over you to grasp the doorknob, magically unlocking the door. “Open the door slowly,” he whispers. “Don’t turn on the light.” He gets off of you, but the sharp tip of his sword stops you from celebrating too much.

With a sob, you turn the knob, open your door, and walk into your small, quiet, dark living area. The floral scent wafting through the air does nothing to relax you as it would after an exhausting day. You hear the door shut behind you and begin to cower, your knees nearly buckling on yourself. Here you are. Alone. In the dark. With a murderous urban legend.

Your mind tries to desperately grasp from straws. For any kind of logic. How is this happening? Are you really that drunk? Did you pass out somewhere and you’re dreaming? Is he just a nightmare? A ghost, maybe?

“Look at me,” Zoro raspily demands. “Take a look at the legend himself.”

Slowly, you turn to him and there he is standing in the moonlight pouring in through your draped window. He is big and tall, towering over you at around six feet. He is built like a tank, sinewy with muscle. Broad shoulders. Big arms. Big pectorals. Big legs. Big everything. In other circumstances, you’d be climbing him like a tree.

The swordsman stands before you, staring you down, his face illuminated by the silver glow of the moon. “You didn’t believe in me. You didn’t heed your friend’s warnings. Now you face the consequences.”

His pink lips curl into a smirk. “Me.” He grips his sword at his side.

Your knees buckle and you press your hands together in a prayer. The effects of the alcohol have begun to fade, leaving you horribly sober. ”Please!” you beg, crying hysterically. “Don’t hurt me! I-I’m new here and I didn’t know! I’m so sorry I disrespected you!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, the most human thing he’s done in the time you’ve known him. ”Too late for that,” he scoffs.

But then he pauses, thinking on it for a moment. “But I suppose I could teach you a lesson without this.” He slides his sword into his sheathe and stupid hope blooms inside of you.

“I think I have another special sword for this punishment.” His smirk turns into a twisted smile that you don’t like at all. ”W-What do you mean?” you whisper.

You think you know, but you’re hoping to God almighty that you’re just being paranoid. Unfortunately, your intuition is right as Zoro takes a step towards you, his smile fading. “Take off your robe,” he demands. His voice is low and not up for the games.

But even so, your dumb, sluggish mind still struggles to “W-What?” you softly gasp. Zoro makes a face, absolutely dumbfounded by your stupidity. “You can’t be this dumb. I said take off your robe.” His hand goes for his sword again. “Or do I have to do it for you?”

He stares you down, silently daring you to disobey him. With a sob of defeat, you lower your basket and begin to disrobe, your fingers trembling and slipping from the knot holding your kimono together.

“Hurry up,” Zoro growls, impatient but also growing harder as he watches you. You can tell from the bulge in his pants that pushes against his black slacks. You go as quickly as possible and finally reveal yourself to him.

Zoro hums in appreciation at the sight of your body. You, however, just shiver and quake in humiliation and fear at being exposed in front of this…this monster. Your nipples are hard from the chill, the fear, and…maybe even arousal? Even now, you can feel a warm tingle between your thighs where, luckily, your lace panties are. How can this be?

The swordsman strides towards you and unsheathes one of his swords. “Please,” you whisper, your skin both hot and cold.

Ignoring you, he takes the tip of the sword and gently drags it down your midsection, keeping the pressure light and slow. You only feel the slight point glide against your skin, causing goose pimples to explode across your body.

Snip.

You gasp, realizing that Zoro has cut through your panties at the speed of light without you even knowing. He then grabs you with his free hand, gripping your arm. You begin to push away from him, struggling against his chest. “No!” you shout. “Don’t! Just leave me be!”

”Silence!” he barks, loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood and scare the moon away.

His voice then dips low, turning soft as he sheaths his sword. “I just want to touch you.” He uses the back of his hand to stroke your cheek. You cringe at his touch. ”So soft,” he sighs. “So pretty…”

His eyes, the color of blood, soften at the sight of you. He looks at you and touches you as if you’re a lover. Not a victim. He suddenly leans in, bending his knees slightly to reach you.

“Please,” you whisper again, but your words are swallowed up by a kiss. His lips are pillowy, soft, and sweet, and they taste like wine. They are unlike any lips you’ve kissed before.

Your body tenses up before finally melting into his own, falling victim to his magical kiss. It sweeps you up in a warm embrace, just as his arm does when he hooks it around your waist to pull your naked body flush against his.

You moan into the kiss, your hands stuck gripping his chest…his warm, hard-like-granite chest. Goddammit all! Even in such a nightmarish situation, you can’t deny how attractive he is.

Zoro suddenly pulls away and swoops down to suck on your supple nipples. He does so in a way that makes you believe that it’s been a long time since he’s touched a woman. His hands roam your back and ass, squeezing, molding, and gripping your flesh. You moan as his tongue slurps on both of your nipples, sensitive from the chill in the air and his hot, wet, pierced tongue.

You moan and writhe against his ministrations, your body betraying you. You can feel your pussy tingling and the knot in your stomach tightening the more he sucks, licks, and grips you. “Ah!” you cry out, flinching at the slight bite of pain as he nipples one of your nipples. His teeth are sharp, almost like knives.

Zoro chuckles, humored by this. “Do you want more, little girl?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your nipple. You don’t know whether to say yes or no.

Without waiting for an answer, the swordsman suddenly tosses you over one of his broad shoulders. You squeak, suddenly staring at the floor. “W-What are you doing?” you demand, gripping the back of his shirt.

“You’ll see,” he laughingly says, giving your bare ass a smack for good measure.

He then begins to walk through your house, somehow knowing exactly where the bedroom is. He ventures into the dark room with you in his possession as if you’re a prized sack of jewels that he just won. Carefully, he lowers you down onto the floor where your sleeping cot is.

Then he’s on top of you, swallowing you up with his big body. “Feel me,” he growls, grinding his hips down against yours. There, you feel his big, hard cock pressing into you. This somehow drills the undeniable, inevitable truth into your head: this is real. This isn’t a dream.

The swordsman begins to kiss down your naked body, his lips leaving trails of fire in their wake. When he finally makes it to your legs, he spreads them apart and gazes at the sight in front of him. You quiver in his hands, your tears drying on your cheeks.

“So wet for me,” he coos, his cool breath fanning over your pussy lips. “From the way you screamed and ran from me earlier, I would’ve thought you ain’t like me much.”

You whimper as his finger ghosts over your slit, collecting your juices onto his digit. “I-I don’t,” you softly, your hands grasping the sheets below you. “I don’t like this.” But not even you truly believe it.

Zoro quirks a brow at you, a wicked smirk on his face. “Then why is she sobbing so much for me?” he asks, referring to your perfect, puffy, wet cunt. “Seems to me like she needs something she hasn’t been getting very much of.”

He smiles at you, his pearly whites glinting in the moonlight that shines through your bedroom window. “Allow me to do that for you.”

Then you finally see it: fangs. Four of them, two on each row of teeth where his canines should be. You don’t have to scream or cry or try to escape. Not when he’s ducking between your legs to eat you out like he hasn’t eaten in days. “Oh!” you moan, your head leaning back against the pillow. You’ve never felt immense pleasure like this before.

Zoro eats you out like he’s starving, moaning into your pussy as he sloppily slurps and gulps away at your juices. His fangs don’t even get in the way of scraping you as he licks and sucks at your clit, his soft lips cushioning the sensitive bud. You feel the urge to grind your hips against his talented mouth, you feel a hand press against your stomach.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ move,” he grows into your cunt. “If you, I won’t make you cum at all.” He keeps pressing down as he eats you out, giving you the sensation of wanting to pee but not being able to.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you whine, tossing an arm over your eyes. “Please, please, please!”

“Please what, baby?” He asks, giving you a long, teasing lick from your clit down to your ass. “Please make you cum?” You frantically nod, needing it yet not wanting it. “Then you’d better fuckin’ look at me while I do this or you won’t like what happens,” he growls.

Defeatedly, you take your arm off of your eyes and stare into his as he slips one finger inside of you. You gasp, doing your best to not arch your back as he curls his finger up, fucking you as he sucks on your clit.

“Cum for me,” he demands. “I want you to cum.”

You can feel it building, about to burst. Suddenly, as you’re staring into the swordsman’s eyes, they begin to glow, the vibrant red almost pulsing. You blink once and feel your whole body instantly melt. It feels as if your body and mind are not your own anymore. They are someone else’s.

“Cum,” he says again, a growl in his tone. “Cum.”

You can hear his voice and the word echoing in your mind as he keeps his gaze locked on you, his tongue slashing away in time with his finger-fucking.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, finally coming apart and cumming all over his fat tongue. Your moans and wails of pleasure are music to his ears, urging him to keep slurping and licking on. “Yes, baby,” he groans. “Keep cumming. Give me everything.”

You have no choice. He continues to press down on your pelvis, making the orgasm way more intense. It leaves you squirming and gasping, your vision blurred with unshed tears. The pleasure is almost painful. It sends you soaring up, up, and up, and then crashing back down to Earth again.

Zoro slowly pulls away from you, sliding his finger out of your hole. You moan at the loss, watching as he sucks your cum off of his finger. A fire suddenly appears in his eyes and he silently stands before you in the moonlight. You have no choice but to watch as he disrobes, first sliding his black bandana off to reveal his short-cropped, emerald hair.

Then off his shirt goes. Then his belt holding his swords. Then his pants, underwear, boots, and socks. Soon, he is completely naked, staring down at you with his glowing eyes. Your eyes drink in his pink, pierced nipples; his tan skin stretching across big biceps, forearms, and thighs; his washboard abs and happy trail leading down to his very hard, very big, very thick, throbbing cock.

“Get on your knees,” he demands. “I need my cock wet. You can’t be the only one receiving.” Despite you telling yourself no, you still sit up and position yourself on your knees in front of him. You look up at him and his beautiful, dripping cock in obedience, almost as if you’re his slave now.

You may as well be. You have no other thoughts except for him and him alone. Your body does as he demands, pulled on strings like a puppet. What has he done to you? He wraps a hand around his cock and slowly pumps his fist up and down on his shaft. “Show me that you believe in me,” he murmurs.

Somehow, you’re already salivating for his cock. Still on your knees, you rise up and take his cock into your smaller hand. He gives you time to get to know him, pushing his hips forward to sink his cock further into the hole you form with your hand. “That’s a good girl,” he purrs. “Get to know me. You’ll be gettin’ to know me a lot more soon.”

You watch, hypnotized, as your hand slides around his shaft. He is so thick that you can barely fit your fingers around the base. And his balls! They’re so big and heavy-looking, probably loaded with cum. His soft groans of encouragement egg you on to stroke him more, getting him harder and harder. Your pussy tingles at the sounds he makes and the feeling of his cock in your hand, so hard and heavy.

Finally, Zoro stops you, taking your hand off of him. “Enough,” he growls. “Take me into your mouth.” He takes his cock and rubs the head against your lips, applying his own personal lipgloss to them. He pushes deeper, prying your mouth open. “Taste me.”

You let out a muffled grunt of surprise as his cock slides into your mouth and settles onto your tongue, drawing a low moan out of him. He pushes deeper, giving you his full length. Your throat flexes and gags around his thick length, your tongue sliding down the pulsing vein trailing from his tip to his heavy balls.

“Yeah?” He chuckles. “You love the taste of me, don’t you?” You gurgle in response, trying to get used to the appendage in your throat. You have to hollow your cheeks and open your throat as if to yawn to accommodate him and his size. Especially when he begins to thrust. You feel his pubic hairs brush against your nose as he does, his pelvis rubbing against your top lip. “Take me deeper, baby. Just like a good whore should.”

He is warm and pulses in your mouth like a live thing, his hips pistoning front and back without abandon like your mouth is a fleshlight. A toy for his pleasure only. Saliva begins to drip from your mouth down your chin, making it easier for him to push a little deeper until that button at the back of your throat gets triggered, urging you to vomit.

“Mmm-ph!” you moan around his cock, pushing him back an inch by his thighs.

You manage to get him somewhat farther away from the back of your throat, allowing you a millisecond of relief. But Zoro grips the back of your hair, keeping you firmly latched onto his cock. “Uh-uh, don’t push me away,” he growls. “Guess I was too lenient with you.”

He pauses for a moment to tilt your chin up, his glowing eyes meeting yours. Once again, your brain feels foggy and you can't concentrate on anything. “Look into my eyes,” he demands, his voice soft and seductive. “Relax for me. Relax for my cock.”

And just like that, your body is relaxed and so is your throat. You go almost slack, all of your muscles loosening as you fall deeper and deeper under his spell. His cock slides perfectly down your throat, loosening it up the more he thrusts along your tongue and strokes the inside of your cheeks.

“Thaaat’s it,” Zoro praises, staring down at you through hooded eyes. “That’s a good. Fuckin’. Girl.”

Each word is punctuated by a rough thrust that nearly has you coughing. He tilts your face up with his fingers on your chin, making you look at him as you throat his dick. “Doesn’t it feel so good to give in? To let yourself submit to me?”

‘Yes,’ you think, but the thought is not yours…or is it? You don’t know anymore. You can’t think of anything but the salty taste of his pre on your tongue and how hard he is in your mouth.

Suddenly, your throat becomes scratchy and an unbearable pain explodes in your lungs. Zoro snorts, humored by your struggle. “You need to breathe, darlin’?” he chuckles. “Fine, but only because you’re doing so well.”

Finally, he pulls out of your wet, sloppy mouth, groaning as he does. You drink in the air and cough, finally able to breathe. Your mouth is beyond wet, coated in cum and saliva, while your eyes are wet with tears.

“Fuck, you look too cute,” he groans as if pained by your appearance. He looms over you, the moonlight cutting across his toned, muscular form. “I can’t wait any longer. Get on your back.”

You don’t protest. You don’t put up a fight. You just do as he wants, getting on your back and spreading your legs like a good girl. A good slut. He hovers over you, his big frame completely covering yours and blocking out the moon. All you see and smell and taste and know is him.

The moon glints in his crimson eyes as he taps his cock against your clit, making you twitch and moan. He presses his mouth against yours, your tongues dancing together.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me inside of you, baby.” He hikes your legs over his shoulders and wraps a hand around himself, lining himself up with your entrance.

A small breath of clarity fills you and for a moment, you come back to reality. “W-Wait!” you gasp, but your words cease to exist when he slides inside of you. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls agape as his length stretches you open, filling your walls inch by inch.

“Finally,” he groans, shuddering as he sinks into you. “Finally.”

The sounds you make are strangled and hoarse from the throat-fucking as he fills you up, taking you inch by inch, vertebrae by vertebrae. You’ve never been this full in your life. You grip his arms for dear life, feeling as if you’ll break if you don’t. Zoro hums in approval, gripping your hips as he begins to rock his hips against yours, sliding in and out, in and out.

“Oh, oh, oh!” you moan from underneath him, singing your own chorus. You can’t explain the feelings and emotions swimming inside of you right now. You feel so dirty and wrong for finding pleasure in being taken by the monster above you, but you know that if you don’t, he could damn well kill you.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes have closed, forced shut by the pleasure. “Don’t look away. Let me see that face as I fuck you.” He begins to piston his hips, stroking that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “So beautiful,” he grunts. “Why the fuck did you run from me?”

He fucks you harder, faster, drilling into your sex like it belongs to him. His handsome face grows red with the force of his fucking, sweat glinting off of his forehead. You claw at his back, the pleasure exploding inside of you, starting in your core.

“O-Oh, fuck, please!” you cry out. “N-Need you!” Tears once again prick at your eyes, threatening to fall down your cheeks. You’ve never cried during sex before.

Zoro smiles, his fangs glinting at you. You don’t even feel fear anymore. “I need you too,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your ankle near his ear. “I need all of you and you need all of me. It’s okay to admit it.”

You do. You need every inch of him despite the fact that all of him is inside of you, stroking your insides, bullying your pussy into taking him. Your walls squeeze and grip him, pulling him deeper inside of you and squelching with every thrust. Zoro laughs—laughs—as you moan and sob below him, your pretty body on display. “That’s a good girl. My good girl.”

He drops your legs from his shoulders, hoists you against him, and proceeds to rut into you without abandon. You gasp with each forceful, rough thrust. It takes your breath away and makes intense pleasure crackle inside of you like fire. It almost hurts. “W-Wait, Zoro!” you gasp, gripping him for dear life. “You’re going too fast! I-I can’t—“

“You can,” he insists, growling into your ear. “Sorry, sweetness, but I have to fuck you faster. I need to fucking cum and I can tell you do too.”

You do. You can’t help it. The more his cock stimulates your G-spot and the more his pelvis brushes against your clit, the more that knot in your core begins to tighten, threatening to snap. You feel like a balloon that is expanding with too much air and is about to pop.

Zoro fucks you hard and rough, using your body as his own personal toy. He takes you along for the ride until you both can’t take much more. You whine in his ear, “Oh, God, please! Please make me cum!”

Zoro’s big hand wraps around your hair and pulls you back to face him. “Not yet, you little vixen,” he growls, his red eyes drilling into yours. “Give me what I want first.” He leans in, nose nearly touching yours. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you believe in me. Acknowledge me.”

You don’t know what to say or how to form words. You can’t even breathe. His rough thrusts are enough to make you come apart at the seams. “I…I…” The swordsman wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing. “Say it!” he roars. “Tell me!”

Finally, your mind has a break just as it breaks. “I-I’m yours!” you sob. “I believe in you! I promise, I do! I’m all yours!” You know exactly what this means and so does Zoro because he grins, looking overjoyed at this breakthrough.

This isn’t just sex talk. You’re talking to an urban legend after all. And not just that…but a vampire. “Good girl,” he praises. “Now cum for me. Cum on my cock, baby.”

His cock drives into you faster and harder, triggering that spot over and over again, practically abusing it until you have no choice but to cum. Your body is forced to. “Cumming!” you warn, digging your nails into Zoro’s muscular back. “I-I-I’m cumming!”

The orgasmic, euphoric feeling washes over you, almost as if God has bestowed the feeling of being in heaven onto you. You fall into a sea of bliss, moaning out your release as you gush all over Zoro’s cock.

“Me too,” he grunts, still pistoning away at your sloppy, gushing cunt. “Gonna fill you up. Give you all of my kids.”

Kids?

You don’t have it in you to stop him. You just let him dig his fingers into your ass, hard enough to leave bruises, as he frantically chases his orgasm in your pussy. Finally, with a loud grunt of release, he pumps his cum deep inside of you, filling you with warmth. You gasp at the feeling, all of your senses coming to life. It somehow triggers another agonizing orgasm that has you spasming and whining in pleasure.

As you do, Zoro wrenches your hair back to expose your warm, soft, pulsing neck. “It’s time,” he growls. “Give me your neck, little human.” His eyes flash an inhuman red, his pupils turning to slits.

Before you even realize what’s happening, his teeth are sinking into the tender flesh of your skin. You open your mouth to let out a scream, but all that escapes you is a strangled, weak moan as his fangs pierce your skin. It’s a confusing mixture of a stinging pain and pleasure, creating a cocktail of strange emotions. Your eyes squeeze shut, the darkness behind them flashing with colors and shapes.

Zoro continues to suck your blood, gulping down each ounce of the red substance of your life force. You can feel your energy draining from you with each gulp, making you feel fatigued and dizzy.

Your vision blurs and your hands twitch, unable to push him away. He continues to feed, moaning in desperation at the taste of you. You can feel your own blood drip down your neck to your breast in two steady, red streams.

Finally, the swordsman pulls away. His lips and teeth are stained red. Red from you. You want to scream. You want to fight. You want to get away from this monster…but you’re just too goddamn tired.

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a while. He just takes you and lies you down on your cot on your side. You don’t fight it. Your body is too heavy and your mind is too foggy to do anything but comply. Your thighs are soaked with his cum, staining every part of your cunt.

“Now you’re mine forever,” he whispers. “You’ve given yourself to me. Now we’re bonded for eternity.”

You let out a weak moan in response, one single tear falling from your eye. Zoro lays his big body next to you, his hand stroking down your body. “Sleep now, my little human,” he coos. “And remember me. Always remember me.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and it is all you remember as sleep takes you.

When you awaken, it is morning. The bright autumn sun pours through your window. Zoro is gone. Your cot is cool and empty as if he wasn’t there the night before.

But you know better. You know that the other night is as real as the sun in the sky, and you don’t need to see the two bloody, puncture holes in your neck to believe it.

Now? You come home before sunset.

THE END.

[blackbatcass]

sometimes the ghost of kelley puckett (he is still alive) haunts me. does he know. does he even know. he’s so detached from the comics community and he’s such a private guy (I RESPECT THAT WHOLEHEARTEDLY) that i really and truly do not know if this man knows how much cassandra cain means to us. does he know batgirl 2000 is heralded as the bible of dc solo books, as a lot of people’s favorite comic ever written. does he know how much we love cass. how we write essays over her character and how amazing she is and how she changed our lives. does he know how adored his writing is. does he know he wrote the best comics character introduction of all time. does he even. know.

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[exopelagic]

okay facing consequences of my actions

[galariangengar]

I am doing horribly mentally tonight and my jaw hurts 😢

[theworldgate]

I have to explain what is going on in the UK, because it is absurd.

So, this is Gary Lineker:

He's known for a fair few things over here. He was a very good (association) footballer, playing for England in the 1986 and 1990 World Cups, winning the Golden Boot in 1986, and managing to never get a single yellow card in his playing career. He played for Leicester City, Everton, Barcelona, and Tottenham, before finishing his career in Japan. But if you aren't in your mid 30s, you probably know actually know him him for a couple of other things. The first is the role of spokesman for another Leicester icon, Walkers Crisps (which are sort of equivalent to Lays, but hit different), as pictured above. Despite being a notably clean player, he used to play a cheeky serial crisp thief. I don't think he's done that for well over a decade, but his ads were on the telly a lot when I was a kid and it's a bit like learning that the hamburglar was an incredibly clean (American) football player or something.

The second thing Gary is widely known for is having presented Match of the Day, the big football program on the BBC, the sort-of state broadcaster, since 1999. He is, incidentally, very well paid for this (though with a consensus that he could get even more if he went to one of the non-free-to-view broadcasters because he is very good at the job). He also has a twitter account. And political opinions. So, the UK government has got itself dead set upon doing heinous stuff that will totally somehow work to prevent people who want to come to the UK making the perilous crossing of the Channel (between England and France). By heinous, I mean "openly advertise that they won't attempt to protect victims of modern slavery" stuff. It's very obviously using a legal hammer to victimise a marginalised group of people in order to win votes. And, uh, I should clarify that by "legal" I mean "using the passage of laws" - the policy is, in addition to all the other ways it's awful, probably incompatible with the Human Rights Act and the UK's international law obligations. Gary, top lad that he is, objected to this. On Tuesday 7th March, he made a quote Tweet of a video of the Home Secretary, Suella Braverman, bigging up the policy, he wrote "Good heavens, this is beyond awful.". This got a bunch of backlash from extremely right-wingers, and then he made the tweet that really got him in trouble (with right-wingers): "There is no huge influx. We take far fewer refugees than other major European countries. This is just an immeasurably cruel policy directed at the most vulnerable people in language that is not dissimilar to that used by Germany in the 30s, and I’m out of order?".

Now, I am not actually subjecting myself to watching a video of Suella Braverman bigging up a cruel policy to say whether the specific comparison of the language to 1930s Germany is accurate. But needless to say, Ms Braverman was amongst the many figures on the right of UK politics objecting to Gary's rhetoric. And here's the part where a fact about the BBC comes in: it is nominally neutral and impartial (and so, of course, is routinely accused of bias from all sides but particularly the right-wing), and has something of a code for its contributors to this effect. Now, that code has previously been applied to Gary Lineker, over a comment about whether governing Conservative Party would hand back donations from figures linked to the Russian regime. But it generally hasn't been applied too strongly to people like Gary, whose roles have nothing to do with politics (such as presenting a "here's what happened on the footie today" show), on the basis that, well, their roles have nothing to do with politics. However, when directly asked about whether the BBC should punish Gary Lineker for his tweets, government figures basically went "well, that's a them problem". But a couple of days passed, and it seemed like Gary's approach of "standing his ground because he did nothing wrong" was working and everything would die down. He was set to get 'a talking to' but not much more than that. The Conservative right, after all their fire and fury earlier, had gotten bored and moved onto something else. And then, on Friday 10th March, the BBC announced that he would be suspended from hosting Match of the Day this weekend. But it could still go ahead, because there are, like, other hosts! Except, well, funnily enough, when you take a beloved figure off air, for making a fairly anodyne tweet, no one wants to be the scab who actually takes up the role of replacing him. Gary's two co-hosts, Alan Shearer and Ian Wright, said that they would not appear without him. People who (co-)host Match of the Day on other days followed suit. The net result is that Match of the Day is currently set to air without hosts, BBC commentary, or global feed commentary. And the solidarity shown to Gary Lineker, over what is very flagrantly actual cancel culture and an attack on freedom of speech (the logic implied is that institutional impartiality requires that no one say anything too critical of the government ever), has continued to grow. The BBC has pretty much been unable to run pretty much any live sports content today, and has resorted to raiding the BBC Sounds archive to fill the sports radio channel. And, as of 17:30 on Saturday 11th March, the situation shows no signs of improvement, though some are calling for the Chairman Richard Sharp, who is separately facing corruption allegations, to resign (yes I linked to the BBC itself there, there is nothing, nothing, the BBC loves more than going into great detail about how much the BBC sucks).

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad

there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging. 

which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.

“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.

“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”

“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.

“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”

“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”

“try and log in with that user.”

“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”

“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”

okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan. 

you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”

“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”

ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—

yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes. 

“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”

“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”

she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code. 

hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.

———

satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?

“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”

“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”

“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”

“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”

“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”

“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”

“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”

“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”

satoru deflates. 

okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope. 

evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing. 

but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches. 

life is so cruel sometimes. 

“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”

“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”

“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”

suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together. 

“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”

satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed. 

———

after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him. 

we need to talk. is all you send him. 

the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers. 

miss me already? knew it ;)

wow. what a dickhead. 

so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this. 

the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?

well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.

“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”

“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”

“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”

of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding. 

“okay,” you huff. 

meet me at my place. now.

on my way, he sends back almost instantly. 

“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”

“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case. 

———

“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”

“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”

okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded. 

“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”

“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”

“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”

“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised. 

it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.

“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”

he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”

“satoru.”

yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad. 

“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”

that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse. 

“so it’s my fault?”

“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”

“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief. 

“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”

“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”

“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”

“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”

“don’t curse at me, satoru—”

“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”

“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings. 

“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”

“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”

“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”

“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”

“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”

“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”

“now look at who's cursing!”

it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits. 

it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans. 

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”

he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever. 

you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants. 

“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes. 

satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”

“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”

“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips. 

you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently. 

“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”

he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.

“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”

it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own. 

“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head. 

“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”

“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”

“yes,” you snort.

“and you’ll follow back, right?”

“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”

“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer. 

you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be. 

———

“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat. 

of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen. 

how considerate of you both. 

“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”

“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes. 

woefully, they both agree to split the check. 

suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO

[vivwritesfics]

Girl Dinner

What does girl dinner actually mean?

Warnings: mention of dick sucking

y/nl/n

liked by charles_leclerc, and 104,733 others

y/nl/n girl dinner

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username1 GIRL DINNER

username2 GIRL DINNER

username3 feeding us the good content

alex_albon ... what does girl dinner actually mean?

y/nl/n that's for me to know

username4 GIRL DINNER

charles_leclerc girl dinner

username5 he's just like us frfr

y/nl/n

liked by landonorris, and 143,073 others

y/nl/n girl dinner

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username6 omg the return of girl dinner

username7 GIRL DINNER

landonorris someone's having fun on the yacht

y/nl/n stfu pls

alex_albon LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW?

username8 I've got a girl dinner theory

username9 you're legally required to tell us

username10 🔫🔫 hand over the information now

y/nl/n

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y/nl/n girl dinner

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username11 GIRL DINNER

username12 I need that one account with the theories to pop up

maxverstappen1 girl dinner but I'm traumatised

y/nl/n aw you're just a baby

username8 MY GIRL DINNER THEORY CONFIRMED

username13 omg girl spill I beg

username8 I think (and this is just a theory, even if max basically confirmed it) that girl dinner is code for something sexual

username8 like she gets done sucking his dick, posts a picture of him with that caption

y/l/n

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y/nl/n girl dinner (theory confirmed)

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username8 omg I'm so smart

username14 omg I can't believe that commenter was right

charles_leclerc omg I can't believe you'd out me like that

y/nl/n girl dinner 😚

username15 I want some of that girl dinner

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[puck-luck]

code-breaker | jack hughes

warnings: pining!, unprotected p in v, lots of miscommunication but it is resolved duh, lmao uhhhhh jack fucking his best friend's sister maybe? kind of a big plot point fasho, a lame excuse for a squirt, cum on da body (chest), eating come, lots of banter, tiny TINY bit of angst and insecurity on fem!reader's part pairing: jack hughes x zegras!reader request: cappy's "sister of the best friend, lake house, etc. sister makes the first move and the guy tries to turn her down out of loyalty to the other boy and she gets a little hurt and insecure thinking he's rejecting her and she's like "am i really that bad?" with her voice craking and he's like fuck then... smut!" wc: 4327

Jack is here. 

Jack, who you’ve been in love with since your twin brother started hanging out with him when they were in NTDP together. Jack, the New Jersey Devils’ prized star, the number one pick. Jack, the most annoying and most attractive brother of the esteemed Hughes family from Michigan. Yes, that Jack is here– ‘here’ being your apartment that you share with your brother in Anaheim now that Jamie has moved out and away.

Jack is here. You are here. Trevor is not.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you tell him awkwardly, still holding the door open and blocking the doorway. You’re all too aware of your lazy, solo-movie-night outfit as you stand in front of him. You’re clad only in a big shirt, one that normally reaches the middle of your thighs but has ridden up since your hands are raised and resting against the doorframe, and your favorite pair of panties. You did laundry earlier and showered, your big exciting thing of the day being that you could but on your favorite underwear and be lazy as soon as you finished the chore of folding your clothes. “Trevor’s in New York right now.”

“I know,” Jack says, a hand on his suitcase. The other is clenched by his side. “I have a meeting in LA tomorrow so he said I could stay here while he was gone.”

“Oh,” you reply, feeling silly. It would’ve been nice if your brother had told you that Jack was coming and staying here while he was gone, considering you’d made plans to be alone all night tonight. Trevor always does shit like this– he makes plans and then forgets to tell you until someone shows up or he has to leave to meet them. It’s frustrating. “Come on in, then.”

You move to the side, gesturing for Jack to enter the apartment, and he does. His suitcase rolls in behind him, just a little carry on, and he leaves it beside the door where he kicks off his shoes. 

Your hands make their way to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it. “I’ll, uh, go change into something more–”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jack interrupts, waving you off. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to change on my account. I’m interrupting your night of–” 

He looks to the couch and the coffee table, littered with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine that you had been drinking out of, straight from the spout. Your movie is paused on the screen, a silly Disney Channel movie that had come out when you and Trevor were children and still hadn’t lost its touch yet. You’re hoping that Jack doesn’t recognize the screencap, but Mel’s Lemonade machine fills the screen and if he’s seen Lemonade Mouth at all, he’ll know what movie you’re watching.

“Disney Channel and wine,” Jack finishes, pinching his lips to hide the amusement in his voice.

You frown, even though you want to burst into laughter with him. It is silly, what you’re doing, but you were supposed to be alone and who are you to be ashamed of your guilty pleasures?

“Don’t make fun,” you admonish, crossing your arms with a pout. “I thought I had the apartment to myself.”

“I’m not making fun!” Jack denies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I think it’s nice that you’re having a me-party.”

He’s referencing the other time he’s interrupted when you’re having a movie night on your own, when you watched The Muppets (2011) at the lake house because the boys were out on the boat and you had gotten a nasty sunburn the day before, so you’d stayed in. Jack had come back early because he was hungry, making the boys drop him off at the dock before going back out, and caught you red-handed with his favorite kind of pretzels and a half-full bottle of margarita next to the blender. 

You blush, glaring at him slightly. “Shut up, Jack.”

“No, this is perfect,” Jack continues, glowing a little as his shit-eating smile builds. He walks over to the couch and plops down, grabbing the bottle of wine and taking a swig before wiping his mouth. “I’m already dressed for a lazy night in, I shouldn’t waste it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re such a dick,” you complain. “You know you don’t want to watch this movie with me.”

“Why not?” He challenges, another tilt of the bottle pouring the fruity liquid down his throat. He spreads his legs when he sits as all the boys do, taking up as much space as he can. 

“Because you won’t like it,” you say. “And because I wasn’t planning on having you here.”

“Were you planning on having someone else here?” Jack teases. “Popcorn, red wine, a movie, no pants… I think I see the writing on the wall.”

“No, God, shut up, Jack!” You repeat with a huff, returning to the couch and curling up against the opposite arm, far away from the boy. “Just be quiet while I watch my movie. If you’re good, I’ll let you have some popcorn.”

Jack wiggles his eyebrows at you, sticking out his tongue. You pull at the bottom of your shirt again, making sure that your panties aren’t visible when he looks over. This is already humiliating enough– you don’t need your long-time crush seeing your underwear, too.

You hit play and turn the volume up loud enough to drown out any comments Jack might make. You’re lucky the movie is short, because he’s an antsy boy who loves to talk, just like your brother, and you can tell that he’s anxious to start another conversation.

As the credits roll, you mute the television and turn to him. “What?” You demand, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce and shoving your hands into your lap to stretch your shirt over the space between your legs. 

“You really didn’t have plans tonight?” Jack asks. “It’s a Saturday night and you live in LA. You’re in your twenties. You didn’t want to have anyone over?”

You flush, but it’s less out of embarrassment and more out of anger. “Judgemental much, Hughes? Not all of us have people throwing themselves at our feet any given day of the week.” You grind your teeth, clenching your jaw and taking a deep breath. You stare at him, refusing to break eye contact. Jack shouldn’t be allowed to form opinions on your life. You know exactly what he’s insinuating– why aren’t you out there getting laid, Y/N? and it’s frustrating because it’s the same question you ask yourself whenever your friends text about their recent hookups or whenever Trevor brings a girl back to the apartment. 

More than anything, you don’t want Jack judging you. You know that your Saturday night plans are lame, but that’s why you wanted to be alone. 

Jack falls quieter, your reaction diluting his crooked, toothy smirk that he reserves for the people he knows well. “I’m surprised you don’t have– people. Throwing themselves at you.”

He’s awkward when he says it, too awkward not to make you suspicious.

He’s avoiding eye contact, picking at his nailbeds. 

“Would you?” You ask, directly to the point. You’re making a point, too– you’ve known Jack for years and he has never, not once, implied that he thinks you’re desirable. 

Jack says nothing, running his fingers through his hair and looking down. 

You nod to yourself and stand from the couch, still tugging at your shirt. You’re pulling it even lower now, the neckline dipping and stretching as you cover your legs up as best you can. “That’s what I thought,” you say quietly, a cold feeling washing through your chest and pressing down on the skin that your heart beats beneath. 

“I would,” Jack calls, just as you walk away. You’re positioned right in front of the door that leads to your bedroom when he says it, head hanging towards the ground so that he doesn’t see the frown on your face. 

His silence was a rejection and his afterthought is even worse. Nonetheless, you turn to face him. This time, it’s your silence that rings throughout the space.

“I would,” Jack repeats. “If, y’know. You weren’t–”

“Trevor’s sister,” You say, filling in the blanks and finishing his sentence. You nod, a tight, close-lipped, and pointed smile on your face. “You don’t have to explain, Jack. I realized a long time ago that my world would always revolve around Trevor.” Your hand is on the doorknob now, twisting it and cracking your door open. Your bed is right there and you can collapse into it in mere seconds, able to let your tears leak into your pillow silently as you remind yourself that you’re not as good as your twin brother once again, just as soon as you get these words out. “I know I can’t do or say the things I want to with the people I want to because they’re always thinking about Trevor.”

You could add, And why would you be any different? You know him best. Of course he’s the one you’re loyal to, but you decide against it. It’s too petty. It’s too mean. It’s too– real. 

You look at him one last time to bid him goodnight, already craving the following day when his meeting is over and he heads back to Michigan, far away from you and your un-desirability. The tight smile returns to your face, trying to smooth out your upset yet resigned features. It’s always the same thing. It’s not Jack’s fault, really, it’s not. You’ve imagined this conversation in your head many times and each time you think rationally, you know that this is how it has to be.

He’s Jack Hughes, for God’s sake. You’re just Trevor Zegras’ less successful, lesser known twin sister.

“Trevor would kill me,” Jack says on a whim. “Really. He would. He would stand me up and punch me, right here.”

You’ve got one foot in your bedroom and one foot out. Despite the ice piercing through your chest, you can’t find it in yourself to be rude and close the door on him. You turn to face Jack again.

He’s sitting forward on the couch, hands clasped in front of him like a prayer. He moves them when he talks, lowering them and spreading them and gesturing with them. He’s always done that, ever since you’ve known him– it’s another way that he calls attention to himself and takes up space. It’s part of the reason why he’s so charming– he knows how to use his hands, how to touch someone to politely get them to move or to pull them closer or to playfully shoo them away. 

“If I had a sister, I’d do the same thing to him,” Jack continues. “It’s just– we can’t go for each others’ family. It’s against the code.”

You nod, slowly, exaggeratedly just to show him how nonsensical that sounds. “You realize it’s not up to Trevor to decide who you go out with,” you say. “That’s kind of your choice, Jack.”

“It’s not that simple.”

You shrug, then look away. Outside the living room window is a dark night, leaves blowing with the wind. 

“It could be,” you say after a moment. You’re not surprised to hear how resigned you sound. You learned to live with this a long time ago, so you know that pointing out how easily things could change is futile. You say it anyway. “If you wanted it to be. But, I get it. I’m your best friend’s sister. Maybe if I wasn’t, you’d consider–”

“I have considered,” Jack interrupts. “I’ve– well, you’ve seen it. All the guys have.”

You’re lost. It’s like he’s speaking in code. “I’ve seen what?” You ask, monotonous and silently yearning for your bed. Your patience is growing thin.

“You can’t be serious,” Jack responds with a laugh. He buries his face in his hands, muffling the noise. “Are you?”

“I’ve seen what,” you repeat, straight-faced and not entertaining this sudden bout of humor from the brunet boy.

“How I look at you when you’re in those tiny little swimsuits on the boat, or how I laugh when you make one of your stupid jokes that aren’t funny to anyone but you and Trevor,” Jack says. “You really never noticed?”

Now he’s just dangling your hopeless crush in front of you. You assumed he had noticed sometime over the years, but this is overkill. He’s never felt the same– that much is clear. It’s cruel that he thinks he can lead you to believe otherwise as a means to further tease you for being alone tonight.

You shake your head. “I never noticed because you never did any of those things, Jack. You’re just saying that to say it.”

He’s up in a flash, coming towards you and placing a hand flat on your bedroom door to prevent you from closing it and ending the conversation. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me,” Jack says.

“I don’t think it’s funny that you’re making fun of the little crush I’ve had on you since we were kids. You don’t feel the same way and I’m not an idiot.” You move to close the door again, but Jack pushes it open again. 

“You– I’m not making fun,” Jack stammers out, looking surprised. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “You have a crush on me?”

Your jaw drops and your face flames with humiliation. You thought he knew that you liked him and that he was making fun on purpose– and now you’ve accidentally revealed your massive, well-kept secret to his face. This was never supposed to happen. “You didn’t know?” You hiss, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack repeats, a smile spreading across his face. He steps closer, prompting you to back away.

“No. No,” you moan out, feeling positively ashamed and destroyed. Tonight is not turning out as you hoped it would.

Jack’s still smiling, closing your bedroom door softly behind him as he follows you into your room. 

You knock into the edge of your bed and sit, sinking into the mattress. Your hands are still pressed over your mouth as Jack kneels in front of you, prying your hands away from your face and holding them gently. 

“You have a crush on me,” Jack says for a third time, his voice soft and subtly optimistic. The corner of his mouth curves up into the tiniest of smirks and you swear your face couldn’t get any more red.

All you can give him is a frown and a devastated wobble of your bottom lip. 

“Well, this changes everything,” Jack says, regaining his ability to joke, it seems. His next question is rhetorical and makes you swallow hard. “Who gives a fuck about Trevor when you feel the same way I do?” 

“You’re– you’re serious,” you say, still a thread of disbelief sewn into your words. “You weren’t kidding. You actually– thought about it.”

“Thought about it?” Jack asks. “Fuck, Y/N, I almost told you right before you left last summer, but then you said you were talking to that guy.”

You roll your eyes– that guy had only been in your life for about a month and you had only mentioned him because Jack had mentioned a girl he wanted to see. You tell him such– “I only brought him up because everyone was talking about their romantic interests and who they were interested in, I didn’t want to seem like a loser. You had some girl, too, Jack.”

“Some girl– that was you,” Jack reveals incredulously. “I thought I was being so obvious.”

“You weren’t obvious at all!” You deny, mouth open in a scoff. 

“I thought that you mentioning that guy was your way of letting me down easy!”

“Yes, Jack, because I was going to reveal my feelings for you in a room full of both of our brothers. Good idea. You fucking idiot!”

Jack laughs aloud, throwing his head back. His face scrunches up and he smooths his face with his big palm at the end of his amusement. He fixes you with a look of glee and astonishment– something only hindsight can bring to his expression. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

You shake your head, laughing with him for a moment before he swipes a thumb over your cheek, which stills you. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, smile still gracing his face. “I can’t believe–”

“Me neither,” you say.

“Can I–”

“Absolutely.”

Jack’s rising up, kissing you and laying you back on the bed so that he can completely cover your body with his own. One of his hands cups your cheek, while the other grips your hip, atop your underwear but underneath the big t-shirt that is now riding up your body as you move. Your hand is on his bicep and his chest, clutching his sweatshirt. The strings dangle down into your space, brushing against your clothes and tickling you.

His hands memorize you like a topographic map, clutching at your dips and curves and anything else he can get his hands on. 

“Wanna take this off,” You mumble against Jack’s mouth, tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt.

Jack pulls back immediately, reaching behind his neck to grab the collar of his top and bring it above his head. He balls it up and drops it somewhere on the floor. 

“That, too,” you tell him, about his t-shirt, before he can bend back down and kiss you senseless again.

Jack chuckles and pulls it off, too, leaving him half-naked just like you. His chest is tanned and swollen from his recent workouts in Michigan since his shoulder surgery, something that Trevor had told you about but about which you’d never checked in. You’re gentler on that side of his body, especially as he comes back down into your space and you get to touch him. You run your hands over his muscles. You feel out the ridges of his body, trying to match his own confident movements as he feels you up.

One of your hands makes its way to his v-line, something you’d seen over plenty of boat trips. You’d always wanted the opportunity to touch it, to trace it, to watch it bend and flex as he rolled his hips. You’re being afforded that opportunity now and it is sweet.

“I thought you might like that,” Jack murmurs. “Caught you staring once. Was the same day you wore my favorite red swimsuit out.”

“I still have it,” you tell him, gasping a little when his hand slides up to your chest. He tweaks your nipple, then his hand retreats. 

“Mm, a treat for tomorrow,” Jack says. “I’m gonna have you walking around in that thing all day just so I can look at you. For now…”

He trails off, pushing the bottom of your shirt up and leaving your lips to attach his to the freshly revealed skin of your torso. He kisses up your body with each inch he reveals, between your breasts and up your neck. He pulls your shirt off, letting it join his own on the floor, and gets his first proper look at your tits.

“Been waiting to see these,” he continues, eyes fixed on your chest like he’s being hypnotized. He places his hands on you and squeezes, feeling your supple flesh between his fingers. You moan out at the sensation, the noise spurring him on. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding and tugging at his joggers, hoping he’ll get the hint and remove them.

“‘ve wanted to come on these tits since I first saw it in a porno,” Jack reveals, still mesmerized by your chest. “Thought about it a hundred times.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Come on my tits all you want, but you have to fuck me first.”

“Guess your Saturday night wasn’t so boring after all,” Jack says before he stands from the bed and tugs his pants off. He joins you again, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing over your face. He grinds against you, his clothed cock sliding against your damp panties in a way that has you both keening into each others’ mouths. 

“Guess not,” is your reply, cut short by another moan when Jack’s hand claims your chest again.

You move without speaking after that, fueled only by the desire coursing through your veins after years of pining and aching for the other. 

Jack feels you out and eventually discards his own underwear before removing yours, returning to the missionary position that you had assumed as soon as you had first kissed. It’s sweeter this way– and you both need to see the other’s face, to feel their breath mix with your own. Your chests are flush together, your nipples scraping against the defined and broad swoops of his skin. You grind against each other for a few minutes more, his dick sliding between the wet lips of your pussy with nothing blocking it. He groans into your ear as your juices coat his length, eyes closed in a grimace that is completely charged by his pleasure.

“Condom?” is the last thing he asks, with you shaking your head and replying, “Pill.”

He lines himself up, mouth agape with a choked breath as he thrusts into your tight, wet heat. Your head finds the mattress beneath you, your back arching up as he fills you. You can feel his veins sliding against your walls, the blunt and weeping tip of his cock poking at your deepest parts.

He moves like a man possessed and fighting the beast– like he wants to let loose but at the same time, restraining himself. When you tug on his hair, the subtle waves that he’s been growing out over the summer and hiding beneath his hat in every picture you’ve seen, and whine out his name, Jack’s control vanishes.

He starts to piston his hips into your cunt, burying his face into your neck and letting out ecstasy-fueled whimpers each time you clench down. He curses in your ear, voice a little higher than it normally is, and the intimacy and vulnerability of the moment has your heart clenching. 

“J– J–” You chant, mewling as his cockhead drives against the back wall of your pussy in hard thrusts that make your head spin. 

“So good,” he grits out, kissing over your neck and catching your earlobe between his lips for a moment before dropping it. One of his hands is splayed over your hip, the other securely planted next to your head. “So tight.”

“Coming,” you warn, your fingers finding his bicep and clenching, fingernails digging into his skin so much that you won’t be surprised if you break skin. Your voice is high, too, octaves higher because of the pleasure you’re experiencing.

“Fuck, yeah, baby, come on my cock,” Jack pants out, the hand from your hip coming to rub circles over your clit. 

It sends a shock up your spine and has your hips bucking up to meet his, your entire lower half shaking as your climax approaches. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your vision goes spotty when you do come, just seconds after his groaned encouragement. Your entire body tenses, freezing with Jack still inside of you, making it damn near impossible for him to continue pumping his hips. 

He slides from your opening as you’re coming, bringing some of the slick with him in a feeble excuse for a squirt. His dick bobs, hard and an angry red that might be the most beautiful color you’ve ever seen in your hazy, post-orgasmic state.

Jack comes up to straddle your stomach, stripping his cock quickly with a tight fist, chest heaving. You know he wants to come on your chest, having already given him permission, but your mouth opens and your tongue lolls out in an invitation that Jack can’t deny. He shuffles up further on his knees, his whimper sounding pained as his milky cum spurts from the tip of his cock and lands along the flat of your tongue and your lips.

His spurts grow weaker, although he’s still stroking his dick in a fervorous pace, whining a little more at the oversensitivity. His cum makes his way to your chest, just dripping down the length of his shaft and pooling over your tits. 

You reach up with one hand and trace your fingers through the seed, causing Jack to sway a little on top of you at the sight. His cheeks are flushed and pink, eyes blue and clear like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Your fingertips brush your nipple, spreading the cum over it before you bring your hand up to your mouth and suck the remaining liquid off of your skin, swallowing it with a hum.

Jack is off of you in a flash, pulling you on top of his lap and joining your lips. The last of his cum, painted across your tongue in a thin layer, mixes with your spit as he kisses you. He’s desperate, filling your mouth with his tongue until you can barely breathe, tasting himself on you until it’s indistinguishable– where you end and he begins.

It takes a long time for Jack to finally pull away, for you both to come down from your highs and take a breath.

In typical Jack fashion, he can’t stop himself from joking around.

“Trevor’s really going to kill me now,” he says. “There’s a chance he’ll never let us be in the same room again.”

You laugh, knowing already that neither of you will be willing to let this– whatever this is– go just because your brother has something to say about it. “In that case, we’ll just have to sneak away.”

notes: I WANTED TO NAME THIS "BFB" AFTER THE VICTORIOUS SONG SOOOOOO BAD!!!!! but alas. it's best friend's sister. maybe some other time. blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. well now wait that's a good idea...

[wordsinhaled]

Restaurant owner/chef Charles / Food critic Edwin AU!!!

So, I just thought of this AU and I am so jazzed about it that I need to drop this idea somewhere so it can become a 100k fic I can devour in one sitting asdfhfhfhf

In an ideal world I’d want to offer the floor to someone Desi to run with this idea, or to collab with me on it because I want to do Charles' food and culture and relationship with his mum justice. I’ve only been adjacent to the restaurant business (my family ran a small café for a bit and I worked there, and I have a family member who did culinary school, so).

I just know that this idea has Arrived in my brain and I can’t just let it sit in there unattended, asdjfjfjf

I'm tagging @nix-nihili and @queen-of-hobgobblers 'cause I feel like this will be up your street???

Okay - so Charles and his mum own a small Indian restaurant. It’s a family business and his parents ran it together ("together") before. Charles’ father was incredibly controlling about the menu, their community partners and suppliers, as well as pretty much every other aspect of the business (and their lives, behind the scenes). Now Charles’ father is out of the picture—I'm undecided how this happens, but I just think Charles deserves to live an unfettered life without Mr. Rowland hurting him anymore, tbh.

He gets to rediscover the joy of cooking together with his mum, cooking as freely as he wants and not being held back by his dad's expectations, refreshing the restaurant's menu to feature more authentic versions of the dishes, making connections with new suppliers, redoing the accounting to pay everybody a living wage... Just generally, like, revamping the entire restaurant to be a more joyful place to be that celebrates delicious food and companionship as a form of connection and sharing. Edwin is a food critic who goes to the grand reopening of the restaurant. Edwin likes to write about and document food. He enjoys experiencing a restaurant and its food possibly even more than the tasting of it. He presents like the uptight, exacting sort of food critic restaurants are intimidated by, with his many layers and his bow tie and his posture and his perfect hair, his little notebook and his vintage pocket pen. But inside he just wants to be able to feel some sort of a connection: with the chef through the food (What is the dish trying to tell him?); with the other person at the table—if there is another person, which is so rare.

Family mealtimes for Edwin growing up were distant affairs, overly formal and stilted and coded, minefields for being scrutinized and speaking and acting in only the most acceptable ways; not places to be honest or genuine or to let one's guard down. Certainly not occasions to experience genuine enjoyment. He wants to believe that food, which is so vital to life, and the preparing and the sharing of it, can be different. Positive. Joyous.

Charles gives Edwin a tour of the restaurant when he arrives. Charles is not like a lot of other restaurant owners Edwin has met. He introduces Edwin to his mum and the way he looks at her makes a pang go through Edwin's chest because clearly, they love each other so much, and Edwin may have never had that but just looking at it heals something in him. He's not getting invested, though. (Right?)

Charles' enthusiasm is like, off the charts. He's practically vibrating, to the point where excitement tips over into anxiety, clearly trying to keep it toned down and failing. And Charles is like, "I'm sorry. Just a bit nervous, yeah? I really care about this place. I need it to—I mean. I really want it to do well."

Edwin's heart goes out to him. "Do not worry," he says, softly. "I am not here to hurt you." He doesn't know why he says it but all the tension goes out of Charles, the slightly frantic look goes out of his eyes, and he gives Edwin the brightest smile he thinks he's ever seen. It's a gorgeous smile. Relieved, and carefree, and warm like sunshine.

"D'you want to try some food?" He says it almost conspiratorially, as though this is not Edwin's primary and entire purpose in being here.

Edwin looks around the quiet, empty restaurant. It's cozy and warm with mid-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows at the front. Even without any patrons, without the din or bustle of a full dining room, it seems to beckon to foster shared happiness within it. "I was under the impression that I would be partaking of your dinner service this evening," he says delicately, trying to hide that he might actually want nothing better than to never leave here at all, let alone try some food.

"Well, yeah," Charles says, "'course you are. But this is different, innit? Not for the article. Come on, let me cook for you. You look like..." He stops. Perhaps considering if he's about to say too much. His eyes are bright and thoughtful and fixed on Edwin so intently that Edwin doesn't breathe for a moment. "You look like no one's cooked for you in ages." It comes out soft, but firm; as though he knows what he's talking about. Edwin feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

"No one has ever cooked for me," says Edwin matter-of-factly.

He has no idea what it is about Charles that makes him admit something so honest—although it is not entirely accurate. His family had had a personal chef. Technically speaking, all of Edwin's meals had been cooked for him, until much to his parents' chagrin he went off to a student flat, and culinary school, and began to cook them for himself. But he suspects that no one has ever cooked for him, the way Charles Rowland is offering to now. Properly. Like it means something. Like he is trying to say something through it; unspoken words that Edwin has always wanted to hear.

Let me know you. Let me connect with you. Let me take care of you.

Charles' eyes widen. Clearly, he is trying to process Edwin's bleak admission. "Right," he says, after a beat, as his posture gains something determined; his grin bright and charming. "That settles it, then. I know exactly what I'm going to make you."

And before Edwin can say anything else, he's taking Edwin's hand in his and tugging him towards the kitchen.

[girliemattitude]

-- Guilty as Sin?- - M.S - -

A/N (1): I saw someone on @mattscoquette account saying how Matt was so ‘Guilty as Sin’ coded so I had to do it 🫶🏼 A/N (2): This turned out a little longer than what I expected because it has some introductory stuff at the beginning but I swear you’ll get what you came here for <3 💋 A/N(3): this is my work, please don’t steal it :)

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

Me and my boyfriend Langdon have been together for about eight months now. I was never the type who wanted a serious relationship, everything about love cringed me out but there was something about him that intrigued me a lot, maybe It was the fact that he’s very tall and confident or his dreamy green eyes but I don’t know.

Our relationship was very good in the beginning, my friends used to make fun of me saying that I became what I swore to destroy because I acted like those annoying girlfriends who can’t shut up about their boyfriends, so annoying right?, anyways now I realize that what I felt wasn’t real because I didn’t really know him well so I idealized him and fell for a perfect version of him who I created but only existed in my head.

Is not like he’s a terrible person but he’s definitely not a good boyfriend, at first he was very attentive and sweet but as the months passed he started to be more distant, it seems like he’s not very interested in me anymore, we barely talk, when I ask about his day he answers with a quick “it was a’ight” but never returns the question, we don’t go on dates, we don’t even cuddle, all we do is hang at his apartment but he’s always to busy on his phone to pay any attention to me so I just stare at the tv pretending I’m interested in the show or movie he put on and at night sometimes we have sex, On the weekends he usually goes MIA and I won’t hear about him until Monday just to find out he was ‘out with the boys’. The sex has change too, he used to make me feel good and wanted, like it was an enormous privilege to have me, he always make sure I got cleaned up afterwards and that I received cuddles or water or whatever I wanted but now it’s always so dull and dreary, I feel used afterwards, he doesn’t make eye contact with me, it’s like he’s only concern is himself and his pleasure so I just lay there, during he asks if I’m okay, he states how good he feels and after he’s done he asks if I came, I never do but I always lie to him, he puts his shorts back on and then goes on his phone again, so I go the bathroom,I clean myself and then I go back to bed feeling empty.

I tried to talk to Langdon about it, I told him we have a problem but he brushed it off saying that I’m nuts and that we are better than ever. I’ve gotten used to it by now, I know I could just break up with him but there’s a tiny bit of hope that thinks he’ll change so I stay.

Lately I’ve been feeling some type of way about my friend Matt, I’m very close with him and his brothers, I mean we’ve known in each for a long time now and yes I used to have a little crush on him but that was ages ago and it went away so I convinced myself that what I was feeling currently was the same silly feeling I once had and that it will go away just like last time, the problem was that this time was different it was harder to ignore, it was more intense and it filled my mind with crazy thoughts. It started one day at the warehouse, I was sitting on a large table typing the last details of an essay when all of the sudden my laptop shut down even though it was completely charged, I was freaking out when Matt entered the room, he asked what was wrong and after I answered him he position himself behind me, both of his arms were on each side of me and I could feel his scent on my nose and his warm breath on my face, he was trying to figure out what had happened to my laptop but all I could focused on was his hands, holy shit they’re veiny and his fingers looked so long pressing buttons on the keyboard, my breath hitched and I know should’ve but i didn’t look away, I tried to I swear but when I gazed to the side I saw his tattooed arm and I pictured myself tracing the lines of them, I heard him murmured an almost none audible “fuck” that sent vibrations to my whole body, specially in between my legs. I still don’t know how long I was zoned out but suddenly the laptop was back on and he said “there you go sweetheart” and give me a soft smile.

That night I was in my bed alone and I couldn’t stop thinking about those hands, my heartbeat started to race as I imagined how it would feel to have his hands squeezing my hips as he pulls me in for a kiss, I thought that I would bet millions of dollars he’s a good kisser, would he bite my lip?, how would does longs fingers feel inside of me? . I couldn’t stop wondering, my head was fuzzy, my fingers went from resting on my stomach to under my panties and before I realized what I was doing I touched my clit with my middle finger, slowly and in circles, Matt and how his warm breath felt against my skin never left my mind, a familiar sensation of pleasure overflowed my body and I let out a moan which put me out off my trance and I stoped myself from going further. I kept on telling myself that Matt’s just a nice guy who happens to be very attractive and that I was confused because I felt horny and lonely, but that didn’t stop me because the next morning while I was showering my mind went back to Matt and I pictured him in there with me, he’s wet hair and naked body, he’s dick pressed against my back, his lips on my neck leaving messy and sloppy kisses, one of his hands all over my boobs and the other inserting his fingers inside of me and I couldn’t stop, I imagined him talking me threw it until I came undone screaming the name of one of my closest friends. After that I avoided the whole crew for I couple of days, I felt so guilty, I avoided Langdon too but that wasn’t that hard, it’s not like he was eager to see me either.

Yesterday I saw my friends again we went to a scape room and I tried to avoid Matt as much as I could, after that we went to a pizza place, as we were waiting for the pizza Nick and Chris went to the bathroom and Madi was on her phone, I was pretending to be on my phone too so I wouldn’t have to speak to Matt, he was sitting in front of me and I felt him stare but I didn’t looked up. He quickly switched seats and sat beside me, I ignored him again, I thought I succeeded when I saw Nick and Chris approach us but I was wrong, Matt got even nearer to me and whispered in my ear “is it just me or a you avoiding me today?” I told him he was crazy and that we were good but I don’t think he believed me, I’m a terrible liar but even if I wasn’t I know he noticed how my body froze when he whispered to me and how my eyes didn’t locked with his even once, he didn’t talk much after that little interaction between us. I know him, I know he was overthinking about why I was acting this way towards him, and I felt terrible but how I’m suppose to tell him that I’m the worst person alive because even though I have a boyfriend I can’t get him out off my head, that I keep recalling things we never did, that I can’t look at him in the eyes without having an unbearable need to kiss him, that I want him to hold me at night, or how we’ve already done it in my head and how that was the best orgasm I’ve had in the longest time or how it’s not only a sexual thing but also the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him?

Right now it’s the next day and I’m in my boyfriends couch, he’s beside me playing some video game, I’m looking at the screen and I hear gunshots and one of his friends yelling from the headphones he has on but my mind is on Matt once again, everyday day that goes by I feel worse, I know he’s frustrated because he knows something’s wrong but I can’t tell him, and my stupid boyfriend is next to me and doesn’t know shit, which makes me feel even worse, Langdon swears we are perfectly fine and I can’t help but feel like a cheater, I hate cheaters yet I am one, I haven’t touched Matt but mentally I’m full of sin.

Last night I told everything to my friend Madi, who stayed the night at my house to keep me company ‘cause “I seemed off”, of course she noticed too, everyone did, even Chris who’s always distracted asked me what the fuck was going on with me.

After I told Madi she stated that I shouldn’t feel guilty about anything,that we can’t control our thoughts but we can control our actions and I haven’t done anything wrong, she also told me I should break up with Langdon and tell the truth because i would be surprised to know what Matt feels too, I still don’t know what Matt feels, she wouldn’t tell me but it doesn’t matter, I can’t do that, I know Langdon hasn’t been the best boyfriend but he’s not a bad person, I just don’t want to hurt anyone but I guess that’s inevitable. Maybe our relationship is just in a rough patch and If I put more effort into it we’ll work it out and possibly light up the fire again. Yes that’s probably it, In a couple of days everything will go back to normal and I’ll stop getting those crazy thoughts.

Langdon gets off his game and asks me if I’m hungry, I say we should go out to eat since we haven’t done that in a while but he doesn’t want to so I offer to cook us something instead and he agrees, I smile big at him and suggest we could make dinner together but he just says “nah” and goes back to his game, but it’s okay I’m not giving up. I make some quick mac and cheese and we eat in silence, he offers to wash the dishes and I let him, baby steps I think to myself.

I stare at him as he’s cleaning the counter and I analyze him, he’s way taller than Matt, and more muscular, he’s eyes are green, not blue, he’s hair is lighter and slightly longer, he doesn’t have any tattoos and his hands are bigger. Overall they are both completely different people, even their personalities don’t match but weirdly the two of them are my type, which doesn’t really matter because I shouldn’t be comparing them anyway.

I walked over to Langdon and I intertwined my hands over his shoulders, I gave him puppy eyes and I stand on my tiptoes to give him a kiss, a genuine kiss he laughs and says “what was that for?”

“I just felt like kissing you, is there something wrong with that?” I reply with and innocent tone before I kiss him again, this time is a longer kiss, it gets heated pretty fast, he pulls me into his hard abdomen, grabbing my ass with both of his hand and I start to feel the bulge between his legs getting bigger. I pull apart out of breath and I ask him to take me to the bedroom, he doesn’t waste any time as he lifts me up effortlessly, my legs are up in the air and I’m being carried to his room. I can’t help but to think about how Matt wouldn’t lift me up as easily as Langdon just did and how I would tease him about it, (c’mon Matt I’m not that heavy) a giggle at the thought and my boyfriends looks at me weird; “what’s so funny?”, oh fuck, I gotta stop, “nothing don’t worry about it”. He puts me down on the bed and gets rid of his all of his clothes, except his underwear, I do the same and we go back to kissing, he’s laying on top of me, he starts giving me kisses on my jaw and goes down to my neck and collarbones, I support myself on my elbows so he could take my bra off, he squeeze one of my boobs and gently tease the other one with his mouth, murmuring things I can’t understand, all I I can do is moan at the feeling. I decide to take a little bit of control and I switch our position, now he’s laying on his back and I straddle him, I give kisses on his abdomen, down to his happy trail and before I reach his boxers I lick him sensually all the way up until I meet his lips again, I kissed him and I bite his bottom lip, “you are such a tease you know that sweetheart”, sweetheart, he never calls me that, that’s what Matt calls me, why I’m a thinking about Matt again?, I shake my head trying to brush off the thoughts and I remove his underwear, he sits up so we are chest to chest, I take a look at his hard cock and I stroke him a couple of times before I put my panties to the side and I aligned myself into him, I sink into him and the both of us let out a sigh of relief once he’s all in, he kisses me and I start to move back and forth slowly, he guides my hips until we found a nice rhythm, he’s groaning and I moan, my moans gets even louder once i start bouncing up and down on him, and it feel so good, he grabs my ass and my hands are on his shoulders for support, i close my eyes and suddenly I’m in Matt’s bed instead, his brown hair is sticking to his forehead, he’s blue eyes are lock in mine and they look much darker now due to his pupils being dilated, his cheeks are tinted pink and his mouth is open, I see his horse necklace moving along with our movements, his chest moves at a rapid pace as well considering that he’s out of breath. I whine so loudly and I rolled my head back at the overwhelming feeling and his left hand goes to my neck bringing me back to him “press harder, pleeaa-ssee” I say between heavy breaths, “yeah? You want me to choke a little do ya’?” “Omg, yess” , “all you had to do was ask baby”. My only response being the sounds leaving my throat, I place one of my hands on top of his left one that’s choking me and my other one goes to his forearm arm caressing his tattoos. I swear I could stay like this forever; “fuck, you’re so pretty, so perfect, just for me, shit I’m gonna cum babe ” “nonono, wait for me, I’m close”

I feel how his dick twitches a little inside of me, my movements increase even more and I start to tremble as I hit my climax and finally that familiar knot on my stomach pops and I came harder than ever, my eyes are close as I ride off my orgasm, my breaths are still irregular and when they’re about to go back to normal I hear “That was so good baby” and my eyes go wide open in shock. Langdon has a fucked out look on his face but he’s smiling at me with a huge grin and once again I feel like absolute garbage, I get off of him and i quickly go to the bathroom, tears are filling my eyes, am i allowed to cry?, my heart is full of guilt and regret, I cannot believe I fucked my boyfriend thinking about Matt but what surprised me the most is that even though i feel terrible, the back of my mind is thinking… ‘if I just came this hard just by the thought of him, how good would it feel to actually have sex with Matt? Does that make me mad? or bad?’ I have no clue all I know is that Madi is right, I have to break things off with Langdon.

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

kneeling on the floor

pairing: chan x fem. reader

genre: smut

word count: ~1.8k

warnings: oral (m. receiving), pet names (baby, honey, princess, little one), brief mentions of sub space, praise, squirting, cum in mouth, cum play.

masterlist • han •

an: i was blushing and kicking my feet while writing this one. my biggest fear is chan finding this account (or anyone in my real life finding this account) just strike me dead at that point.

you knew he had a long day at the studio. you knew he was so exhausted and working so hard with an impending comeback and world tour coming. though, you didn't want to think about a world tour right now. just thinking of it made you sad. but you had been thinking all day about how you could help him relax when he got home. and you came to a conclusion that, honestly, would make you both very happy.

and that's what led you here. naked. kneeling on the hard wood floor directly inside the door to the apartment. he would open the door and there you would be. you heard his footsteps approaching the door. the buttons on the keypad beeping as he punched in the code. the door slowly swinging open, his face focused on his phone as he shut and locked the door behind him, toeing off his shoes. and then he looked up.

you wish you could have set up a camera or something to catch his reaction, the look on his face was the best part. he dropped his bag, his mouth hanging open, his ears turning a bright red.

"baby, what are you doing on the floor?" he asked, approaching you. his hand came in contact with your face, his thumb stroking lightly across your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

"wanted to surprise you, channie." you said quietly. you had been in this position for a little while, having done nothing but sit in anticipation. your mind racing with the thoughts of what you wanted to do to him when he got home, and what he may do to you after if he wasn't too tired. at this point, you had been thinking about it so long that you were practically dripping, already slipping into subspace and he hadn't even done anything yet.

"well i'm definitely surprised." he cooed. "look at you. my sweet girl."

"want to suck your cock." you told him. "please, can i?"

"oh, honey. how long have you been waiting here like this?" he asked. "the floor is so hard. are your knees okay, baby?"

you nodded, not caring at all about your knees actually. your mouth watering.

he slipped his hoodie over his head and folded it a few times crouching down and sliding it under your knees. "is that better? a little cushion, yeah?" he kissed your forehead softly before standing straight again.

you itched to reach out and unbutton his pants, but you knew better. you had your hands on your legs, palms flat against your thighs. although, you considered risking it, not really minding if this turned into a punishment.

"now what did you say you wanted, baby?" he asked, smirking.

"i want you in my mouth." you replied.

"wow baby knows exactly what she wants." he said. "i'm so proud of you."

your cunt grew wetter with the praise. he was right, usually it took you a little while to get to the point where you could tell him what you wanted. usually you were a stuttering mess to start out, but this had been building all day and you were ready.

"i've been waiting." you tell him. "please?" you look up at him, his pants button was level with your face, his torso covered in a black fendi tank top (yk exactly which one im talking about), his hair falling in his eyes.

"go ahead, princess." he said. and now with his permission, you reached out and palmed him through his pants. he hummed, a deep, approving sound. you ran your fingertips up his body, playing with the hem of his tank top, sliding the tips of your fingers under the fabric. your touch grazed his bare skin, small hairs ticking the pads of your fingers.

"can you take this off too, channie?" you asked, your voice dripping sweet.

"i don't know, baby. i only took the hoodie off to cushion your little knees." he teased.

"my knees still hurt." you lied, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. "i need more cushion."

"oh you do?" he feigned worry. " well in that case, maybe we should just go to bed. maybe the floor isn't a good place for you." he took a step back, moving to help you off of the floor.

"no!" you begged. you grabbed him by his belt loops and pulled him closer. "no, my knees are fine."

he chuckled. "are you sure baby? you said you needed more cushion. why would you say that if your knees were fine?"

oh he's in a mood tonight. he's in true christopher form.

"i just wanted to see your body." you admitted.

"oooooh." he said. "so you lied." he made a tsk tsk sound. "that's bad behavior, little one. you know i don't reward bad behavior."

he has you right where he wants you, a drippy mess on the floor, tears pricking your eyes in frustration. "please, channie. i'm sorry." you looked up at him, hands still gripping his pants, your bottom lip quivering. "i was being greedy. i wanted to see your body. i'm sorry i lied. i wont do it again."

leaning down slightly, he cradled your face in the palms of his hands. "oh, baby. you're so precious." he kissed the top of your head. "i forgive you, honey. go ahead." he straightened, towering over you once again, and slipped his tank top over his head. he tossed it to the side, like it wasn't more expensive than your entire wardrobe.

your eyes raked over the bare expanse of his skin, your mouth watering at the sight. the highs and lows of his muscles, how they flexed as he breathed. you leaned forward and pressed an open mouth kiss just to the right of his belly button. you continued kissing down until you reached the top of his pants. you tugged them down, continuing your trail of kisses. his pants pooled around his ankles, and he carelessly kicked them to the side. now he was standing there in nothing but (of course) his fendi underwear. you palmed his bulge. you leaned in and licked him from bottom to top, over his underwear.

"don't be a tease, baby." he said, his voice already breathy.

you hooked your fingers over the elastic and pulled down, his cock springing free. you wrapped your hand around him, he was hard and hot. you ran your hand up and down, slowly pumping, appreciating the size and feel of him. you loved this man for everything that he was, but his cock was definitely one of your favorite things about him. it was perfect. just the right size, and you loved the feeling of his soft velvety skin, the feeling of the large vein that ran along the underside.

you gently licked the tip, tasting the precum there. he let out a sigh. you looked up at him the best you could as you licked him from the base of his balls, all the way to his tip. his head fell back as you wrapped your mouth around him, finally. you slowly took as much of him as you could, until he was touching the back of your throat. but he had you trained well, you gagged around him but didn't pull away. you tried to take more and more until your nose was brushing the skin of his stomach. his hands found your hair, his fingertips against your scalp as he held you there. you continued to periodically gag around him until you had to pull away, coughing. a trail of spit connected your mouth and his tip, you collected it with your hand and used it to coat his length.

his hand still gripping your hair, he led you back to him. his tip pushed past your lips, and he slowly pumped himself in and out, using you just the way you liked it. "fuck" he exhaled. you moaned around him, enthusiastic at finally getting what you've been waiting all day for. "that's it baby. you're doing so good."

one of your hands was against his thigh, just in case you needed to tap out (though you never have before), and your other hand was traveling from your nipple down your body until your fingertips brushed your clit. it was puffy and in desperate need of attention. as you rubbed slow circles, chan shoved himself as far as he could down your throat and held you there, loving the feeling of you gagging around him. he was moaning and grunting and your fingers moved faster and faster across your slick, getting the most pleasure out of knowing he was pleased.

your hand that was on his thigh, slowly moved up, fingertips coasting over his muscled abdomen. you pressed your palm against them, feeling them flex under your touch as he fucked your face. you knew he was close, his voice growing in pitch and starting to whine.

"fuck, princess." he sounded desperate. you loved it when he sounded like that. loved how he started out so dominant but you were the one who could bring him to this point. the point where he was whiny, and needy, and no longer teasing. "i'm-- i'm gonna cum."

your own high was approaching, his sounds and words pushing you over the edge. you had been waiting all day for this, the pressure building up over hours, so finally when you did find release, it was a lot. you moaned around him, your pussy spasming and squirting your release onto the hard floor and his poor hoodie. he soon found his own high, releasing into your mouth. he pulled out slowly, and you showed him your tongue, covered in his cum. he panted above you, taking in the sight. you were a mess, your hair tangled, your legs wet and shaking, you cheeks flushed. he thought you had never looked more beautiful. he knelt down with you, his knees now in your cum as well.

"you made such a mess, honey." he said softly. you nodded, your tongue still hanging out of your mouth. he leaned in and kissed you, tasting himself. he kissed you slowly, sweetly, passing his release back and forth between the two of you until it was all swallowed and gone. he pressed his forehead against yours, his palm against your chest, feeling your heartbeat. "i love you." he whispered.

"i love you, more." you whispered back.

he leaned back on his heels, still trying to catch his breath. you loved this look on him. flushed, sweaty, post orgasm, his muscles tight. just looking at him, you felt ready for round two. but you were both way too tired for that.

"lets get you cleaned up." he said, kissing your forehead before standing up and helping you off the floor.

"sorry about your hoodie, channie." you told him, looking down at the drenched pile of fabric.

"don't you worry about that, baby. nothing the wash can't fix." he smiled. "now off to the bath with you." he laughed, spanking you playfully.

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

[araminakilla]

Regarding Death Wolf...

Hear me out (NO, it's not the kind you are thinking)

We know Death has a job, right? To collect souls and most likely release them to the afterlife.

And for this job, he has to be there when somebody is about to die, as demostrated with him being there moments before Puss' eight death.

Supposing he is THE Death and he has been doing this since the beginning of time (or at least when there were enough stories of the Grim Reaper to adquire a physical form) that means he has seen a lot, A LOT of awful things.

Murders, suicides, massacres, death of infants, people who didn't deserve to die alone, animal cruelty, some other heavy stuff I won't mention here, etc etc etc.

And we thought "man, how is he able to cope with all of that? That job has to be utter torture for someone."

Probably many of you could think that he is able to do that because he is Death, and he was "born" with that purpose and only him can reap souls perfectly.

But while he is a force of nature, he also WAS a force of nature. Let me explain it well: He adquired a personality enough to be angry, excited, frustrated, amazed, happy, among other emotions.

While he has supernatural power and is most likely the most powerful being in the Shrek Franchise (or in Dreamworks as many say) he is also a PERSON.

Someone with a code of honor, morals, opinions, beliefs, etc.

Returning to the question "How can he bear all of that?" taking into account he is no longer an inevitable force, but a character of his own.

The answer is something you may relate to, and that is: Creativity and escapism.

To be the embodiment of Death, the guy is a very creative fella.

First of all, his design. I heard many people saying here and in Twitter that his design is something they would come up in their edgy, teen years of drawing their first fursona.

Guess what? They are right, the wolf form is someone's fursona. It's DEATH'S fursona. He clearly came up with this badass, piercing canine form to blend with the Fairy Tale Land assuming the form of the "Big Bad Wolf". He most likely had other forms he designed over the centuries and was able to present as them like if he were on a role play game in the living world.

His sickles? The weapon of choice with the little crossed cats on it to have a bigger effect of terror for Puss? Those who can become knuckles and join to create a scythe? Those are his creation, probably after thinking it for a while and writing all of those functions on a paper.

The way he presents himself? In the bar? The coins in his eyes as a "watching you" sign while being a cool reference to the Ferryman of souls? He transforming Perrito's forest into the background of a skull? The chilling reveal at the Cave of Lost Souls? The fire ring? It was all him.

As for the escapism part...

When the world becomes too heavy to deal with as real life issues tend to make us feel bad, depressed, angry... we tend to escape it somewhere. And in our time the common place would be the internet as in webpages or comics, stories, etc.

But what has to do with Death Wolf you may ask?

Well, while he would NEVER be able to escape his job entirely, he can have moments where he can enjoy a good hunt of people who don't appreciate life, like the whole plot of the Puss in Boots sequel could demostrate.

He managed to have a little time outside his eternal routine to chase an arrogant cat who took life for granted. He enjoyed it, it was thrilling, it was exciting.

It was a way to escape a monotonous, grim "life", if just for a short moment.

So, when the chase ended as his prey no longer feared him and now was ready to fight for his last life, the wolf retreats, happy for Puss' character development but resigned because he once again had to return to "The Eternal Duty"

And that's not even counting all the times Jack "I'm dead inside" Horner had to interrupt Lobo's hunt and remind him of his job even in his "spare time"

Death knew the chase had to end eventually, but he didn't want it to end.

He didn't want to return to his own world

And if we look at Death like that, then he is probably one of the most relatable characters Dreamworks has ever make.

In the Shrek Franchise:

Monsters can be loved

Princesses don't have to fit the perfect standards of beauty

Handsome guys can be possesive jerks

Love at first sight doesn't work like one would think

Happily ever afters had to be built and not just obtain them with magic

And Death is the most creative and "full of life" being in the world

Because he would absolutely go crazy with his life/work if he wasn't.

Because in a world of Kings, Poets and Soldiers, he's the Supreme King

And he's also a perky goth but none of you are ready for that conversation.

[mutopians]

here's a list of fun things that the supreme court has decided in just the past week:

affirmative action is illegal. this is what lets colleges account for race when admitting students in, and getting rid of it in california a few years ago has shown that diversity in schools takes a MAJOR hit. (also, like roe v. wade, this law had DECADES of legal precedent under its belt)

that the dept. of education (and biden) can't go thru with that loan forgiveness plan he put out months ago. you know, the one that would forgive half or even all of some students' debt.

the first amendment lets a web designer refuse to do gay weddings. this means anyone can legally discriminate against queer people. it's a fun time to live in america right now, isn't it?

an important note is that all of these decisions were 6-3, with the more conservative justices overruling the more liberal ones. and if you need ANOTHER reason to care about the supreme court having checks & balances, two of the conservative justices (alito & thomas) have come under scrutiny these past few years for ethics violations, but the chief justice (aka the guy in charge, roberts) has failed to follow through on his promises to make an ethics code.

and i can assure you that they think they can get away with all of this because they know they can never be held accountable for their decisions—it's a lifetime appointment, and it's tricky to get impeached.

so tl;dr: voting is important. we might not vote for these guys, but we DO vote for who appoints them & who confirms their nomination. and the only way we can ever get our rights back is by appointing people to legislative offices so they can enshrine our rights in something a little stronger.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“You’re gorgeous.”

Lips brush softly against Billy’s temple. Fingers card into his hair at the base of his scalp, holding him like he’s something precious.

Billy scrunches his nose.

“Knock it off,” he scoffs.

When he bats his hand around, shrugging away from the touch, his wrist is snatched with a gentle grip.

“So fussy over nothing,” Eddie muses. He smooths his thumb from side to side against Billy’s inner wrist, leaning forward and planting another kiss on the bridge of his nose. “Why do you always get so grumpy when I compliment you, hm?”

Now, Billy’s brows draw together. Eddie kisses the crease, snorting into Billy’s palm when his free hand flies up to shove at his face.

“‘Cause it’s gay.”

“Well, I have some news you’re not gonna like.”

The brunet’s voice is muffled. He wiggles his eyebrows from between Billy’s fingers, and Billy only retracts his hand when lips press against his palm.

He makes a show of wiping his hand against the front of his shirt, and Eddie snickers.

“I don’t like it, okay?”

“Don’t like kisses? Blondie, I’m wounded.” Eddie closes the short distance between them, crowding Billy against the headboard. “You sure seemed to like ‘em a minute ago when I was—“

“Shh, stop,” Billy interrupts.

He can feel his skin grow hot when Eddie cracks a face-splitting grin, so close he can almost taste it.

In the back of his mind, on loop, is the sound of the headboard thunking against the wall over and over. The box springs creaking. Those damn fucking handcuffs rattling around his wrists.

As if sensing how deep his embarrassment runs, Eddie reaches up to tuck a curl behind Billy’s ear.

Just enough softness to cut the edge. Always.

“C’mon, you know how pretty you are, how can you expect me to not wanna smooch all over your face?”

“I said knock it off,” Billy warns.

Eddie stays close. Lingering well within the short reach of Billy’s personal bubble, but his expression dulls ever so slightly. Like a switch being flicked off, the light behind his eyes vanishing.

It has Billy holding his breath.

“Do you think we’re doing something wrong?”

The brunet’s voice is lower than before. Quieter. Billy opens his mouth and closes it again, looking for the answers in the other’s expression.

When he doesn’t provide a response, Eddie huffs amusedly and tilts his head to the side. Releases Billy’s wrist in favor of interlacing their fingers.

“Just ‘cause you don’t want love to come your way doesn’t mean it won’t, y’know.” He leans back against his free hand, giving Billy adequate space to breathe, and chews his lip in brief thought. “Don’t have to be naked to be loved, either.”

For a long beat, Billy just stares. He almost wants to run to Munson’s bathroom and look in the mirror, just to check and make sure his thoughts aren’t written all over his face for Eddie to read aloud. It’s a silly urge, all things considered.

He’s sitting in a trailer that he spends more time in than his own bedroom, wearing a stupid t-shirt and boxers that aren’t his, surrounded by pillows that he forced Eddie to buy because one pillow just wasn’t up to code.

The devil is in the details, and suddenly the air feels thin.

Even with the small space between them, Billy is still boxed in with no feasible way out. He furrows his brows and clenches his jaw.

“You don’t love me,” Billy spits.

Then Eddie laughs and it brings his blood to a simmer.

“I kinda do, though,” he lilts. “I get this happy little rush whenever I see you, I think about buying you cassettes and other shit with my negative account balance, and I quit lookin’ at nudie mags a little while back. If you’re mopping up what I’m drippin’.”

He fucking winks and Billy’s sure his face is redder than a tomato right now.

“What do you look at?” he hears himself ask.

His voice sounds far away over the thundering in his ears. Eddie snickers and leans over towards the edge of the bed, pulling the top drawer of his nightstand open and routing around.

How he keeps track of anything in this room is beyond Billy. Still, he manages to produce exactly what he’s looking for; a Polaroid.

Eddie sits back up, looking over the picture fondly for a moment before he hands it over. Billy accepts it with shaky hands.

The camera has made it into a few of their sessions before. For later, Eddie always says, and then snaps the most diabolical picture any lens has ever seen. The pervert probably has a whole shoebox full of them by now.

Not that Billy would ever ask to see.

He’s expecting something filthy when he turns it over in his hand. A shot of cum all over his face, or his mouth full of cock with a fist in his hair, shoving him deeper. The last thing he needs to see right now.

Instead, it’s an image of him smiling. Fully clothed. Eyes shut, and crinkled at the corners.

He looks genuinely happy, and he can’t even recall when the picture was taken. All he can deduce from the background is that he’s in Eddie’s room.

Go figure.

“We were smoking,” Eddie says, leaning closer to tip the picture down so he can peak at it once more. “One of those first times, before we ever did anything, and you were so giggly. Laughed at damn near everything I said, and I knew I wanted to remember that sound and how pretty you looked when you smiled all big like that.”

“Wanted to remember?”

“Mhm, you immediately smacked the camera out of my hand and yelled at me,” Eddie snickers. “Wasn’t sure I’d get another opportunity.”

He sighs fondly, like that’s endearing to him, and Billy presses his lips into a line.

“You jerk off to this?”

“Well, when you say it like that—“ Eddie pauses. Dawns a bit of a blush and shrugs one of his shoulders, still peaking at the picture. “You look relaxed. Totally at ease and happy, and it just gets me excited, I guess.”

Billy nods.

“How many times have you whacked to it?”

Eddie clears his throat and averts his eyes, sitting up straight reaching to toy with a lock of his hair.

“Like, uh, I dunno. A lot?”

“What’s a lot?”

Briefly, Eddie’s eyes flit back to Billy’s, and he looks away again. Tugs his hair in front of his face to hide his rapidly reddening complexion.

“Maybe something like 20-ish?”

Billy’s brows shoot upward.

“20 times?”

“Just counting the times I’ve used it exclusively.”

“Christ.” Billy shakes his head, spreading the faintest hint of a smile. “No wonder you keep saying you like me so much, you fuckin’ Pavloved yourself.”

“No, I felt that way the first time!”

Billy laughs, and he doesn’t miss the way that Eddie stares at him through half-lidded eyes. Like he just did something sexy with the intention of getting a rise out of the brunet.

It makes everything too real.

The air between them is suddenly hot again like it was mere minutes ago. Billy swallows thickly.

“That’s really your ultimate fantasy? Making me happy?” he asks. Glances back down at the picture. “More vanilla than I would’ve guessed.”

“Oh, you saying I can’t fuck you nasty and make you happy at the same time? That’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.”

Eddie crawls closer again. Dips down to nudge his face into Billy’s chest like a cat, pressing kisses against the worn fabric of his shirt.

When a hand brushes up his side, Billy goes rigid. Takes a few calming breaths and fights the urge to squirm away when Eddie kisses at his collarbone. He warily pushes his fingers through the brunet’s hair instead, cradling the base of his scalp.

Because maybe he’s something precious, too.

“You’re weird, Munson.”

Eddie chuckles, nosing fondly at his neck.

“You’re gorgeous, Hargrove.”