#i’m off work til friday so i have the time

[paperconsumption]

kaorus always doing some normal guy side quests. recently bought a digital camera because of a romance drama (based on a shoujo manga he read after that his sister lent him). visited the fossil museum and had a great time. met nagisa at the museum and bought him something from the gift shop. average tuesday for mr normal over here

[ilostyou]

welp. the phantom cramps are no longer phantom 😃

[fingertipsmp3]

Tfw you get your work timetable and immediately yell “why have they DONE this to me”

[cleo-fox]

Movie Night

Summary: You’re not really sure why Loki shows up for your movie nights. He never seems to like the movies, even when he picks them, and every movie you watch together is accompanied by a litany of dry complaints and general sarcasm from him. This is partly why it always ends up being just the two of you—the others don’t have the patience to put up with it. You generally think it’s funny, so you’ve never rescinded his invitation.

That and…you kind of have a thing for him.

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, couch sex, quiet sex, praise kink, friends to lovers, making out, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, praise kink.

A/N: I’m working on cross posting all my stuff from AO3. I wrote this a little while ago in an effort to address some writer’s block (it didn’t work, but I had fun writing it). This is also on AO3.

You’re not really sure why Loki shows up for your movie nights. He never seems to like the movies, even when he picks them, and every movie you watch together is accompanied by a litany of dry complaints and general sarcasm from him. This is partly why it always ends up being just the two of you—the others don’t have the patience to put up with it. You generally think it’s funny, so you’ve never rescinded his invitation.

That and you’ve got a little bit of a thing for him. You think he might have some interest in you, but you’re not certain enough to make the first move.

You look forward to your movie nights, but when this particular Friday night rolls around, you’re absolutely dragging by the time the clock strikes eight, thanks to a bad night of sleep the previous evening. Before the movie even starts, you’re wrapping yourself in the soft throw from your room and curling up, pillowing your head on the arm of the couch.

“I didn’t realize I would have such riveting company this evening,” says Loki dryly.

You roll your eyes and stretch obnoxiously, purposely shoving your feet into his lap. “I was up ‘til three this morning, give me a break.”

“Surely you need your full wits about you to appreciate the nuance of this fine cinema.”

He’s being sarcastic; you decide to ignore it because that will annoy him the most. You stifle a yawn and give him your most beatific smile before hunkering back down under your blanket. Loki grumbles something indeterminate, but he doesn’t shove your feet off his lap—in fact, he drapes his arm over your ankles like it’s not a big deal at all.

This simple gesture warms you from the inside out and sends a flurry of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. You are pretty sure nothing is going to come of it—stuff like this has been going on for months and nothing has happened—but it’s still nice. You have no idea what it means, but it’s nice.

You’re not entirely surprised that you fall asleep during the movie—you are tired and while you don’t necessarily want to admit that any of Loki’s cinematic complaints have merit, the movie really wasn’t very good. Between that and your cozy blanket, it’s a recipe for an unintentional nap.

It’s dark when you wake up. You don’t really remember falling asleep, though you think it must have been about halfway through the film, based on the last hazy bit of dialogue you can recall.

You certainly don’t remember Loki sliding over on the couch to join you. But here he is, spooned up against your back, arms snaking around your waist, and the blanket tucked neatly over the two of you.

It’s dark and quiet and his breath is warm and even against the back of your neck. You’re reasonably certain that he’s asleep, though you wouldn’t necessarily bet money on it.

You consider your options. You probably should get up before someone wanders in and finds you like this, but…you don’t want to. You are wildly attracted to Loki—there’s no denying that—and the feeling of his strong arms wrapped snugly around your waist and the warmth of his broad chest pressing against your back is far too intoxicating to give up, even though you’re currently tangled up with him in a common area.

Still…you’re not entirely sure what to do about this. At some point, you’ll both need to go to your respective beds. Pretending to be asleep when he wakes is almost certainly not an option—he’ll somehow know that you’re faking and he’ll absolutely call you out on it, which will make the whole thing worse. Going back to sleep is tempting, but it presents its own set of risks.

But then…why did he curl up with you like this? Surely he wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t find you appealing in some way. Maybe you don’t actually need an exit strategy? Maybe you can just enjoy it. You’re a bit too comfortable, sleepy, and distracted to think properly, anyway. You allow yourself to relax further into his embrace.

And then you feel his cock twitch against your ass.

It’s almost impressive how quickly your body shifts from content and pleasantly sleepy to wide awake and intensely aroused. Somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a calm and rational voice saying you’re being ridiculous, but this is easily drowned out by the growing ache between your thighs.

You press your thighs together and try to take slow and even breaths, but it doesn’t really help. If you weren’t sure what to do before, now you’re at a complete loss. The safe assumption would be to chalk it up to biology and timing and move on, but it’s really difficult to do that when you’ve been locked in this flirty back and forth with him for months and you want him as much as you do.

You feel him twitch again and you bite your lip as the ache between your thighs pulses in a kind of answer, the slickness growing. Your breath is quiet, but shallow, your heart thrumming in your throat.

You’re trying to keep perfectly still, but between your aching core and the slight kink in your hip from the way you’re positioned on the couch, doing so is easier said than done. You hold out for as long as you can before you give in and shift your hips slightly, trying to be as subtle as possible.

He stirs in his sleep and pulls you closer, his cock pressing hard against your ass. You’re not sure if he’s awake—his breath is still coming slow and even against the back of your neck—but you can’t quite suppress the way your own breath stutters in your throat when you feel him against you. 

God, you want him.

He flexes his fingers where they are splayed against your stomach. You feel the tip of his nose brush against the curve of your neck.

“Will you admit now that you want me?” he says. His voice is low and intimate and calls to mind dark silk and smoke.

“I didn’t know that you wanted me to,” you say, which is true—whatever’s been brewing between you has been subtle, more sidelong glances than lustful stares; you’ve never spoken about it.

“Don’t play coy with me, pet,” he says, his voice a soft growl against your neck. “I have enjoyed the chase, but I’ve no more patience for games.”

The slickness between your thighs increases at the slight roughness in his voice. His lips graze the shell of your ear and you let out a sharp breath.

“Admit it.” He catches your earlobe between his teeth and gently sucks it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your back arching slightly against him.

“In due time,” he says, his hips pressing back against you. “Answer me first.”

You roll over so that you’re facing him. The sharp, angular planes of his face are flattered by the faint, moody blue light from the sleeping city outside. He stares openly, brazenly, at your lips, his hand resting on your waist.

“What happens if I do?” you ask.

He gives you a wolfish smile and his hand strokes down your waist to your thigh. He pulls your leg up and over his hip, drawing you toward him so that his cock presses against your clothed heat. You have to bite your lip to hold back a moan, but you’re pretty sure he catches the slight hitch in your breath.

“You’re a clever girl,” he says, “I’m sure you can work it out.”

When you’ve thought about this moment before—and you’ve admittedly thought about it a lot—you’ve always imagined yourself smirking right back at him, meeting his clever quips with barbs of your own until he’s forced to admit how much he wants you. But you’re not quite prepared for the way that your brain abruptly short circuits at the feeling of his thick, hard cock pressing against your clit through the thin fabric of your leggings or how his gaze is a thousand times hungrier in the dark than it was in your imagination. It feels thrilling and sexy being here with him like this, tangled up in the dead of night in the middle of the common area. Clever quips and keeping him hanging seem like an impossibility several times over.

He seems to sense that your resolve is faltering because his hand slides to your lower back and he rocks his hips against you ever so slightly, giving you just a taste of that beautiful friction.

“Admit it.” It’s not a question this time and a pleasant shiver runs up your spine.

You lick your lips. “I—I want you.”

His smile is like sin. “Good girl.”

You’re practically trembling with want when he kisses you, so slow and sensual that it makes you whimper when his tongue strokes past your lips and into your mouth.

He moves in a languid, almost lazy way that makes you dizzy with need. He’s completely unhurried, but there’s a tension in his body that tells you he’s barely holding back, that he wants you a lot more than what he’s saying.

You almost don’t notice his hand sliding from your back to your hip and then ghosting along your stomach until he slips it under the band of your leggings.

“How much do you want me?” he asks as his fingers trail lightly along the fabric of your underwear.

“You can’t tell?” you ask, trying and mostly failing to keep your voice level.

“I like to be certain,” he says.

“You just like hearing me say it,” you say.

His eyes glitter as his hand slips under the elastic of your underwear and slowly creeps downward. “And why shouldn’t I like hearing you tell me how much you want me?”

“I—” His hand is so close to where you need him. He runs one finger right along the edge of your slit and your breath catches. “I—I don’t…”

He raises an eyebrow expectantly. “You don't…?”

“I…” Your mind is blissfully blank and every fiber of your being is focused on his hand and your aching clit. “I—I don’t…remember the question.”

You think you must have surprised him a little because he laughs in a way that makes his eyes light up, even in the moody blue half dark of the room. But after a brief moment he refocuses and his fingers slowly part your dripping folds and finally stroke your throbbing clit.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe, a moan catching in your throat.

“As I thought,” he tuts. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” You nod and he makes a scolding sound. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

You can feel your cheeks heat, which is ridiculous given that he’s got his hand down your pants. You lick your lips. “I need to come.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?” His fingers circle your clit lightly and retreat.

You shiver, your hips rolling forward, searching out his fingers. “Touch me.”

“How?”

You bite back a whimper as his fingers trace a circuit around your clit, avoiding your obvious need. “Please, Loki.”

“I need you to be more specific, darling,” he purrs. Your hips roll forward and he retreats again.

“You know what I want,” you say.

His smile is sharp. “Have we not established that I like hearing you say such things?” His fingers bypass your clit again. “Tell me how you want me to touch you. Tell me what you want.”

Your pride—or what remains of it—has slowly eroded to nothing. You lick your lips. You need him.

“I—I need you to touch me,” you say again. “I want you to rub my clit until I come on your fingers.”

His smile is vulpine but his fingers finally roll over your clit, lightly circling it. You breathe out, your hips rocking with his hand.

“Absolutely drenched,” he murmurs. “You’re a proper mess, my love.”

“It’s because you’re such a fucking tease,” you say, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders.

His eyebrows rise. “I’m a tease? Am I not giving you everything that you asked for?”

“After amping me up,” you retort.

“And I’m taking care of that now, aren’t I? I’m touching you just like you begged me to.” He changes the movement of his hand slightly, fingers rolling across the most sensitive part of your clit. You suck in a deep breath and his eyes darken as he readjusts his hand to hit that spot again. “And you obviously like it. I daresay you need it.”

Your head tips back as your hips rock with his hand. You can feel your orgasm beginning to build and for the first time, it occurs to you that you are doing this in the middle of a common area. Reluctant as you are to stop, you can’t help but think it might be best to relocate.

“Should—fuck, yes, just like that—should we go back to your room? Or mine?” you manage to gasp.

“I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

“S-someone might hear,” you gasp as his fingers massage your slick and swollen clit.

The white of his teeth flashes in the dark as he continues to touch you. “Then I suggest you keep quiet,” he says, his voice rough.

You manage to raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want to hear me?”

Another sharp smile. “Later.” His eyes darken. “You’ve kept me from my prize long enough. I rather think you’ve earned this little game.”

“I thought you had no more patience for games,” you manage to say.

He smiles and it occurs to you that he likes it when you talk back, perhaps just as much as you enjoy him putting you in your place. “Oh, I think I rather like this game,” he says, his fingers suddenly slowing, but still exerting a firm pressure on your clit. “How hard will you come for me? How quiet can you be?” His eyes darken again. “Or perhaps you don’t want to be quiet. Perhaps you want to be heard. Perhaps you want the others to know exactly what I’m doing to you.”

You shudder despite yourself.

“Wicked girl,” he murmurs appreciatively. “Letting me touch you out here in the open like this. Anyone could walk in here and see.”

“You’d really let that happen?” you ask. “I didn’t take you for the type who likes to share.”

The hunger in his eyes increases tenfold and you know this was the right thing to say. “Oh, I don’t share, darling. Especially not you.” He increases the speed of his fingers ever so slightly and your breath catches, the tension in your hips building. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? How many times I’ve thought about ravishing you until you forget every name but mine? How many times I’ve imagined you wet and begging for my cock?” His voice drops to a low rasp. “I have gone to bed hard and aching for you more nights than I can count.”

His words and his fingers are a wonderful and wicked combination. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his ink dark hair and pulling him in to kiss you. He does, but with such a lazy restraint that you can’t help but whimper a little, trying to press yourself closer as your hips rock with his hand. You’re reaching the place in the lead up to your orgasm where you’re so desperate to come that you feel like you’d do almost anything. It’s a heady place, with an edge of danger and you think that Loki must have an inkling of it based on the way his eyes darken.

“Did you think of me like this? Did you touch yourself, imagining the feeling of my hands on your body?”

“I—”

He must catch the slight hesitation in your eyes because that firm authority returns to his voice. “Tell me.”

Panting, you nod and earn another one of those dark and hungry smiles.

“How many times did you make yourself come while thinking of me?”

You don’t know the answer to that. Partly because it was like…several times a week. For the last six months. At least.

“A lot,” you finally manage.

His smile is devilish as he kisses you. “You’re going to come at least twice as hard for me tonight.”

The muscles of your cunt clench tightly around nothing. You need him so badly. Have you ever needed anyone like this? You’re fairly sure you haven’t. You’re getting close, your hips rolling with the stroke of his hand.

“Tell me how much you need it,” he purrs. “Tell me how you need to fall apart on my fingers.”

“Loki—”

“Tell me.”

“Please—I’m so close—”

“Tell me and I’ll let you come. Be a good girl for me, darling, and I’ll give you everything you need.”

You gasp. “Fuck, Loki, I—fuck, I need to come—I need you—”

You’re not sure how he manages it—perhaps there’s some magic involved, perhaps it’s luck or skill—but you start to come the moment the words leave your lips. The edges of your vision blur slightly as your orgasm overtakes you, roaring up from your hips and bursting like fireworks in the night sky. You gasp, trying to hold in a moan, but a slight whimper escapes you before Loki’s mouth covers your own, claiming you in a hungry kiss. His hand is still moving, fingers still circling your clit.

“Oh, yes,” he breathes against your lips. “Oh that’s lovely.”

It seems to last a long time, drawing out in long waves that make your toes curl. He kisses you throughout, until you very nearly lose track of where you end and he begins. All the while, his fingers keep rubbing your clit, extending your pleasure and making you shudder.

You can feel his cock still pressing against your hip and you want nothing more than to take him in your hands and make him feel just as good as he made you feel.

“I want to touch you,” you say and you’re treated to another one of those hungry smiles before he starts undoing the fastenings of his trousers. His cock finally springs free and you suck in a deep breath. He’s big—easily the biggest you’ve ever had—and you can’t help the ache that courses through you.

It’s immensely rewarding hearing his breath hitch when you take him in your hand. You’re surprised by how warm he is—you’d expect a Frost Giant to run a little cooler, but he’s hot and throbbing. You stroke him slowly from base to tip, squeezing his shaft ever so slightly.

His head tips back and he lets out a very quiet groan before reaching to push your hand away. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—” you start to say.

“I need you now,” he says, tugging your leggings and underwear down and off, his voice conveying both authority and desperation in a way that makes you ache.

He pulls you to him, drawing your leg up over his hip to spread you open. He rubs the tip of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your slickness and taking every opportunity to tease your clit.

He finally settles himself at your entrance and slowly begins easing into you.

He kisses you and it’s a good thing he does because you’re so slick and wound up that the dull, blunt stretch of his cock sliding inside of you unexpectedly tips you right back over the edge, pulling a soft moan from your lips as you come on his cock. You almost have a mind to be embarrassed—you’ve hardly begun and you’re already coming undone—but the feral glint in Loki’s eyes is enough to make you forget all about it.

“Like I said: you’re absolutely desperate for it, ” he says, pressing even deeper inside of you. “And you’re taking me so well.” He withdraws slightly and pushes forward again and you bury your face in his neck to hide your moan.

His fingers slide between your legs to find your clit. “I want to feel you come again,” he says, gently beginning to stroke you as he thrusts again. “You feel exquisite.”

It doesn’t take very long for him to build you back up—the steady thrust of his cock stroking your slick walls just right and his fingers expertly circling your clit is more than enough to take you there. It’s all so good and the way he’s kissing you is making you dizzy in the best way.

“I can feel you, darling,” he purrs in your ear. “Let go. Come on my cock like a good girl.”

With a few more thrusts, you do. You bury your face in his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans as much as possible.

“That’s it, yes,” he growls as he fucks you through the aftershocks. His brow is furrowed and his focus is intent and you can tell he’s getting close.

“Loki,” you breathe.

Even though he’s in the process of losing his composure, he still manages a wicked grin. “One more for me, love,” he rasps.

You’re not sure if you can manage another, to be quite frank. “Loki, I—”

“One more,” he says again, his eyes flashing. “One more and I’ll fill your tight, perfect cunt with my seed. One more and I’ll make you mine.”

His words send something electric and primal racing up your spine and quite suddenly, you find yourself hurtling toward the release you didn’t think you had in you. A choked whimper catches in your throat and you are trembling in his arms and with one last shudder, you come hard.

“Nearly there.” His words are punctuated by gasps, his hips never faltering in their rhythm.

His hips snap hard against you and he throws his head back, his face rapt in ecstasy, lost to a pure pleasure as he comes. He’s staggeringly beautiful in this moment and you’re filled with a feral kind of possessiveness—he is yours and you don’t want to share this moment or this feeling or this man with anyone else. It’s a startling thought—one you know that you know you’ll need to interrogate at some point—but you decide that it can wait until later. He starts kissing you and it nearly takes your breath away—it’s soft and tender and still so decadent it feels like it should be forbidden.

You want to stay in this moment with him, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still pressed inside of you, but you know it can’t last. Something in your chest aches as he pulls away from you, vanishes the mess and tucks himself back into his trousers. He slowly stands up and you suddenly feel so much colder than you were before.

But before you can start to wallow in that misery, he’s bending down and scooping you up into his arms, throw blanket and all.

Before you can even think to ask where he’s taking you, you’re in his rooms and he’s placing you gently on the bed.

“Oh, so now you want privacy,” you say as you watch him quickly strip off his clothes, your gaze lingering on every emerging detail like you’re a woman starved.

He smirks and joins you in bed, covering your body with his and kissing you deeply as he pulls off the rest of your clothes. The feeling of his bare skin on yours is so dizzying that it takes you a moment to realize that he’s hard again.

“Already?” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

His smile is sin dripped in syrup. “I am a god, pretty girl.”

The ache between your legs returns and he kisses you like he knows it.

“And this time,” he says, his eyes glittering with want, “I want to hear you scream for me.”

You are more than happy to oblige.

[kaiijo]

FRIENDS TO LOVERS — [KNB]

characters: aomine daiki, midorima shintarou, hanamiya makoto content: gn! reader, reader has implied tieable hair in midorima’s, toxicity (it’s hanamiya, no one is surprised) notes: scenarios inspired by prompt list here

aomine daiki ✶

aomine yawns again as he reclines against your pillows, sitting up only to peer at you. you’re working on homework that’s due in a couple of days, headphones covering your ears. you promised that you’ll order in food and play super smash bros with him when you finished, but it’s nearing eight and you’re still hunched over a problem set.

aomine groans loudly, “are you even close to being done?”

you move one headphone cup off. “i would be closer if you didn’t interrupt me every ten minutes.”

“i didn’t ask to hang out just to sit around.”

you roll your eyes. “you can go if you want, daiki.”

he sits up fully now, moving to the edge of your bed. “why’re you even doing this? s’not due ‘til friday.”

“some of us want to be good students.” you slide your headphones back on and turn back to scribbling out complicated equations on paper.

a couple of minutes pass again and instead of asking you anything, aomine stands up and shuffles behind you, reaching around and snatching the paper from underneath you. “hey!” you protest, shooting up from your seat and tearing off your headphones. “give it back, daiki.”

“no, you said you’d be done, like, two hours ago.”

“i swear i’m almost done!” you make a lunge for it and aomine just holds it above his head, his long arm adding to his already-massive height.

“no.” he smirks at the way your eyes furrow and your cheeks puff out. your head tilts to the left, and he knows that you’re thinking. he’s sure you’re going to try and jump of it again, so as a show, he stretches up further, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly. he swears he catches your eyes flickering down and something in his body sings a song of triumph and satisfaction at the motion. he can’t say why.

what you do next though is nothing that he expects. you stand on your toes, rest your hands delicately on his shoulders, and gaze up at him through your lashes. he startles; there’s something so… heated about your expression, about those half-lidded eyes.

“daiki,” you say softly. it’s almost hypnotic, the way you say his name, and he’s watching you with one raised eyebrow. the tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing as his arm lowers, heading for the dip of your waist. he only snaps out of it at your victorious cry. “ha!” you take advantage of his still half-dazed state and push him firmly out of your bedroom door, closing it. the lock clicks into place and he hears you call on the other side, “one more problem, daiki, i promise. be a dear and set up smash in the living room?”

he walks down your hall automatically, the fire-like feeling spreading to his neck.

midorima shintarou ✶

takao holds up a porcelain statue of a cat. “what about this?’

“takao, what about that screams ‘midorima shintarou?’”

takao shrugs. “i don’t know, maybe it’ll be december 25th’s lucky item. does oha asa put out horoscopes ahead of time?”

“no, that’s why he listens every morning when it airs,” you reply, setting down a teapot from a bigger set. you thank the tired-looking cashier, who just waves drowsily as you two exit the shop.

the two of you have been shopping all day for midorima’s christmas present, wandering all over japan and into various tchotchke stores to look. he’s a notoriously hard person to please, especially with gifts, and neither of you want a repeat of the ‘grey’s anatomy incident’ where four people got midorima the same book last holiday season when he announced his intention to go to medical school. nor do any of you want to get that look from him that struggles to look somewhat grateful while being very, very obviously displeased.

“we’ve been walking all day!” takao whines, clutching his stomach as it lets out an ungodly rumble. you check your watch; you two have been out for at least four hours. you point at a small diner boasting american food. “would you be okay with that?”

“i’d eat you right now if you’d let me.”

you snort, “hard pass. come on.”

the hostess sits you two at a booth and you shrug off your heavy winter coats. you pick up a menu and glance over it, but when you go to ask takao what he’ll be getting and if he wants to split a large order of assorted fries with you, you see he’s not looking at the menu.

you definitely do not like the way takao is eying you right now. “what?” you ask defensively, hands flying to the top of your head to try and pet down at hair you presume has been ruined by your excursion. “do i look bad or something?”

“is that shin-chan’s sweater?”

fuck. you had forgotten about pulling on one of the sweaters midorima left at your house the last time you studied together. it’s insanely soft — a mix of gray wool and cashmere — not to mention extremely cozy and warm. you tried to return it to midorima before but he just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffed, “wear it until you get proper sweaters. no, sweatshirts don’t count.”

you internally groan. you don’t need takao on your ass again about whether or not you’re sure you and midorima aren’t dating or if you like him like that. honestly, the only reason you haven’t given him a certain yes or no is because… you don’t really know yourself.

you don’t have proper time to answer before the bell to the restaurant chimes and you see very recognizable green hair. of all the time and places he has to show up. (well, he did text you this morning that your zodiac sign was the least lucky and to wear a blue watch in order to improve your fortune; you should’ve found the watch.)

“oh! shin-chan!” takao waves him over, giving you a sly look. “we were just talking about—” takao’s stupid hawk-eyes zero in on midorima’s wrist as he tugs off his gloves. he looks way too please with himself as he asks, “shin-chan, is that their hair tie?”

hanamiya makoto ✶

hanamiya steps out of the locker room shower, cracking his knuckles as he makes his way to his locker to dry off and change. he rolls his shoulders, toweling off his hair as he changes back into his school uniform. yamazaki and hara are prattling away, snickering under their breaths about the injuries they inflicted: sprained ankle, a hairline fracture, a minor concussion.

hanamiya doesn’t even turn around as he growls, “can you two shut up?”

to just bug him more, hara pops his gum. loudly. “who pissed in your cereal, captain?”

furihara drones, “you were sloppier today. almost got fouled by the ref.”

hanamiya doesn’t reply, yanking the knot of his tie down furiously. “fuck off.”

hara lets out a low whistle and seto asks, “does this have to do with your little friend? they got a boyfriend, right?”

hanamiya lets out a long breath through his nose and he spins around to face his teammate. “for now,” he says, slamming his locker shut.

“you got a plan, captain?” asks yamazaki as he digs through his duffel bag.

“when do i not?”

———

you greet hanamiya’s mother with a thin smile when she opens the door. her face lights up when she sees you and she pulls you into a warm hug, telling you that hanamiya’s in his bedroom and that you could go right up.

you wonder if she can see the glossy film to your eyes or if she was polite enough not to comment on it.

hanamiya’s sitting at his desk, head propped up on his knuckle. he languidly flips through pages but you know he’s not really reading the material. he’ll get away with it too and get an a anyways, the bastard. he glances at you. “you look like shit.”

usually, you could banter with him. it’s why your friendship works; you have a thicker skin than most and you give just as good as you take, especially when it comes to hanamiya’s sneering, half-joking insults. normally, you would have replied with something like “still better than you,” but instead, your frayed nerves snap and you feels the hot tears start rolling down your cheeks.

hanamiya’s simpering expression sobers up and he sighs heavily, ushering you to sit on the bed. “why’re you crying?”

you sniffle and tell him that the guy you’ve been seeing from your literature class broke up with you. just out of the blue told you that you two wanted different things and you were going to colleges in different areas and that wouldn’t work and he was sorry and… that’s all you gleaned because his words were so rushed as he scurried off as fast as he could.

hanamiya’s brow furrows sympathetically and he draws you into a hug, saying, “i told you i didn’t like that guy. fuck him.”

you sink into his arms. “yeah,” you mutter, “fuck him.”

as you relax against him, hanamiya can’t help but smirk to himself in satisfaction. someone who runs off after a little confrontation doesn’t deserve anything from you.

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desire Ch 8

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, smut, rougher sex (ish), minor breeding kink. ngl it almost feels like a bit of a filler chapter, but it reunites what bits i had combined previously to make full chapters. Also sometimes filler is needed, I needed something else in there to break things up and that's why i kept staring at the word doc having NO clue what i wanted to do. SO, hopefully it doesn't take two weeks til the next update. lol. thank you for reading, extra bonus love to everyone who comments, sends asks and reblogs! you're the best!

After a lavish breakfast of stuffed French toast, all the delicious sides you could ask for and the best tasting coffee you’d had in ages you figured you should take advantage of the fancy shower once more. You took your time, scrubbing your skin with exfoliant before washing with a rose scented body wash and combing through your hair with a leave in conditioner. Wrapping yourself in one of the fuzzy robes you added in some hair treatment, doing your best job of braiding your still damp locks to air dry while sipping on a second cup of coffee. Finally it was check out time so you collected your things and headed downstairs, the Sunday morning air was the perfect balance of crisp while warm, the breeze floating through the streets spreading the sense of summer on the way.

You weren’t totally surprised when you found a bouquet of flowers on your front step, a note from Emily in the florists font scrawled across the front. Scooping it up you took it inside, kicking off your shoes and dropping your purse to the kitchen island before unwrapping the flowers. Picking a vase from the cabinet you filled it with some water and placed the bouquet inside, placing them on the coffee table to display. You dug through your bag for your phone, finally finding it and opening the text chain with Emily.

‘The flowers are gorgeous, thank you.’

‘You’re such a good girl I figured you deserved a little treat.’

‘It’s much appreciated.’

‘Speaking of… your upcoming events, do you need anything for them?’

‘I’m picking up a couple of dresses from alterations this week, haven’t looked through my accessories though.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Thank you. Enjoy New York, eat a bagel or a slice of pizza for me.’

‘Oh now that’s just a guarantee’

You chuckled as you locked your phone, sliding it back onto the island before you turned back to the fridge, eyes flicking through what was left and still usable for you to meal prep a bit for the upcoming week.

Said upcoming week flew by faster than you’d expected, likely due to all of the added on extra tasks you had to complete by six p.m. on Friday. Even with the slew of assistants strewn through Heather’s team, everything had to be perfect, double or triple checked, approved by Heather or yourself before appointments were confirmed, meetings were booked, or things were publicized or printed. You often wondered if it was actually financially worth having your own personal assistant considering the amount of things you either did yourself or had to be redone. (Not that it really mattered to you, they weren’t on your payroll).

Friday’s banquet wasn’t much for you to worry about, just made sure you were dressed the part and were ready when the car rolled up to your condo. Dinner was over and cocktails were in full swing, time for schmoozing, networking and making sure that everyone went home remembering the Dunbar name and philosophy. You’d stepped outside briefly after dinner, chatting with a congressman while he had a cigar and gave you the opportunity to stretch your legs. Walking back inside you found a high top table to settle against, pulling out your work phone to read a handful of emails.

“You know, you are allowed to put that thing away, right?” Heather teased, sliding a glass of Cristal across the table to you and you rolled your eyes, locking the device.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew I was confirming some very affluent last minute sponsors for tomorrow.” You took a sip of the champagne, thinking back to your conversation on the terrace “and you’re welcome, Blythe will be voting in favour next week.”

“Good girl.” She grinned, clinking her glass with yours before her eyes drifted to the bracelet around your wrist. Her gaze lingered for a moment then moved upward and she reached out, lifting your earring with a curled finger before her eyes dropped to the gem resting on the swell of your chest. “Matching set?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded over a sip of your drink.

“Haven’t seen it before.”

“It’s new.” You replied, a small smirk on the corner of your mouth.

“Looks expensive.”

“If you’re trying to suggest it’s out of my budget, you’d be correct.”

“It’s nice to see Emily has good taste.”

“Among other things.” There was a gleam in your eye that Heather was eager to find out more about, a smirk on her lips as she took another sip of her drink.

“Glad to hear.” Was all she had time to reply with when another body sauntered up to your table.

“Not surprised to see you two here.” Tony greeted with a wide smile, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before he reached out a hand, “Ms. Dunbar.”

“You know, I am surprised to see you here.”

“Drew the short straw.” He shrugged, “director had something come up, Gibbs would rather be caught dead than at one of these things and McGee doesn’t know his Dolce from American Eagle.”

“What about that other Agent you have right now, the little feisty one?” Heather asked, sly smile on her lips as Tony chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck in an attempt to distract from the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Ziva? These aren’t really her style; she wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I mean you could’ve at least brought her as a date, shown her the ropes so she knows for next time.” You offered, nudging at his shoulder and he let out another little huff.

“Oh, no, I mean, she’d hate that. She’d spend half the night flirting her way through the crowd and the other half having to convince everyone we weren’t actually together.”

“So she’s available?” Heather asked with a teasing smirk, pulling an awkward laugh from Tony.

“I— uh, well…” He stuttered, “maybe a little too… controlling… to be your style.” He suddenly leant against the table with his elbow, “but you know McGee does have a sister…”

“Do tell.” Heather grinned over the rim of her glass, pulling an eye roll from you.

“No!” You punched Tony’s arm before swatting in Heather’s direction. “Your dance card is already full,” you turned to Tony, “and she is way too young.”

“From what I heard, that’s how she likes it.” He muttered and you rolled your eyes as Heather chuckled.

“Age is just a number.”

“She graduated high school last year. That puts her younger than your kids.” You retorted, watching the way Heather’s nose crinkled before she laughed, happy to have found some amount of amusement from a night like tonight.

She let out a soft sigh as her eyes fixated on something across the room, “there’s Conway, looks like my time is now.” She turned back to you, “Durant may need some more convincing and I haven’t seen Sharp yet.”

“Please, all I need to do is bat my eyelashes in Jackie’s general direction and she’ll do whatever I want.”

“That’s why I keep you around.” With a smile and a nod to DiNozzo, she scooped up her champagne flute and made her way across the ballroom.

“Was… she serious?” He asked hesitantly and you laughed.

“No!” You took another gulp of your drink, “besides, like I said, her schedule’s full, she can’t take on more right now.”

“Speaking of schedules.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you, “I’m surprised to see you here on a weekend, thought those were for secret romps and exchanges of sugar.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder just how suave of a man you could be if you just let your brain think things through before they came out of your mouth.”

“Stop.” He groaned, leaning against the table as he turned to you, “or are you just saving your hot date for tomorrow night?”

“This week didn’t line up, I’ve got that fundraiser all weekend, which, you should bring your team to make it a little family outing.”

“I’ll think about it.” He took a swig of his beer, “really puts a wrench in your plans then, I can already tell you’re getting grumpy.”

“Anthony…” you warned, “we met up last weekend. It was kind of last minute but we made use of the time we had.”

“So no hot dates during the week?”

“Not usually, but we’re both busy, plus she was in New York all week at conferences.”

“A rich woman, who travels for work,” he began to tick them off on his fingers, “outranks NCIS, has significant style tastes, works full time during the week and sometimes weekends… are you sure you aren’t dating a politician.”

“I—” you paused, head tilting for a second before you nodded, “yes. Government employed but not by the White House.”

“Isn’t everyone technically government employed?”

“And we’re not dating, I thought you of all people would understand the stipulations of a financial beneficiary pairing.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“She buys me nice things, pays for my hair or nail appointments, adds to my jewellery collection, makes sure my fridge is always full, sends fresh flowers weekly.” You spotted one of the people Heather wanted you to talk to on the other side of the room and drained your drink, “and in return I meet up with her at high end hotels on the weekends and let her fuck my brains out.”

Even though Tony had been expecting it, your brashness still left him choking on his beer as you smirked at him, picking up your empty glass to grab a refill from the bar and one for Durant.

**

Seven days later and fucking your brains out was exactly what Emily was doing.

It had been less than an hour and if she’d asked you about dinner, you wouldn’t have been able to remember a single thing. All you could think about was the feeling of her buried inside you, hitting deeper with each powerful thrust of her hips. Your hands clawed at the bedspread, eyes scrunched shut as your cunt pulsed around the toy, moans louder with each time she sunk into you. Her hands tightly gripped your hips, hard enough you were sure there would be fingerprint shaped bruises come morning. You let out a little whimper, your nipples rubbing against the duvet every time she fucked into you, the multiple sensations driving you absolutely wild.

“More…” you groaned out, a gasp leaving your lips when she spanked you.

“God you really do like it rough, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” You managed to nod, fire shooting through your body, your clit throbbing as you ground it down onto the bed.

“Gonna need you to come soon princess.” She dropped over your body, husking into your ear while one hand tangled into your hair, yanking at the roots and you let out a blissful cry. Her mouth latched onto your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin as her free had wound around your middle, fingers pinching at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cried out, “oh fuu-cck. Don’t stop!”

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, holding back any louder moans, whimpers and whines bouncing off the walls along with the wet sounds coming from your pussy. Your juices coated Emily’s cock, smearing across both of your thighs, more than enough for her to gather up as she rubbed your clit. She could feel you trembling in her arms, your hips bucking back against hers as you started to lose control.

“That’s it baby, you’re so close. Come for me.” She nipped at your earlobe, her breath hot on your skin right as she pressed harder on your clit and you were coming undone in her arms, a shaky cry coming from deep in your throat.

“Oh fuck…” you muttered, collapsing down onto the bed while she continued to fuck you through your orgasm, her hips slowing just a hint.

“So good for me.” She panted, “where do you want my cum? In that pretty mouth? Hmm? Or maybe on this gorgeous ass?” A breathy gasp left your lips when she spanked you again and you moaned, pussy fluttering around her cock as you were coming up on a second orgasm.

“Inside me!” You whined, “please!”

“She likes it rough and she’s dirty?” Emily chuckled, “we’ve got a lot more to explore.”

She watched as your body shivered, thighs clenching together and your hands bunched tightly into fists as your second peak washed over you and then she let out a groan, stilling with her hips right against yours. Her hand quickly found the base of the toy, squeezing hard and you let out a satisfied moan at the feeling of her spilling deep inside you. Emily’s hand soothed up and down your back, watching as you caught your breath before she pulled the toy almost all of the way out of your pussy. She let out a low swear at the sight of it coated in a mixture of your cum and the lube before slowly nudging it back into you, fucking her cum deeper into your drenched cunt. You trembled again, a sheen of goosebumps breaking out on your skin and she finally pulled out of you, skilfully ridding herself of the strap to be dealt with later.

“Christ…” you muttered, your head burying itself into the pillows and Emily let out a small chuckle as she dropped down onto the bed beside you.

“Seems like you’re a little fucked senseless?” She offered and you let out a small laugh, your eyes barely blinking open to look over at her.

“Not to deflate your ego,” you let out a large yawn, “because you certainly did, but I am also just completely fucking wiped. I barely slept all week. Between Heather’s bill proposals and the upcoming endorsements I’ve been working twenty hour days.” Emily snuck under the blankets, an arm draping over the top of the pillows and you practically nuzzled into her side, yawning again as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Hey!” She swatted at your side, “none of that, you need to use the bathroom.”

“C’mon…” you whined, burrowing yourself deeper into the blankets and Emily tsk’d at you, pinching your chin until you opened your eyes.

“If you want me to come inside you again you’re going to use the bathroom missy.”

“Fine.” You grumbled, shivering as you pushed back the blankets and padded to the en-suite, much to Emily’s satisfaction. You returned a few minutes later, make up wiped from your face and teeth brushed, climbing back into the bed as you let out another yawn, curling around Emily’s side. “Are you staying?”

She shrugged, “got nowhere else to be. You mind if I keep the tv on?”

“Not at all. I’ll probably be dead to the world anyways.”

She chuckled softly, feeling you relax against her body as she started to flick through the channels. It wasn’t that late and while her week had been long it clearly hadn’t been as taxing as yours was. You were asleep within minutes, softly snoring against her and she made a mental note to start sending you good night texts in an attempt to make sure you were getting enough rest.

__________________

@daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny

[starlightsreigns]

daddy's home | d. priest

pairing: damian priest x black!oc (maya)

warning: 18+ nsfw! SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, unprotected sex, cnc (ish), minors, dni (please & thank u)

word count: 2125

note: sorry for any errors, wrote this in the middle of the night.

summary: maya misses her man more than anything, and her wish is always his command

5:30 pm - thursday

Maya lays sprawled out on the couch, exhausted from the day of work she had suffered. Her jet-black hair fluffed all over her face, flaring up whenever she took a deep breath. After sulking for a moment, she hoisted herself up to climb the stairs to take a shower. 

The water was warm against her tense muscles. As an ER nurse, she’d work 72 hours on then have the next four days off. She was thankful for the opportunity to wash away all the stress and forget about the responsibilities she’d have first day back at work. For the next 3 days, she planned on sleeping, online shopping, ordering in, watching TV, and masturbating… it was only unfortunate that her boyfriend was on the road, not coming home any time soon.

Being a wrestler who traveled a lot was never an issue for her. Maya understood because being on-call at the hospital made it hard for her to make solid plans or commit to anything. She and Damian just figured it out. They always figured it out. 

After her shower, Maya wrapped a towel around her body, sitting on the edge of her bed to grab her phone. A missed call from Damian was the first thing she saw when the screen lit up – a smile tugged on her lips as she returned the Facetime call. 

“Hi baby,” Maya smiled when the call connected. His hair was pulled back in the neatest ponytail, which drove her crazy. “I wish you were here, papi.” 

“Ah mi amor, I wish I was there with you too.” His deep, rough voice came through the phone. “I’m thinkin’ about you.” 

Maya rests her back against the mattress, holding up the phone so Damian can see her face and her chest as she slowly moves the towel to reveal her breasts. Damian didn’t say anything as he licked his lips at her actions. 

“I don’t think you miss me that much, daddy.” She purrs, teasing her nipples. 

“Cariña,” Damian’s voice is rough and she knows she’s got him exactly where she wants. “You killin’ me right now.” 

Nothing else comes out of her mouth as she lowers the camera to her exposed stomach, caressing the soft skin as she pushes the towel onto the ground. She angled the camera to give him the perfect view of her heat as she propped her legs up on the mattress. 

“God, I wish you were here,” Maya slowly arches her back as her fingers find their way between her now wet folds. “All I can do is think about you.”

 The gasp that leaves her lips is the final nail in Damian’s coffin. Hearing the way the moans fall out of her lips drives him insane. The way her fingers skillfully move keeps him in a trance as he palms himself through his shorts. 

As she reaches her climax, Maya stares up at the ceiling, chest heaving, “come home, daddy.”

It takes a second for Maya to come back down, but when she does, she flips onto her stomach to look at her boyfriend once again. 

“Eres una provocadora, Maya.” He smirks back at his girlfriend. “I can’t wait til I get my hands on you.”

“If you ever make it back home, I guess you will.” She rolls her eyes. 

Damian can sense her annoyance and rightfully so. He quietly watches as she sets up the phone on the dresser. Maya goes through her stuff, throwing on one of his T-shirts and a black thong. She twirls to give him a full view. Her boyfriend cheers making her laugh. 

“Okay baby, I’ll let you go, call me when you wake up in the morning?” 

He hums, “Of course, mi amor, I love you.”

9:30 am - friday

Maya yawned as she walked out of the bathroom, dropping back onto her bed. It was rare that she woke up this early, but her body naturally got her up. Her empty cup of coffee sat beside her and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. Her frustrations were mounting without Damian there. She was never this insatiable, ever, but here she was fighting urges like a teenager all over again. 

“Holy shit,” Maya groaned, flipping over to stick her face into a pillow. 

The pressure between her legs was becoming unbearable. One of her hands finds its way between her folds while she picks up her phone with the other. 

maya: baby, i wish you’d wake me up and fuck me senseless. 

damian: if i could be there mama, i’d do anything for your ass

maya: i’ve gotten myself off three times since yesterday. I can’t keep fucking doing this. 

damian: i’ll make it up to you, baby, i promise.

damian: just know, imma fuck you up when i see you. Only another week.

The knots in Maya’s stomach made it difficult for her to sit on the floor in front of her mirror. The T-shirt she wore the night before was discarded on the bed leaving her with with just the thong. Damian would describe her disheveled look as ethereal. Her black curly hair lay on her shoulders, her breast fully on display, with her right hand rubbing circles on her clit. Maya recorded the moment, throwing her head back in pleasure. Damian. The only word on her lips. She slowly inserted a digit in her soaking cunt, gasping while her eyes shut. Her brown skin was almost iridescent from the sunlight pouring into the room. And the sound of her wetness was both disgusting and indulgent, only causing her to add another finger, pumping in faster as she reached her orgasm. Maya could feel herself start to unravel and the only thing she could say as she came was her boyfriend’s name.

Yet, it wasn’t enough. Maya slumped to the side, groaning at the fact that what she just did was temporary until she would inevitably be horny again in an hour or two. She sends the video to Damian, locking her phone. Her next best option was to take a cold shower and a nap. 

12:15 pm - friday

The house was quiet when Damian unlocked the door. He had to get home when his girl needed him. So, he took a redeye home. Damian tried to remain as quiet as possible, leaving his stuff by the door, and moving towards the bedroom where Maya was asleep. He couldn’t contain his smile at the sight of her. She was sprawled on the bed, on her stomach, wearing nothing but a thong. Her hair covered her shoulders and part of her face. 

Damian shed his coat, leaving it on the ground as he moved towards the bed. Her text from earlier still ringing in his brain, coming to grant her wish. He removed the black T-shirt he was wearing. As he stood at the edge of the bed, Damian ran his hands over her soft skin, starting from her ankle, up her leg, over her perfectly round ass, and to her back. Maya doesn’t shift as her boyfriend caresses her. 

“mi hermosa amor,” He murmurs as he leans down lightly biting one of her ass cheeks. “Pura perfección, mi novia.”

Just staring at his girlfriend made it difficult for Damian to contain himself as his jeans tightened. He took off his jeans, reaching to easily rip her thong. His hand stroked his growing erection, not even knowing where to start with his girlfriend. Damian slowly got onto the bed, caressing the ass that he’s missed so much. To his surprise, she was soaking wet. He groaned to himself as he dragged a finger through the slick making his girlfriend shudder, yet still asleep. One finger slips in, causing Maya to let out the softest moan, Damian watches her face as she was fast asleep and adds another finger. Maya was holding on tightly as he pumped his fingers in out out, completely turned on by the situation. 

Unable to hold off any longer, Damian smacked her ass, positioning himself behind her, his tip dangerously close to her entrance. He hovers over her, pressing a kiss on her shoulder as he pushes into her. Maya’s face was pressed into the pillow, her breathing pick up as Damian bottomed out in her – they were skin to skin and he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten how good his girlfriend felt around him. Just the way he was squeezing around his dick was enough to drive him insane. He wanted to milk the moment the way Maya was milking him at that moment. Damian pulled out and then slammed back into her, loving the sound that was created every time their skin came into contact with each other. He couldn’t hold off any longer, the slower pace was driving him insane. 

The pressure building inside Maya and the bed shaking is enough to wake her from her sleep, unable to contain the moan that fell from her lips. Damien chuckled at the confused look on her face, grabbing her by the neck so she can see him. 

“Daddy’s home, mi muñeca,” He growled into her ear as the moans fell out her parted mouth. “Look at you, ain’t this what you wanted, Maya?”

It was impossible to get a word out of her the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head but when Damian tightened the grip around her throat, she had to choke out an answer, “Y-yes daddy.” Maya trembled out. 

“Ass up,” Damien tapped on her ass, letting go of her throat so she can slump down onto the pillow. “Lemme give you what you been beggin’ for.” When her ass comes up, he grips her waist, slamming into her so hard that Maya can’t release a sound, but a whimper.

When his balls hit her clit with all that force, the moan finally frees itself from her throat and she can’t stop it from there. Maya grips the sheets until her knuckles turn white. Her neighbors are probably concerned by the way she couldn’t contain the nose coming out of her mouth. The pleasure created the thickest haze in her brain. 

“You look so fucking good, mama,” Damian groaned, pulling out quickly to flip Maya onto her back then moving her to the edge of the bed. He plows back into her before she can have the chance to whine about the loss of contact. He hooks her legs around her shoulder then leans down to capture her lips with his as he buries himself deep in her cunt. Everything leaves her breathless, unable to conjure up a single thought. The pace is steady, hitting her g-spot like the pro he is, over and over again. 

“Damian,” Maya groans, arching her back as she feels herself begin to unfold. “I’m gonna cum, I can’t–right there–” 

A groan leaves her mouth as he speeds up, cutting off her words, “Go ‘head, muñeca” His voice comes out gruff, not letting up even when her eyes roll back and her body goes numb. Maya could swear her lip was bleeding from how hard she bit on it. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything but a bright light as Damian fucked her until his release, filling her deep. 

Maya, with all the strength she had left, pulled the older man on top of her, connecting their lips. She kisses him as though she hasn’t seen him in years unwilling to let him go. She didn’t realize when she started crying, but her emotions have had a mind of their own recently.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Damian was concerned, running his hand up and down her body wondering if he’d hurt her. 

“I’m just so happy you’re here, love, that’s all.” She murmurs against his neck. When Damian lays beside her, she shifts so she’s sitting on his lap, whining when his tip grazes her heat. “How’d you do it?” 

In their current position, Damian watched as his girlfriend massaged his chest, mindlessly grinding against his dick. Her eyes were locked on his and he was shocked by her insatiability. “I wanted to surprise you, I know we haven’t seen each other in a while and my baby seems a little… hornier than usual.” 

Maya shyly looks down, halting her motion, “I’m sorry if it’s too much, I don’t know where it came from.”

“No, don’t apologize baby, ever,” He lifts her chin to bring back their eye contact. “It’s sexy.” Damian grips her waist, restarting her motions. 

“How long are you home?” Maya questions, feeling his erection.

“All weekend, all for you, as many times as we can.” 

They both smile, falling into round two.

-

truly the most random thing that came to me in the middle of the night. well... until next time :)

[sstormyskyess]

back on my "too many ideas when i already have enough" shit again... drabble/wip of ex-boyfriend soap x fem!reader [very wip/unfinished btw. also implied stalking? kinda?]

You sigh softly and settle into the couch while you wait for your boyfriend to get done washing up in the bathroom. It was going to be a great night—just you, your boyfriend, and some nice movies to spend your Friday night after a long and arduous week at work. Wrapping your blanket around yourself and tucking it in just so, you then grab the remote to open up the streaming service hosting your favorite movie.

Unfortunately, you’re rudely interrupted by a knock at your door. A bit strange considering how late it was, but you wouldn’t want to be rude, so you reluctantly get up and pad over to the door. You straighten your night clothes—one of your boyfriend’s t-shirts and a pair of shorts that some would deem inappropriate—and take a peek through the peephole.

The sight that greets you is a very unwelcome one. Half of you wants to just ignore the person on the other side and move on, but you just can’t help yourself.

“Johnny, how did you find me? I never gave you this address,” You hiss at him when the door is open enough for him to just see your face. The look on his face is almost pitiful; he looks like a poor little wounded puppy, staring at you with those bright blue eyes.

“We need to talk—”

“We don’t need to ‘talk’ about anything. Go away.” You start to close the door, but his hand sliding between the door and the doorframe halts you. “Johnny, seriously, leave—”

He ignores you and pulls the door open wider, his strength winning out over yours. “I’m not leaving ‘til you hear me out. Just…” His words peter off into a sigh, and he looks at the ground. “Just let me in, yeah? At least for a little while.”

“No. Get out of here, now.” You pull on the door, trying to close it against his grip.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hallway draws your attention away from Johnny and you turn to look at the source, your boyfriend. “Babydoll? Who’s at the door—it’s almost 9 o'clock.” His voice is gravelly, his exhaustion peeking through in his tone. This was the last thing you needed: your boyfriend coming into contact with your asshole ex.

“It’s no one, he was just leaving, actually. Isn’t that right?” Your eyes narrow at the man standing in your front doorway, your frown deepening. Johnny isn’t listening to a word you say, though, his gaze focused on your boyfriend.

“Who the fuck is this?” Johnny almost sounds offended at the very concept of you finding someone new to spend your time with. The hostility is mirrored in your boyfriend as he takes wide steps over to you, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and pulling you to his side, a show of his claim over you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” your boyfriend practically growls, all of his sluggishness gone in an instant. “What are you doing on my doorstep, huh?”Johnny takes a step forward and squares his shoulders. “What are you doing with your hands all over my girlfriend?”

[is this anything. idk if i'm even going anywhere with this but we'll see? more soap on my masterlist]

[sushiwriterhere]

new rules

summary: "Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone. Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again. Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him."  rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 8.5k (this got away from me sorry y'all) warnings: angst (lack of communication!), idiots pining, PiV (unprotected), oral (f receiving), hangman x phoenix (blink and u will miss it), no use of y/n.  notes: thank you to @waklman for letting me bounce ideas off you! im very nervous abt this one, i feel like its dif from my other stuff so pls pls let me know what u think! my other works are here

Friends with benefits is maybe an inaccurate way to describe what’s going on between you and Bradley. Friends? Sure, since he asked you if you were using that bench at the beach and then he’d introduced himself. With benefits? You’re not sure if they really could be classified that way.

Bradley’s almost always a perfect gentleman. 

He doesn’t ignore you in the daylight, but the two of you never talk about the way he finds himself in your bed most nights rather than not, drunk or sober. 

It had started one night when you’d turned down an invitation to go to the Hard Deck, instead choosing to do a night of self care. You’d spent too long doing your eyebrows and managed to get a sheet mask to fully cover your face for once. You lost count of how much time you spent in the shower as an indulgence, and threw on the comfiest clothing you owned. Then, you sat yourself down in front of your TV to numb your mind with some perfectly trashy reality television.

Around 11:30, your phone had rang. Picking it up and squinting at the brightness, you saw Bradley’s face grinning back at you, the picture from one of your many beach days since you’d met. 

Despite your best instincts you’d picked up. What if he was stranded? What if something had happened? You’d steeled yourself for the worst. 

Instead, Bradley had just opened with a simple, “Hey.”

“Bradley? Is everything okay?” You could hear the noise of the Hard Deck in the background, but it had been yelling and there weren’t any sirens. 

“Yeah,” His sigh had come over extra loud through the speakers, “Just uh, was just thinking about you.”

“Okay,” What the hell? You remember mouthing the words to yourself as someone on screen had thrown a drink in someone else’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He hadn’t responded to your question, instead he’d just said, “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Bradley is everything–”

“I’ll see you soon.” And with that, he’d hung up with a definitive click. 

You’d stared at the dimming screen of your phone for probably almost five minutes. Surely he couldn’t have been that drunk–god, was he planning on driving? Calling him during that was probably a bad idea.

Great, leave it to Bradley to stress you the fuck out on a Friday evening when you’d been aiming for peace. You’d tried to refocus on your show, but you weren’t even paying attention to the words. 

No more than five minutes later, there had been a knock at your door. You’d stood slowly, not sure that this was actually happening. 

You’d opened the door to a Bradley with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eye, leaning against the railing outside your apartment. It was only after a moment of silence that you realized you were wearing an old Navy shirt of his, loaned to you at the beach a few weeks ago. You could feel the way his eyes started at your legs and dragged up your frame, taking everything in.

“Bradley?”

He’d pushed off the railing and backed you into your apartment, letting the door swing shut behind the two of you. You’d backed into the living room til your back hit a wall, your heart in your throat. You couldn’t look away from him, not with the way he’d been crowding into your space, leaning into you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” His voice was a tone he’d never used on you before, and you remember the way your heart had hammered in your chest. 

He’d been so warm and so close, setting all of your nerve endings on fire. It wasn’t that you hadn’t realized that Bradley was attractive–the man’s whole job was to stay in shape and be clean cut. He was beautiful. But you’d kept that to yourself, afraid of crossing that line, afraid that you’d ruin something that was turning out to be one of the strongest friendships you’d had in years. 

You still feel that fear, despite all the lines that have been crossed since that moment.

The way he’d kissed you had wiped every thought from your head. His hands had slid up your thighs to grip at your waist under his shirt hanging loosely on you. His mouth had moved smoothly against yours, making you sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

By the time the two of you had made your way into your bedroom, he’d lost every piece of clothing but his briefs and his dog tags. They’d dug into your sternum as you’d pressed yourself against him, the cool metal warming quickly between the two of you. 

The way your blood had been rushing in your ears from adrenaline had drowned out the way he’d murmured to himself as he’d kissed down your body. He never did pull his shirt off you. He’d simply maintained his grip on your hips, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he’d pulled your panties down and licked desperately into you.

Your hands had gone to his hair out of reflex. He had been rocking you steadily and you think you’ll always remember how you felt when you’d realized it was because he was grinding his hips against the bedframe, so turned on from getting his mouth on you. 

He’d eaten you out like a man starved, his nose bumping into your clit as his tongue fucked you. It had been messy and loud but you hadn’t cared about the neighbors or your dignity, not with the way his fingers had finally curled into you. 

“Bradley,” You’d gasped when you finally came, back arching and fingers tightening in his hair to the point where your knuckles ached.

He’d held you through it, had let you rock your hips against his face and not complained at all. In fact, he’d seemed delighted by the way you’d let yourself just feel, pleasure wracking your body and consuming your mind in a haze.

Kissing his way up your body, he’d slid his hands under the shirt and groped you gently. You remember the way your mind had stayed cloudy and you’d floated, tethered only to the real world by the way his thumbs flicked gently at your nipples.

“I’m here, I’m here,” He’d panted into your mouth as you whined when he’d sat back slightly to kick off his briefs and hitch your thighs over his waist, “I’ve got you.”

The first time Bradley had ever slid his cock into you, you knew you’d never be the same, that you’d never be able to go back. Not when he’d kept himself hovering over you just barely, propped up on his elbow, with his lips still brushing yours and his dog tags catching in the sheen of sweat along your sternum. Not when he rocked into you inch by inch, making the world around you blur into nothingness. 

You’d let yourself fall apart under him, let yourself sink into the mattress and just take whatever he was willing to give you. He’d fucked you deeper and more gently than anyone before–to this day, you’re not even sure you can classify it as ‘fucking’, that always felt too vulgar for the way he’d brushed his lips over your cheekbones and murmured sweet nothings. 

But saying Bradley had, and still does, made love to you means trying to find something from nothing, means discerning some sort of level of connection he’s never made clear. You’re not trying to break your own heart more than you already are.

In spite of that, you can’t forget the way he’d held you like you were precious, like you were everything to him. He’d cum inside you with a guttural moan, a punched out gasp at the way you’d clenched around him. It had made you realize that was all you’d ever wanted, Bradley warm around you and inside you, him making you feel complete in a way you hadn’t known you weren’t whole before. 

He’d been a perfect gentleman when you’d both come down, easing out of you so he could clean up. He’d massaged your thighs and hips where you were sure you would’ve been aching the next morning if he hadn’t, had apologized under his breath at the fingerprints now dotying your hips. He’d thumbed at the collar of the Navy shirt where it had stayed on your frame the entire time, looking pensive but never saying anything.

You’d woken up alone the next morning, a sticky note on the bedside table reading–Had to run for work. Thanks for having me over. A messy heart and a hastily scrawled Bradley closing off the message. 

And so it went. So it goes. 

During the day, you and Bradley are the paragon of good friendship–he’ll send you memes when he gets access to his phone in between flights and lessons, you’ll pick him up after work to go to the beach. The two of you don’t talk about it–because what is there to talk about? 

No words are ever exchanged about the way that Bradley clears out a drawer for you at his place, you just find a few of the things you’d left at his place in there one day. You never give back his Navy shirt, not when you find yourself wearing it more often than not. Nothing is said about how you start picking up his favorite flavors of ice cream and his preferred brand of coffee creamer, you just make a habit of throwing them into your cart when you go to the store.

And everything is fine. It really is. You disregard the side glances from Phoenix and Bob as they see you leave with Bradley on Friday and Saturday nights, you ignore the way Hangman wiggles his eyebrows at you when Bradley insists on paying for your drinks. Just friends, is all. Just friends.

They can make their assumptions, whisper while you’re out of ear shot, but they don’t see the quiet, comfortable domesticity that you and Bradley engage in when the two of you are alone. You go back to his after beach afternoons since it’s closer to your favorite spot, and the two of you will shower (separately) and make dinner together. Sometimes you’ll sleep over if you’re working remote the next day, sometimes you’ll go home.

On weekends, Bradley picks you up in the morning, trunk holding a cooler full of drinks and snacks, and you two will go to the beach again or go on a hike. Sometimes Phoenix or Bob or the whole crew will come along, sometimes they won’t. 

Just friends. And it’s fine.

Until everything isn’t fine. 

Bradley and you have been at this for a few months now, and you can feel yourself cracking. You’re reaching out to kiss him when you do wake up together, before your brain is awake enough to stop you, reminding you that that’s not what you two do. On an outing to a boardwalk teeming with life and populated by those games you can win stuffed animals at, you resist the urge to press him against the railing of the pier and lick the taste of your shared gelato cone out of his mouth. 

When the dam finally breaks, it begins like any other night. You have a margarita and a half in you, some concoction that Phoenix insisted you try that’s actually good. Bradley’s already done a rendition of My Way at Penny’s request, but for now the jukebox is blaring some 80s hit Hangman picked out.

You can feel yourself swaying to the beat, just letting the warmth of the moment sink in as you’re surrounded by your friends, the people you love. 

“Hi,” Bradley breathes into your ear as he sidles up next to you, his arms coming to settle around your waist. You can feel his warmth through the flimsy fabric of the dress you’ve got on.

“Hi Brad,” He hates it when people call him that–lets you get away with it though. “What’cha doin’?”

“Waitin’ for you.” He leans his entire body weight against you, making you slump against the table you’re standing next to.

“Ah! Bradley, stop it.” You try to stand, but the way he’s laughing makes it hard to shake yourself from his grip, “What do you mean you’re waiting for me? I’m waiting for you.”

The grin he shoots you is electric, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, right here in the middle of the Hard Deck, with all your friends around and in Penny and Mav’s line of sight. That thought makes your heart skip a beat.

“Come home with me?” He whispers, just barely letting his voice rise above the background noise, and when you don’t respond immediately, “Or let me take you home?”

That’s all it takes, really, for you to agree. The way he’s so willing, so malleable, for you. You’re leading him out by the hand without responding to his questions, making your way to the Bronco that’s parked in the back corner of the lot. 

Bradley keeps the foolish grin on his face the entire time he drives back to your apartment. The warmth radiating from him doesn’t abate when he licks into your mouth once the two of you are inside. One of his palms rests against your heart, the other working its way up your thigh and inside your panties that are already damp. 

“You’re so good to me,” He murmurs, dipping his fingers below your waistband and brushing through your curls, feeling just how slick you are. 

All you can do is whine as he picks you up and makes his way to your bedroom. For once, he doesn’t trip or stub his toe on anything, and it somehow heightens the intensity. Normally, you and Bradley seek comedic relief of some sort, something to cut the tension and keep it from making your chest tighten in a way that feels like a warning. This time, you aren’t granted any such reprieve.

He undresses you slowly and deliberately, letting his fingertips drag lightly up your sides and over your shoulders. He shrugs his Hawaiian shirt off easily, and lets you yank his wife beater over his head without complaint. 

Then, the two of you are just staring at each other, both panting lightly. You’re propped up on your elbows, staring up at him only in your panties. Bradley’s got one hand about to pop the button of his jeans, but he’s frozen. You feel like you can’t move but also like something might be changing. 

You don’t want it to change, you don’t want to lose Bradley in more ways than one. If this is what he’s willing to give you, you don’t want this to change. 

He nearly falls over when his foot gets stuck in his jeans, and even that doesn’t break the tension. Once he’s climbing over you, enveloping you, kissing up your stomach and neck, you forget all about decorum and keeping up appearances.

The whine that echoes around the room is pathetic and high pitched, but it’s the only way you think to communicate to Bradley how bad you need him in that moment. His hips are rocking gently against yours and you want the layers gone, you need to feel him. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” And his hands are around your hips, dragging your underwear off you unceremoniously. 

Although he makes a good attempt at going down on you, you don’t let him. You dig your fingers into his shoulder and yank at his hair to keep his face level with yours and kiss him desperately.

“I want to eat you out, please?” The depth of his voice sends a shiver through you.

Normally he wouldn’t even have to ask, but you don’t want that right now. You just want to feel him inside you. 

“Need you in me, please,” You take a heaving breath before the pleading spills out of you, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

He shushes you as you scrunch your face up, not knowing how else to convey your desires in that moment, “Okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

You almost wail in protest when his fingers slide into you. You can’t figure out why you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out, why you feel so fucking needy. 

“Sweetheart you gotta let me prep you somehow, just–” 

You feel like the embarrassment might kill you when you keen at the feeling of his fingers inside you. The way you’re trying to be good, you really are, because he does have a point. Plus, you have to be fair to Bradley, this isn’t just about you. 

So you hold still, let him work his fingers in and out of you as you pant and clutch at his shoulders like a lifeline. His mouth presses against yours, works its way over your cheeks and down your throat. He sucks a mark gently into your collarbone, and you ignore the way your brain reminds you about having to cover that up for work. 

He doesn’t shut up the entire time, just keeps telling you how good you’re doing for him, how good you feel, how he’s been thinking about this all night. The world seems to go right-side up again when he pushes into you. 

You whimper at the way he rocks his hips ever so gently before pulling out. He kisses you again and again, only letting his lips leave yours so he can kiss your forehead or cheeks. The motion of his hips is a steady tempo, he keeps time with your breaths that turn into moans when you start feeling that telltale coil in your stomach. 

He runs his tongue along your teeth and you’re done for. You clench down on him and dig your nails into his skin, bucking your hips up as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. 

Bradley fucks you through it like every other time, yes, but this time there’s something about the way he stutters out a moan and his hips match the faltering rhythm as he finishes right after you. The shallow rocking of his hips continues and you try to ignore the prickling of tears at the corners of your eyes. 

Something tells you that this time, you shouldn’t have let Bradley take you home. When he pulls his face back from yours and he rolls the two of you onto your sides without pulling out, he’s got this look on his face that screams unspoken words. He cups your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb without saying anything. 

The two of you are quiet as he cleans you up, as you dress yourself in another one of his shirts.

When you wake up the next morning, Bradley isn’t there. It doesn’t shock you necessarily, sometimes he stays, sometimes he has to leave to be on time for work.

What does send a terrible feeling trickling down your throat and into your stomach is the post-it, all four square inches covered in sloppy hearts. Bradley had signed his name in the bottom left corner, characteristic chicken scratch labeling it as him even if the name wasn’t enough.

This has to end.

Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone.

You last about three rings before you cave in, waiting for the sound of his voice to echo around the apartment. You’re holding your breath.

“I knocked.” Is all he says before you’re on your feet, making your way to the door.

There he is, and although you know he isn’t really drunk, you know he’s got a beer or two in him from the way he doesn’t try to hide how he looks at you. You hate the way you’re weak for him.

You’ve been caving to him more than once a week since that first night, since Bradley had knocked your world off kilter. Though you’re in bed together almost every night, whether at his place or yours, you don’t have sex nearly every time. Part of you thinks that might make it worse. It really had been fine at first, but the first morning you’d cried at the sight of that sticky note covered in hearts, you’d known you had to try and put an end to this.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” He tries, a crooked grin splitting his face as he walks toward you, but you know he doesn’t mean his words at all. 

“Bradshaw, have you been drinking?” You want to not want this, want to not want the way his gaze pins you down, the way the length of his body against yours just feel so right.

Let him being drunk and you being sober be the excuse, you beg silently. You can’t manage to force out that maybe he should go home, sleep this off in his own bed. You can’t find it in yourself to tell him to leave, to reject his advances. Watching as if outside your own body, he shuts the door behind him and walks up to you. 

Your chest aches with unconfessed feelings when he takes your face in his hands and lets his forehead rest against yours. His lips are soft and warm against yours, his mustache tickling you lightly when it brushes against your face. The whine you let out matches his soft groan, and the two of you stand there making out for a few minutes, almost as if you’re both content to just drink each other in without further motives. 

“I’ve got you sweetheart, I’ve got you,” And he’s picking you up.

You yelp at the way you’re suddenly lifted from the ground and you bury your face in his neck. You hate heights, your feet off the ground anything more than a few inches sends you spiraling in short order. But it’s Bradley who’s holding you, and some part of you knows he’d never let you fall, never let you crash into the ground. 

The way you two fall into your bed is too natural, it makes your stomach churn. His fingers find their place on your hips, around your thighs. It’s all too easy. You wish it would be a bit more awkward, that the chemistry could be imagined or false–instead you’re confronted by the way your bodies flow with one another’s all too easily. 

Again, somehow, you’re in nothing but his Navy shirt. 

Maybe I should give it back, the thought flits through your mind and you feel guilty immediately. Bradley always seems to take a special sort of pleasure from fucking you in his shirt, and you selfishly want to keep that bargaining chip, to have something that tethers him to you. If he won’t come back to press you into your sheets, then maybe he’ll come back one last time to get his shirt when this inevitably unravels. 

“Sweetheart,” He groans softly when his fingers reach the way you’re embarrassingly wet between your legs. 

It takes everything in you not to jerk back from his touch–you still don’t know how to confront the way you’re so responsive to his touch. His mere presence.

“I missed you.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, your lips part and you breathe the words before you can do anything about it. He chooses that exact moment to dip a fingertip into your fluttering, but empty, hole, and you arch your back and moan. Instead of responding, he kisses you hungrily, all pretense gone. 

This isn’t something entirely tender, not anymore. He’s searching for something, a certain reaction, with the way he adds and then curls his fingers inside of you. He finds it when you jerk underneath him at the way he pets at that spot inside you you can never seem to reach on your own. 

He mumbles against your lips, “There you go,” As you squirm under him, the press of his fingers inside you relentless.

He works his fingers in and out of you, not taking anything in return. It’s all you can do to hold on to him and whine pitifully. Every sensation feels amplified, feels electric because it’s him. 

The two of you settle into a familiar rhythm for as long as it takes for Bradley to make you cum the first time. You’re rocking against him through the aftershocks and you can feel the way he’s hard against you through his clothes.

He’s still dressed. The realization sends a bolt of shame through you, but it doesn’t linger long. 

He’s shoving his jeans down his legs, not bothering with wiping his hand clean and you shiver at the thought that he’ll have to put them on again, you streaked across them. He makes quick work of his boxers too, and it occurs to you that he must’ve lost his shirt somewhere along the way when he presses his bare chest against your still clothed one.

“Bradley, Bradley,” You chant, “Take off my shirt.”

It’s the most demanding you’ve probably ever been with him, but he laughs at you anyways. There’s a glint in his eye as he sits up, his hard cock bobbing between his thighs. The sight of his naked form between your spread legs makes you swallow hard and your mouth water. 

“I like you in my shirt.” There’s something unsaid there, something about claims and ownership that isn’t truly possession, but a reminder of who belongs to whom regardless.

You pull it off your head in protest, and grab his wrist to drag him back down to you. You let yourself indulge in trailing a hand down the firm planes of his body down to where he’s smearing precum against your thigh. He’s heavy and pulsing in your hand and a light hiss rushes through his clenched teeth when you grip him tightly and twist with your wrist. 

“Fuck, fuck, not gonna last if you–” Bradley cuts himself off with a groan as you swipe your thumb over his head. 

It’s your turn to laugh, “You just got here.”

“Well, have you ever had sex with yourself? It’s tough out here–give a guy a break.”

The both of you dissolve into giggles at that, as you try to imagine how you would look sprawled under yourself. You can’t picture it, but the image of Bradley under or over you makes you think you might understand. 

He lines his hips up with yours once you’re both done making fools of yourself at the thought of you having sex with yourself (it reminds you of a drunk hypothetical you’d spent thirty minutes on with Hangman once–would you have sex with a clone of yourself?). 

The first push of him inside you cuts through the lighthearted mood immediately. It always shocks you how perfectly he fits inside you despite his size, how incredibly full you feel when his hips meet yours. The gentle friction of the neat curls at the base of his cock against your clit always provides a stimulation that makes your brain go fuzzy. 

The snap of his hips against yours is more intense this time, a sort of rhythm that makes you briefly think about the way the headboard might start knocking against the wall. But all thoughts, really, fly out of your head when Bradley brings a hand up to your nipples, the steady stroke of his fingers over the swell of your breasts as practiced and knowing as everything else he’s doing to you. 

All you can do is run your hands down his back, scratch your nails against his skin ever so often when he brushes against something so sweet and perfect inside you. You clench around him just to see the reaction it’ll get, and you’re rewarded with a broken groan.

“You’re not fighting fair,” He gasps, and he hitches one of your thighs up so he can press more insistently into you. 

You have a clever comeback somewhere in you–something about how you weren’t aware that the two of you were fighting, but it’s swallowed as he presses his lips into yours again. He seems absolutely intent on showing you exactly how you make him feel because the sensations of pleasure become overwhelming. 

“Fuck sweetheart, you feel perfect, god you’re so wet for me,” He’s rambling mindlessly, but you let it happen, clinging to any expression of emotion, any sliver of dedication in his tone that you can hold on to til the next time you find yourself in this position. 

You know he’s close when his grip on your thigh tightens forcefully and the strokes go from long and deep to slightly shorter and stunted. He’s grunting and gasping, but it’s all the best thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Come for me Bradley, I want to feel you,” And at that, he follows your orders, listens to you for once in his life. 

Everything is hazy as he keeps himself hovering over you and continues to rock his hips. You start to try and tell him he can pull out before his fingers find your clit and he dives back in to kiss you passionately. 

Bradley is a perfectionist at heart, an overachiever. You suppose it isn’t entirely ridiculous that that extends to his performance in the bedroom–he’s insistent you finish every time, and always more than him. Feeling the way he’s still warm and heavy inside you, his lips firm against yours, brings you over the edge more quickly than you’d like to admit. 

Still, you heave a shuddering gasp and let the pleasure wash over you. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, but he’s there through all of it til you feel yourself come back into your own body. 

You think he might be writing something on your skin, the way his finger loops and dips softly over your hip bone as he kisses you gently. He’s softening inside you and you can feel the mess the two of you made under your hips, except he isn’t moving, not yet at least, to rectify that situation. 

For once, you don’t push him to go clean up or scold him for another set of ruined sheets, you just let yourself bask in the moment as you imagine a world where the two of you will talk about this in the morning. You think of a timeline where this is where you end up because it’s where you’re meant to be, not because it’s something you’re choosing despite how it hurts you every time. You think of a place where Bradley is yours and you are his, wholly and completely.

Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again. 

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” You breathe into his mouth.

Bradley just hums in response, brushing his lips over yours, down your jawline and your throat. His breath comes in warm puffs over your collarbones before he pulls back.

Hands pinned above your head, you squirm under his gaze. There’s something so intense about the way he’s looking at you, but you can’t bring yourself to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it. Both of you lost your clothes somewhere on your way to the bedroom, and you’re thinking about how to persuade him to be the one to pick it all up when this is inevitably over. 

He smells like expensive cologne, and he’s got some product in his hair that made it difficult for you to brush your hands through it earlier. Plus, Phoenix had been dropping unsubtle hints earlier in the week (Hangman had affectionately called her out, a little sigh following— “You’re being such a shit stirrer.”)

“Bradley,” You try again, this time with a slight whine.

Did he seriously ditch some girl that’s probably been waiting on their date all week for this?

He responds by whispering your name back to you, the same tone undercutting the way he says it, “That doesn’t matter, I’m here now.”

The urge to keep complaining rises in you but he preempts your worries by licking into your mouth when you open it. 

He presses you into the mattress, weighing you down as he kisses you languidly, as if he’s trying to taste every part of you, as if he’s trying to memorize the sounds that escape you when he does. The warmth of his body makes your mind fog, and for the time being, everything else but this goes quiet. 

Distantly, you know that in the morning, he’ll have to leave. At the very least, he’ll have to go back to his to grab his stuff for the beach, a change of clothes. It isn’t kicking him out, but watching him leave again and again has started to build this pit at the bottom of your stomach. 

It would be different, you think, if the two of you were together. Because then, him leaving wouldn’t mean much where there would be an implicit promise and understanding that he was going to come back. Every time he closed the door behind him, you swallowed the fear that that would be your final memory of him. 

You’re selfish though. And you want to focus on the feeling of his touch instead of thinking about how you may never get to have this again. 

He makes it easy. Bradley pulls his shirt off and his dog tags make a gentle clinking sound as they hit each other and then finally come to rest on his chest. He looks like a god, backlit by the setting sun coming through your windows. 

This is how you want to remember him. Smiling down at you as he dives back in to kiss you breathless, twitching when you skim your fingertips up his sides because he’s ticklish. 

He makes short work of your shirt and sleep shorts, then his jeans are discarded. He stops briefly when his fingers reach the waistband of your underwear, a silent question that you answer by lifting your hips and letting him pull them off you. 

Every time he’s between your legs, he has this reverent look on his face, and it makes your chest twist at the fact that this time is no different. He holds your thighs open gently but firmly, and he presses his face into your pussy. Then, his tongue is darting out and licking up your core, flat and wide. 

You’d asked him once, if he likes going down on you. With a gleam in his eye, Bradley had said it was second only to being inside of you. You think of that as he eats you out enthusiastically, as you bury your hands in his hair and pull. 

He slides his tongue in and out of you, curls it around your clit and sucks in a way that makes your back arch and your thighs clenched around his head. Then, he’s slipping a finger inside and fucking you slowly with it. It makes you shiver as you realize how close you are. 

“Sweetheart, fuck, you taste incredible,” He murmurs, more to himself than anything else, pulling back briefly to make eye contact and you feel the way your breath quickens at the intensity of his gaze.

It only takes a few more minutes of him licking into you, tonguing at your clit, and adding another finger before you feel that familiar swooping in your stomach, before you’re choking out his name. Your back arches so much it aches, but it’s all you can do as the pleasure is all consuming. Bradley works you through it like every other time, holding you and letting you take what you need from him.

Then, he’s on you in an instant, kissing you furiously and sliding his hardness up and down you, covering himself in your slick. It’s filthy and sloppy but neither of you seem to mind. He lets himself rut against you til you’re hooking your legs around him and digging one of your heels into his back.

“Alright, alright,” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but you know he’s more affected than his light tone lets on. 

The first push into you is always the most intense, but you suck in a deep breath that you force out through your teeth.

“I know, I know,” He croons, pressing little kisses all over your face as you adjust to him.

Bradley inches into you slowly, inch by inch. The initial stretch subsides til it’s replaced by the sweetest feeling of fullness, the way you can feel all of him. 

If there’s one thing the Navy’s good for, it’s the sheer strength Bradley possesses and has to maintain. You feel it in the way he fucks you, his back muscles rippling as you hold on for dear life. You feel it in the way his hips press into yours, shunting you slightly up the mattress.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are his hips meeting yours and the slick between the two of you. Momentarily, he pulls away from kissing you to look down to where he’s disappearing inside of you, that ring of you collecting at the base of his cock. His groan is guttural and broken. 

“Fuck, Bradley, it feels so good.”

He leans down again to kiss you sloppily, and the simple action of him burying a hand in your hair and twisting his wrist makes your heart skip a beat. He always knows exactly what you need when you need it. 

“C’mon, come for me, sweetheart, let me feel you.”

And because you’ve never been able to deny him anything, there you are, hurtling over the edge again. He’s everywhere around you, inside you, and his tongue in your mouth is the last thing you need to feel that wave crest inside of you. Bradley’s moan is deep as he feels you bare down on him and he follows you shortly after.

The moments after, when the glow is still settling and your mind is still hazy, are your favorite. Your mind is too foggy to focus on the fact that you know he’ll be leaving, but present enough to feel the way he doesn’t stop pressing kisses to your lips. You’re cognizant of how he cleans you up tenderly and presses his fingers into the skin of your thighs and hips just to watch it dimple. 

In those precious few minutes, that’s all that exists to you.

Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him. 

You’re trying to ignore him, you really are. You start going to the beach an hour earlier than you usually do, hoping that he’s maintaining his schedule. Every tall brunette jogging across the sand sends your heart into overdrive. 

You still see Bradley when you go to the Hard Deck for a drink, but you keep a respectable distance between the two of you. If Phoenix mentions a round of pool, you jump at the chance, while asking Bob and Payback if they’d like to be the opposing team. You ignore the way your heart jumps into your throat when you can feel his eyes on you. 

Every note of Great Big Balls of Fire feels like a stab in the chest, and you hold back tears of frustration when you see some girl wrap her arms around his neck and rock along with him as he belts out the lyrics. You’re a fool. 

You’ve been ignoring his calls about Saturday morning beach runs and the memes he sends during the day go unanswered except for the little reactions iPhones let you send. You suppose it’s only fair that he gets to ignore you a little bit too.

Your little charade doesn’t last long, not truly in the grand scheme of things. Bradley doesn’t put up with you skirting his advances for long–he knows what he wants and he’ll be relentless til he gets it. And right now, he’s trying to corner you. 

And you’re weak for him. You should’ve known from the start that you wouldn’t be able to resist him. You can’t even now, even when you’re only getting him in pieces.

It’s not exactly your bravest moment to be hiding slightly behind Phoenix so he can’t see you (if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, right?) while she stares at you with an endlessly amused expression in her eyes. She doesn’t move to expose you, though.

“What’cha doin’?” Her tone is light, but you can tell she means business. 

The two of you are friends yes, but she’s known Bradley for a million times longer. There’s some girl-girl solidarity, but if you were in her shoes, you might have a few bones to pick about potentially throwing Bradley to the wolves on this one. You wonder for a moment if he’s been talking to her about all this, but again, is there even anything to talk about?

“Just uh, trying to see where Hangman’s at?” You sound like you’re asking her a question, and she quirks an eyebrow. 

She stretches the syllables of her next word out, letting it hang in the air, “Right. Even I don’t look at Hangman with that sort of intensity.”

That’s not entirely true, but you don’t really feel like getting into a competition with Phoenix of all people, over who’s looking at whom how. 

“Sweetheart? Can we talk?” 

You’d let Phoenix distract you for just a split second, and there he is, in all his glory. Bradley is beautiful, yes, but he looks tired. His sunny’s are hanging haphazardly from a floral button down that looks like it’s maybe seen better days, and he’s got dark circles marring the perfect tone of his tanned skin. 

This time, Phoenix just side-steps you and lets Bradley into your space. 

His presence is just as affecting there, in the middle of the Hard Deck, as it was the first time you saw him on the beach. Even with how tired he looks, he’s still glowing just slightly in the evening sun.

“Hi, Bradley,” You breathe, not daring to speak louder, as if that would make the moment real. 

You can feel Phoenix’s eyes on you, the way that Bob and Payback are starting to let their attention drift to from the game of pool. This, you don’t want anyone else to be witness to. This is something between just the two of you. You don’t really need the whole world to witness your imminent heartbreak. 

“I don’t want to do this here, is my place okay?” He looks so nervous, as if you’re going to push him away. It’s funny really, what you know is about to happen, and yet he still looks like this is about to break him entirely. 

Nodding, you let him lead you out of the bar. It feels like deja vu, how however many weeks ago you were tracing these exact steps but making your way towards a very different fate. 

The two of you are silent in the Bronco, and Bradley doesn’t bother turning the radio up to belt along to the 80s classic on the radio. Everything feels like you’re underwater, like the world is out of focus. You think you might start crying, but you try and swallow it down, be an adult. 

Pulling into the driveway, it’s silent in the car when he turns the engine off. Neither of you go to get out, but you know you can’t sit here forever. This had to happen at some point, had to come to a close. That doesn’t make getting out of the car and waiting for Bradley to unlock the door any easier, though. 

You toe off your shoes and let him get you a glass of water. Then, you’re standing on opposite sides of his kitchen, the pristine shine of the countertops and appliances making him feel a thousand miles away. You two are usually tumbling in, mouths locked together, or walking in with groceries, prepared to spend a comfortable evening cooking and watching a movie. This is everything coming apart at the seams. 

“Bradley,” You start, not really knowing where you’re going, but just wanting to break the silence.

He looks distraught and your stomach drops with guilt. 

This is your fault. 

He says your name once as he settles back against a countertop, and it hangs in the air between the two of you, til he starts speaking again, “I’ve been trying to figure out where I went wrong, what lines I crossed, and I guess at some point I realized it was all of them. I shouldn't have pushed you, I shouldn’t have–”

“I thought that that was all I could have of you, so I was selfish and I took it.” You say, the words tumbling out of you before you can stop yourself from interrupting him, but still unable to tear your eyes away from him, “But I was hurting you. I still am, and god, Bradley, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I’m so sorry.”

It’s almost funny, really, the way you’ll look back on this moment a year from now and laugh at the way the two of you are talking past each other, unwilling to acknowledge that your deepest desires could be attainable. But for now, all you can feel is the guilt in your veins, your heartbeat pounding your chest. 

“What?” He’d looked at the floor for a moment, but when you finish speaking he’s looking at you intently. “What did you say?”

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and start from the beginning, “I thought that you coming to me, like that, was the only way I could have you. And, and maybe it was me taking advantage because you were sometimes not super sober, but I would never–”

“I was always sober. Every time. I would never do that to you. What do you mean that was the only way you thought you could have me?” Bradley’s standing fully now, not leaning. 

“I thought you drank before, to, y’know, make it tolerable.” You regret the words as soon as you say them, “Sorry, that’s–you’re not that kind of person.”

He smiles ruefully, “I’m still focused on the part about that being the only way you could have me.”

Here it is. 

“I love you, Bradley. And not just as a friend, but more. But I didn’t want to push that on you, and so I thought–”

“You love me?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

Then, he’s laughing in that hysterical way when people are so overcome, the only way it’ll escape them is if they double over in giggles. But he’s trying to compose himself as quickly as he started. 

“I tried to tell you so many times how I felt, I left you all those post-it notes, god, I thought you were seeing them and just didn’t feel the same.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“The hearts. That’s how I,” He heaves a shuddering breath, his voice thick with unshed tears, “That’s how I told my parents I loved them before I could really write. I was saying it to you every time I left.”

“You love me?” You’re crying now, and he squeezes his eyes shut til tears run down his cheeks too. 

His laugh is bitter but you know that’s not directed at you, “Was the sticky note covered in hearts not clear enough?”

You feel the way your cheeks warm and your stomach churns as you try and defend yourself, “You were thanking me for letting you sleep over?”

At that, he laughs, genuine this time, breaking the sadness that has been building in the air. Finally, he makes his way across the room to you and crowds into your space, wrapping you in his arms and pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes are closed. 

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, a plea, and a prayer all in one. “I meant every heart, every I love you, from the very first one I left.”

“I kept them all. In my bedside table.”

Then his lips are on yours. The kiss is salty, reminding you of all the emotion that’s been building for the past few months, every moment you didn’t confess, every moment you assumed the worst, it’s all there. But you don’t want to dwell on that now, now that you’ve heard him say something plucked from your wildest dreams.

“Say it again,” You whisper when his lips leave yours ever so briefly as the two of you are stumbling to the bedroom.

And he does. As he’s undressing you, he says it. He mumbles it against your lips and into your mouth. 

He says it against your bare skin as he presses you into his bed, the sheets smelling like him before he puts on cologne. It’s muffled momentarily by the way he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, but you feel the way his jaw works anyways as you cup his face. You let your legs fall open around him and feel the way he slides his fingers into you.

When he’s pressing into you, he’s saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you.

In those moments between start and finish, when the world falls away and all you know is the warmth of his body against yours, the slight slick of sweat on your skin, that’s when you think you realize that he means it. The motion of his hips is deep and insistent, as if to try and leave a permanent reminder that he was there. 

You’re crying, you realize. And he’s kissing the tears away like it’s the most natural thing in the world, pressing his forehead to yours as his lips keep forming the words. At some point, you’ve started saying them back to him too, choking them out despite everything so that you know that he knows that you love him.

When you finish, it feels like a supernova exploding inside of you. It starts in the center of your body and pushes its way to your fingertips til you’re gasping for air and he fucks you through it. Bradley cums moments later, filling you with his warmth in a way that’s both familiar and still thrilling. 

He rolls gently off you, and you hiss as he slips out. That’ll be a mess to clean up. 

But he’s looking at you, brushing your sweaty hair from your face, and his eyes are shining so brightly that it feels like looking at the sun. You want to look away, but you think that losing your vision in return for staring at the way his eyes crinkle in genuine happiness is well worth the price. 

I love you, he mouths. And you believe him. 

You whisper it back.

tagging: @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @bradshawburner @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @joaquinwhorres @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @bradshawsbitch @seresinsweetie @notroosterbradshaw @genius2050 @peachystenbrough @rhettabbotts @theharddeck @wkndwlff - tagging ppl either by request or whom i feel like are horny for bradley soooo pls let me know if you'd like to be added/removed

[aprildream]

warmth

genre: fluff but suggestive | word count: 617

tags: domesticity, mentions of sex, implied oral (m. receiving)

Saturday mornings were your favorite.

Both you and Mingyu worked Monday to Friday, which meant that on weekends, you could make love as hard and as many times as you wanted. Sometimes it could hardly be described as making love – you simply fucked, like animals. Not having to worry about stiff muscles and questionable marks on your bodies before a work day made you both crazy and insatiable. That, and the knowledge that the next day, you could do it all over again.

On that Saturday you woke to an empty bed, the warmth of another body still lingering in the spot next to you. You felt a pleasant burn all throughout your body, and a good kind of rawness between your legs, a testimony to your lover’s promises last night. His words came back to you in the form of tingles all over your skin – take it, take it, I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t fucking walk–

You flushed and slid out of bed to go find the perpetrator of your arousal so early in the morning.

You found him in the kitchen. Busying himself at the stove while wearing nothing but a pair of comfortable sweatpants, he was the spitting image of a scene out of a romantic novel – every woman’s daydream. And he was yours. You marveled at him, trailing your eyes down his body appreciatively. Golden skin, incredible abs, long legs. And, of course, his bruised neck. You lifted a hand to your own, having fallen victim to your lover’s expert mouth and sharp teeth, stomach feeling warm from the images flashing in your head.

The memories were almost better than the real thing, hazy and spiced up with imagination and desire, leaving a needy warmth in their wake.

You couldn’t wait for his teeth to sink into you again.

“You left me in bed alone,” you broke the silence to complain.

When he turned around to face you, his face broke out into a wide, fond smile. It never failed to surprise you just how happy he always looked to see you.

You moved forward to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. You always craved the closeness of another person in the early morning. Usually, Mingyu was the clingy one and slept the longest, so waking up without him snuggled up to you was rare.

“I was starving,” he explained, voice hoarse from sleep (and probably from all the moaning and groaning, too). Everything made him hungry - especially hot, aggressive sex. “I thought you would be as well, so I’m making us breakfast.”

Now, you could have been content just holding him like that, but with your lover’s perfect body pressed against yours and the heat pooling between your legs, you couldn’t resist latching your lips onto his neck, rediscovering the marks you left there the previous night. He didn’t resist, he never did, just leaned his head sideways to give you better access and sighed quietly, content.

“I might be hungry for something else…” you mumbled into his skin, sneaking a hand around him to slip it under the waistband of his sweatpants.

Your boyfriend sighed in annoyance. “Can you let me finish cooking first so we can avoid any incidents?”

Because it wasn’t the first time you’ve tried to make advances on him while he was cooking, and a distracted Mingyu near a heat source was not a good idea. So you stayed glued to his back with your hand tucked in his pants, patiently waiting for the moment he turned off the stove and you could push him against the counter and sink to your knees.

— © aprildream do not repost

[rrenzwrld]

secreto de amor IV

chapter 4! chapter 3 here, chapter 2 here!

your car was in the shop for a few more weeks until it was ready to be on the road again. because you were excited to finally have your car back, sasha wanted you to take her to the mall since she hasn’t seen you in a while. sasha was another friend of jean’s but she was closer in age to you than any others, plus you enjoyed her more than the others too.

“y/n~when’s the next time you work?” sasha asked you as the two of you walked around the mall with ice cream.

“friday, why?” sasha groaned obnoxiously.

“i was gonna ask if you wanted to come with me to a party.”

“a party?” you weren’t a party person at all and she knew that so you didn’t know why she was asking.

“i mean not a party but like.. a kickback! not a lot of people will be there so you’d be fine.”

“you know i don’t do people…”

“i know but i wanna get you out there! somewhere other than sticking under jean all the time—“

“i don’t stick under jean all the time. i just like to be at home, where i’m comfortable.”

“you like to be anywhere jean is because you know that’s when you’ll be safe. but he’s not gonna be everywhere girl. live a little!”

“i have all my life to live. i’m only 18.”

“yeah but you should start now! just come with me please?”

“i don’t get off til 10 friday. do i have to stay the whole time?”

“we can stay if you’re having fun, we can leave if you don’t. we can ride together.” it sounded tempting but you knew how sasha could be when it came to going out and partying.

you were hesitant but answered anyways. “okay.. but we’re taking my car. so i can leave yo ass if you get outta line.”

“that’s fine. your brother is gonna beat my ass anyways if anything happens to you.”

after that conversation, the two of you walked and shopped some more before leaving. you dropped sasha off at her apartment before arriving to the apartment that you stayed in with jean.

“have fun?” jean was in the kitchen cooking something that caught your attention before you could see.

“yeah.. what you cooking?”

“shrimp alfredo.” you started to make a face because he knew you were allergic to seafood before jean clarified what you were seeing. “no i’m not trying to kill you. there’s a pot of chicken alfredo for you over there.” you smiled as you made yourself a plate.

“thank you johnny~” you grabbed the plate and started to walk to your room with it but jean stopped you.

“you’re welcome— where you going, miss lady?”

“to my room?”

“uh no? we gotta talk. seriously.” you turned around to walk to the kitchen and sat at the island with jean.

“what did you wanna talk about?” you knew what he was gonna talk to you about.

“i know you’re going to the party friday.”

“um.. okay? how?”

“i know everything. look, i just wanted to make sure you know what to do and how to handle yourself. i’m not gonna be there to protect you.”

you rolled your eyes. “sasha said it’s not a party—“

“see? fucking up already. if it’s an event in which there’s drinking, smoking, and people, then it’s a party.”

“okay, fine. whatever, i’m not gonna stay long anyways.”

he smiled. “good. i don’t wanna have to go to jail for some bitch boys on my day off.” you laughed as you finished your food.

“you won’t have to.” jean got up and threw away his empty plate and took yours too.

“i don’t mind. i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.” jean’s words lingered in your mind and you were having second thoughts about going to the party. it was the first one you’ve been to and it really wouldn’t be good if something serious happened. you didn’t wanna worry jean but you also wanted to do something different.

in the end, you decided to go and hoped for the best

[popcornforone]

Rise

A Frankie “Catfish” Morales Fan Fiction

Well Frankie… sometimes a need just needs a scratch & you were it… so happy Frankie Friday everyone. This is just me getting something out of my system.

Synopsis:- You wake up early & hear a noise… he couldn’t be home could he?

Word count: 2500

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! Pure smut hardly any plot. PIV sex, oral, swearing, cream pie, spitting, chocking, talk of masturbation, rough passionate longing sex, home intruder theme to start, description that might go too far. Yes I was feral I needed an outlet okay?!

Thank as always for the read peoples. All feedback is welcome. I hope you enjoy.

As your 6am alarm goes off you whine, your phone buzzing away & you turn over & try & hit the snooze button.

“10 more minutes” you mumble before burying your head back into your pillow. So soft & warm. You pull the bed sheet up a little because it had slipped while you had slept. Your bare back feeling a little chilled as you’d obviously turned in the night. The temptation in your half sleep to slip your hands between your thighs & have a touch. Usually your morning shower gives you the time you need to self pleasure but every now & then an early wake up might require even more moments.

But then your ears prick up. There’s a buzzing coming from the bathroom. Did you leave the extractor fan on over night? That’s what the noise is. You must have done so you burry your head back into the pillow to get a few more minutes sleep. As your legs stretch you do realise the air is slightly damn. No way you think. You didn’t leave a tap on over night. You’re now concerned & you pay a little more attention to the room in a half haze. Eyes adjusting, not wanting to put a light in incase it’s a burglar or something even worse. There’s always a small baseball bat under your side of your bed, for protection. You slowly lean down & grab the handle, as you glimpse at the door. there is a light on & a small moving shadow. Someone or something is in your bathroom. You make sure your breasts are covered & you bring the baseball bat up to the side of the bed, ready to confront who has broken into your apartment & is in the bathroom.

The door flys open & the room bursts into the bright light of the bathroom & fills with the steam from the room flooding your senses. You squint & make sure a hand is on the bat. But then your hand lowers the bat & you sit there open mouthed, eyes popping out of your skull at the sight in front of you.

Today was the 8th.

You’d completely forgotten, it had been so long.

He’d obviously came home from his mission extremely late & had leapt in the shower so not to wake you in bed at 5am. All the sweat & muck from travelling back washed away & gone. He’s not even wearing his hat. That luscious thick mop of hair has been rubbed maybe twice by a towel which is probably more than his body. Yes he has come out of a steam filled hot small bathroom, but there is a lot of hot water on him. His hairy chest glistening. Those broad shoulders calling out for you. Lips that need a kiss. A beard that needs to graze your skin. Powerful thighs ready to keep you in place. The only issue is how he is holding his towel. He’s not wrapped it around him. He is litrally holding it in place to cover his penis. It’s white & crisp the towel. You can see in the reflection of the mirror his Glorious arse & you can see his tip too as he standing legs slightly apart. Yea your man is that big.

“Frankie!?”

“Morning beautiful” he says. A grin on his face, as he sees you look him up & down, knowing you’re admiring everything. He knows he looks good.

“You… you…you’re back!” You stumble through your words, trying to hold back at the fact that you want him to rail you right now.

“Yep, didn’t get back to base til 3am, sorry if I woke you baby, but I needed to see your face before you leave for work, 42 days has seemed like a life time”

“I’d do the hours minutes & seconds but my brain isn’t computing as I’m still half asleep”you giggle & stretch. The baseball bat is in your hands as you do this, so you can show frankie how prepared you were to take someone on, but he’s not paying attention to that. The bed sheet has just dropped down your body. Your erect nipples are on show & he licks his lips expectantly. His own hand loses grip on his towel & it falls to the floor. You eyes now widen at his penis. Long, meaty, veiny, starting to get excited. A small amount of saliver drips down your chin. You grip the bat as if it was his shaft. “I’m awake now”

“Fuck yeah baby” his hand ruffles through his hair, water still falling from it. He takes a few steps & drags the bed sheet off. His eyes dark at the sight that lays before him. “Rise & shine sexy, time for a morning wake up”

He is big & powerful. He has to be for work but he has you quivering beneath him in seconds. Those tree trunk thigh, still damp from the shower touch your own. You toss the baseball bat on the floor as you pull him down on top of you, hands straight into that thick hair, which he tussels abit again. The water dripping onto your hot body, almost sizzling as it lands.

“I missed you frankie”

“Not as much as I missed you” he licks his big flat thumb, a long slow lick. He smirks as he then takes it, trails it down his body inbetween you both, over your tummy & pelvis. It makes contact with your clit at the exact same second his lips find yours.

You don’t know what it would feel like to kiss a rose, but his lips feel soft & look redder than usual, he’s nipping around the edge of your mouth too. It’s more lots of little kisses, which are the same amount of movements as his thumb pleasuring you. He’s addicted to your moans. He asked you before this mission to leave him some voice notes. He’s got off you to going oooh baby every night for the last 42 days. Now he gets to hear it in person. You missed his touch, his skin, his kisses, his teasing & now you’re about to get all of him.

“Oooh baby”his eyes light up as you say that your hand gripping the bedding already.

“So pent up” he says as he slowly parts your legs. “Did you touch yourslef baby? While I was away?” You nod & go hmm & the gasp as his erect penis slides across your clit. Your hand thats not holding onto the bed squeezes his arse & he moans. “My little Princess couldn’t help herself, but it wasn’t me was it”

“No…”

“No what” he says as he withdraws the feeling of his penis on your clit.

“No my sexy catfish”

“Oooh baby, this will make up for those pathetic…. Oooooh nights”

“Jesus ooooh fuck”

“Oooh god”

You’re talking over each other. Frankies been away longer before, but this morning at 6:15am the stretch of him filling your cunt up has you both concerned your gonna cum instantly. He stalls on his second thrust as you both talk & moan over each other. When it’s one of you this feral it’s easy to control but when it’s both of you there’s not much hope.

“Frankie oooh Frankie” he then kisses you & pushes all the way in. Loud moans come from the kiss from you both, even though your mouths are tied together. Oooh that talented tongue, you know that will make you scream in another way later. His eyes flicker open & make eye contact & he slowly pulls back from the kiss but leaves his penis buried inside you, & by inside he’s balls deep, any further & he’d be in your ribs. Youre filled.

“Sorry baby, I don’t want to cum in 11 seconds” he says & slowly starts to rock in & out taking his time.Hes got an arm wrapped underneath you while the others hand is stroking your body, which is very damp from his residue of shower water.

“Make it last Frankie” he stretches & he somehow goes even deeper. You grab fist fulls of his hair & he starts to move more. A slow pace soon becomes delicious.

“Oooh baby girl, you know I will” he’s got the devil in his eyes, a naughty glint as he finds his rhythm knowing he’s not going to coat your walls straight away. “Fuck… missed you, missed this cunt” your head is rolling back. “Come let your hand join in the fun baby.” You don’t need to be asked twice. But as your hand goes to start it’s stroking, he snatches & grabs your hand & sucks all of your dainty fingers. You moan at the sensation of that & the way you’re being satisfied as he fucks into you.

“Frankie”

“Gonna taste all of you sexy” & he then lets some saliva drip onto your fingers before letting your hand go. You are glad it’s your hand now, it’s sopping from Frankies exploits but you know just how to rub your nub to make sure you keep going. Frankies own large hands grip into your hip. His face is already straining.

“Fuck oh god”

“You like that sexy”

“Yes Frankie”

“Gonna cum? Gonna be a little slut & show me how much you missed me?” He’s brought up the word slut. The way he always says that word is so deep & always arouses you. Your friction increases your legs opening more. Moans escape you both.

“Oooh I missed the moans”

“Frankie oooh fuck yes yes yesssss” your first orgasm hits. Your body trembling. Your soul feels like it’s left your body. As your mind explodes frankie quickly withdraws & spins you so your on your front, lying flat on the bed, your own cum dripping onto the sheets.He holds your head in place as he lies almost flat on top of you. You didn’t have time to register that he’d withdrawn or complain. He’s back inside your core, his favourite warm soft spot, furvently thrusting again. Your arms stretch out ahead of you onto the pillow. One of his handslock with yours. Your two & his one gripping onto each other & the bed. You whine & moan into the pillow. You then screech as your arse is slapped.

“Frankie fuck Frankie” you can imagine the site of your pussy so sensitive being almost split open each time with his girth length. He’s so large & his pace is blistering. His weight on top of you as you lay face down makes the experience even more pleasurable but your just happy frankie is not only live, but home. Morning sex is a bonus.

“Oooooh yessss fuck” he cries. It almost feels like he’s in your stomach. He’s so deep & he is wrecking your core. Even for Frankies usual lustful approach to sex, this is more than he has done in a long time.

“Oooooh yes yes yes yes ooooh yes oooooohhhhh” you mumble into the pillow. But your not face down for long. A large hand take you by the neck to lift your head up & you grip the bed even more.

“Didnt hear you sexy” Frankie whines. “Be more vocal wake the town up”

“Frankie” the grip tightens.

“More”

“I want more Frankie” slap against your arse

“Slut”

“Fucker”

“Oooh fuck” he grips your neck even more. Your body is still flat beneath him but if he keeps pushing at this rate you’ll be a pretzel against the headboard. Your body jolts with each thrust. You know the face he’s pulling. Because you know how much your face is probably contorting. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he pounds at your body.

“More Frankie fuck ooooh yes”

“God you’re so tight today” another smack. “Missed you & ooooh fuck fuck yea missed this cunt, missed you moan” he grips tighter & uses his fingers to twist your head by then chin so you can see his own face. There’s is his red sweaty exasperated face, teeth grinding just centemiters away. You pant & look up at him your mouth opening, gasping for any air at all.

“You want some?” Its strained his voice & you nod & Frankie spits in your mouth. The sweet taste of his saliva on your lips. You know he does this if he wants you for more than just what he’s getting. You both have needs but sometimes Frankie’s are heightened. “Good girl” his eyes light up. A frenzied kiss is sealed on your lips before he lets go of your neck & pushes your head into the pillow.

Frankie was already going at a pace but this was having you quiver beyond belief. Screaming his name into the pillow. Your orgasm makes your whole body shake as you lie exhausted into the matress. He’s still pulsing away.

“God oh fuck fuck oooooohhh yessssss baby” he screeches, cumming hard, spraying his seed inside you. Your already drenched core filled to the brim, you know there’s gonna be a little bit of a mess when he withdraws. Your head is free from his hand & you raise it from the pillow, both your body’s shuddering as you get the air back into your lungs. You moan as he removes his penis, but then you quiver. Feeling his nose just below your arse as he licks up the essence dripping from your early morning pleasure. Frankie the king of oral. Oooooos escape your mouth but then stop as he rolls to the left of you.

“Fuck baby” he says looking up at the ceiling, his erection still firm. He takes his hand & starts to stroke. It makes his large hands look small. You slowly roll over & start to cress & kiss his chest before resting your head on it.

“Call in sick?” He does his big brown puppy dog eyes at you. It’s not an ask it’s a request.

“I have a presentation today Frankie I can’t just…” his lips find yours.

“Keep work words out of your mouth baby.” He says once you break”I’m home & I want to make up for lost time”

“My presentation isn’t until 2pm, I can work from home” your use air quotes & smirk at him.

“That’s my girl.” He says kissing your forehead. “Save your voice”

“& you think me being with you will save my voice” you roll your eyes. Knowing how vocal you’ve both just been.

“Good point” he laughs.

“I can keep my mouth occupied” you start kissing his chest more.

“Oooh kisses, I have missed them”

“Oooh I was thinking more than kisses Frankie” you’ve reached his happy trail. Your own much smaller hand joining his to encourage his erection.

“Oooh baby”

“Oooh Frankie” it’s not long before your hands are replace by your mouth to make sure you have a taste of this beautiful morning.

[rhythmic-idealist]

Hi all - I want to pass water bottles out to folks living on the sidewalk in the industrial area where I work, after my shift ends on Sunday, but I have $1 in my account until my next paycheck, which isn’t til Friday.

(For context, I work in Portland. There are a lot of folks pushed out of its trendier areas forced to live in this asphalt heat sink, surrounded primarily by trucks and large industrial buildings. Today, when the weather report said it was 95 degrees F, it actually measured in at 104.5 degrees F on our lot.)

If anyone would like to help me buy water bottles,

I won’t use more than $5-20 for this, so if extra rolls in I’m planning to use it to stock up our own emergency drinking water and other emergency supplies, as we head into fire season with much of our emergency kit still unassembled.

I have parents who are in a position to keep my finances from getting unlivable at least right now, so the fact that there’s only $1 in my account is not as dire as it could be. At the same time, there are things I’d like to have for myself and my whole household that I’ve been putting off for months, and even so, still haven’t been able to build up any rainy day fund savings. All of which is to say that I won’t spurn any extra, just know that probably just the first $5-20 will go toward water bottles to hand out.

Thank you 💕

[lemoncrushh]

The Entertainer II - Track 12 - Nice Nights & New Friends

Summary: What if it wasn’t the end? What if Sky did actually see Harry at the Forum in the early 80s, and he saw her too? What if fate took hold of them both, and they realized their journey was not over? Set in 1981, Harry and Sky’s story continues with more music, more romance, and a few more twists and turns.

STORY PAGE

Track 12 Word Count: 4k+

Read The Entertainer

“Hearts of fire creates love desire Take you higher and higher to the world you belong…”

Harry’s hand gripped my thigh when I tried to slip out of bed. I groaned against him, prying his hand from my leg only to have him pull me back again.

“Stay,” he whispered sternly.

“Baby, I have to go,” I argued.

“Not yet.” Pulling me closer, Harry cooed. “You feel good. You smell good.”

Harry had been in the studio the last three days. Tonight, he’d finally called me, demanding I come over. I’d indulged, knowing damn well I couldn’t resist him. I had to admit I loved that he missed me as much as I missed him.

He kissed me softly, then nuzzled his head against my neck. I chuckled as he began to hum along to the low music, his fingers playing the melody against my thigh.

“You know I have to go eventually,” I persisted. “I have work in the morning.”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry groaned.

“No, it’s not, I have to go. I’m not off til Friday.”

“No, I mean it’s bullshit that you have work this week. They should just let you be on holiday from Christmas to New Year’s.”

I laughed, combing my fingers through his curls. “That would be nice, but it’s not the way the world works.”

“Should be.”

Propping himself up on his elbow, Harry looked at me. With a gentle smile, he lifted his other hand from my leg and brushed my hair from my face.

“Thanks for coming over.”

“As if I’d say no,” I quipped.

Finally free of his grip, I rose from the bed in search of my clothes.

“Come over tomorrow, too.”

Slipping into my jeans, I looked at him. He was such a sight with his heavy eyelids, swollen lips and bare chest.

“Same time?” It had been nearly eleven when Harry had called me.

“Shit…I dunno,” Harry sighed, scratching his stubbled jaw. “Play it by ear?”

Shaking my head with a smirk, I leaned over and kissed him.

“Fine. But I’m not coming if it’s after midnight. I need sleep.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’re still on for Thursday though, right?” I asked.

“Of course,” Harry stretched with a yawn. Then he sat up, his long hair falling over his eyes. “I have to ring in the new year with my girl.”

I blushed, excitement surging through me every time he called me that. With a grin, I gazed around the room for my purse, remembering I’d left it on the kitchen counter where Harry had quickly begun devouring my lips before taking me upstairs.

“I’ll see myself out,” I said, reaching the doorway. “You get some sleep.”

“C’mere,” Harry pouted.

“Harry, I have to go,” I giggled.

Holding his hand out to me, he wiggled his fingers. “Just one last kiss.”

Walking to the bed, I obliged as he took my face in his hands.

“You say that like I won’t see you again for a while,” I noted.

“Sorry, babe. It’s just…this record is kicking my ass. But I wanna be with you, too.”

“I know,” my expression softened. Then I kissed him tenderly. “Get some good rest. Call me tomorrow.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

I wasn’t surprised that Harry didn’t call me to come over the next evening. And as much as I loved him and wanted to be with him, I was glad to get a good night’s sleep. I’d been exhausted all day, and even Donna had noticed.

“Must have been some night,” she teased me as I poured myself my third cup of coffee of the day.

Unable to find the energy to even explain, I simply gave a weak smile and a shrug.

Wednesday evening, however, after stopping off for groceries on the way home, my answering machine was blinking.

“Hi babe, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t call last night. Didn’t get home until after one, so I reckoned you were asleep. But um…call me when you get this message.”

Grabbing the phone from the wall, I quickly dialed his number. It only rang once.

“I’m so glad I got you that machine,” he quipped.

I laughed. “What are you doing home? I figured you’d be in the studio all day.”

“I was earlier, but I took a break.”

“Oh.”

“And I wanna ask you something.”

“Oh.”

“Come with me. To the studio.”

“That’s not a question,” I joked.

“Okay…a request.”

“Really?” I asked, my heart rate speeding up.

“Yes, really,” Harry chuckled.

“Are you sure you want me there?”

“Why wouldn’t I, Sky?”

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “I just thought…I might be a distraction.”

“Well, can’t argue with you there. You’re always a distraction for me, babe.”

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Harry asked with a smile in his voice. “I want you to come see where we’re recording. Check out what we’re working on.”

“That’s…kind of a serious move, isn’t it?”

“Whattya mean by that?”

Sucking in my lips, I quickly regretted my comment. “Nothing.”

“Look, if you don’t want to…”

“No, I…I’d love to, Harry.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

After putting away my groceries, I quickly stripped out of my work clothes and put on a pair of jeans and a Blondie t-shirt. Touching up my makeup and hair, and spritzing some perfume on my neck, I had just stepped into my shoes when a knock sounded on the door.

“You didn’t have to do all that for me,” he declared as soon as I let him in.

“Do all what?”

“This…” he grinned, tugging at my hair with one hand and sliding the other around my waist.

“I did nothing,” I scoffed. “It’s called making yourself presentable.”

“Damn, you smell good,” Harry murmured, ignoring my comment as his face found my neck like a magnet.

“Okay, that might’ve been for you,” I giggled while he nibbled on my flesh.

“It’s nice.”

“Don’t you wanna get going?” I asked.

“Yes…fuck…” His lips dragged across my jaw and chin until they met my mouth. “You’re so fucking beautiful, babe.”

His gaze met mine and I felt my entire body melt. I loved the way he looked at me. It reminded me of that night at the Holiday Inn in Chula Vista, when he’d taken a photo of me in the mirror without my knowledge. I still had that photo in a box in the bottom of my drawer.

“Let’s go,” he breathed, grabbing my hand.

Locking the door behind me, I followed Harry to his car. He placed his hand on my thigh as soon as we climbed in, and he didn’t remove it until he stopped the car in a small parking lot.

“Here we are,” he announced, turning off the engine. “I should probably warn you before we go in…my bandmates are cool, but they’re also…well, they’re guys.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Harry, you forget. I hung around you and your old band. I definitely remember Lee and Duncan. And the no girls rule.”

Harry chuckled loudly. “Yeah. That was hell, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I got to be with you anyway.”

Beaming at me, Harry leaned over and grabbed my chin. “You’re the best.” Giving me a quick kiss, he opened the car door.

“Oh, just one more thing…” Harry added as we climbed out.

“Yeah?”

“Bret will likely make a pass at you.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked with furrowed brows.

“Because you’re beautiful, and you’re here.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Doesn’t matter that I’m with you?”

“Not in the least,” Harry shook his head.

I was about to ask why his own bandmate could be so inconsiderate when we reached the entrance and the door burst open.

“Oh, hey man, you’re back!” exclaimed Harry’s new drummer. “Ooh, and you brought this gorgeous lady with you.”

“Sky, you remember Bret.”

“Yes, hi,” I smiled, immediately noticing the way Bret’s eyes roamed down my body.

“Nice to see you again, beautiful,” Bret winked before addressing Harry. “I’m just on my way to grab a six pack. You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks,” said Harry.

“Okay, cool, see ya in a bit,” Bret waved. Walking past me, he stopped and turned around. “Oh hey, Azoff called and said he’d be by later.”

“What for?” asked Harry.

“Beats me,” Bret shrugged before jogging to his car.

As he held the door open for me, I could feel the tension release from Harry’s body.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I remarked.

“Wasn’t so great, either,” Harry voiced. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“He’s your bandmate, Harry. What are you gonna do, kick him out?”

“I dunno.”

Stopping in the hallway, I turned and looked at him. “I have been hit on before, you know.”

Harry chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “I’d be a fool to think otherwise.”

“So…let it go. You said yourself, he’s harmless.”

“Yeah��you’re right.”

With his hand on my back, Harry guided me down the hall and around the corner to what looked like a small waiting room, with a leather couch and coffee table, and a couple of plastic chairs stacked up in the corner. It wasn’t until I took a seat that I noticed the window in front of me, two men sitting behind it with headphones. When they saw Harry, one cocked his jaw and the other waved.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you,” offered Harry, holding out his hand to me.

I walked with him around to a side door where the two men removed their headphones.

“Hey, just wanted you to meet Sky,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Sky, this is Kenny and Jim. The producer and engineer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I nodded cordially.

The two men both extended their hands and I shook them. They seemed nice.

“I told her it’d be alright if she stayed and listened for a bit,” Harry explained.

“Of course,” grinned Kenny. “Seeing as she’s the inspiration for most of it.”

“I’m what?” I glared at Harry who chuckled sheepishly.

“Well, you already know about ‘Drunk On Her’,” he said.

“Yeah…” I agreed.

I felt Harry’s hand rub my back. “...and we’ll just leave it at that for now.”

The door to the waiting room opened then and a familiar tall figure sauntered in, followed by another.

“Ah, she has arrived!” announced Mitch.

I greeted him with a smile and a hug, then shook hands with the bass player who had walked in behind him.

“Hi, Danny, nice to see you again,” I smiled.

“Wow, you remember my name!” he said, surprised.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I tilted my head.

“Sky remembers everything,” I heard Harry say behind me just before he slid his hand around my waist.

“So do you,” I gazed up at him.

“Just one of the many things we have in common,” he murmured, his nose grazing mine.

“For fuck’s sake…” I heard Mitch groan as he walked around us.

Harry and I paid no mind. We knew he meant nothing by it but to rib us. I saw Danny chuckle just as the door opened again, another familiar face entering.

“Mr. Irving!” I exclaimed.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mr. Azoff greeted me with a shake of his head. “I’m never going to lose the Mister, am I?”

“Sorry…” I covered my face with my hand, embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” he patted me on the shoulder before addressing the guys. “Is everyone here?”

“Bret stepped out, but he should be back soon,” replied Harry. “He told us you were coming.”

“Yes, well…” Mr. Irving cleared his throat. “I have some big news, but I’ll wait til he gets back.”

“What’s going on?” asked Mitch, taking a seat at the end of the sofa.

“Oh, nothing bad, don’t worry,” assured Irving. “Just something that has come up. Today.”

I heard the door open again as Harry stared at me, both of us wondering what had just come up.

“Hey, Azoff, you’re here!” said Bret, a six pack in each hand.

“Yes, and so are you. I have some news.”

Quickly taking the seat next to Mitch, Bret dropped his beer on the floor between his feet, grabbing one and opening it.

“So what’s this big news?” asked Harry.

“Well…” Irving hesitated, “I know it’s last minute, but I have a gig for you. Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night? That’s New Year’s Eve!”

Harry eyed me while the other band members complained.

“Alright, alright, guys!” Irving yelled over the raucous. “Hear me out!”

Silence took over the room as we stared at Mr. Azoff, his hands in front of him.

“It’s a double headliner with Stargazer. At the Troubadour.”

“I thought Stargazer was already playing there,” argued Harry.

“They were. But the manager of the club contacted me directly and specifically asked for the Harry Styles band to join them on a double bill. It’s a huge opportunity, guys. Those that saw Wildfire on tour will be excited to see the two bands again.”

“Except we’re not Wildfire,” declared Harry.

“Yeah, but I get Irving’s point, Harry,” said Mitch. “Two of the hottest bands in one night. And even better that we’re not Wildfire anymore. Those that liked us before get to hear our new stuff.”

“Precisely,” agreed Irving.

“I’m all for it,” announced Bret, taking another sip of beer.

“Me too,” said Danny. “Sounds good to me.”

The band looked at Harry who looked back at me. I merely shrugged. I didn’t think I had any say in it, although it would change our New Year’s plans.

“Alright,” Harry shrugged with a sigh. “I guess we’re playing the Troubadour tomorrow.”

I was falling in love all over again. I enjoyed watching Harry through the glass, working on his new music. Even with all the starts and stops, I could see and feel the passion he had for it, and it was such a turn-on.

Plus their songs were good. No, not good…great. At that point, I couldn’t say whether I liked them better than Wildfire’s songs. They were still fresh to my ears. But I really enjoyed what I was hearing, and I could tell Harry’s new band was going to be a smash.

After several cuts of “Drunk on Her”, followed by another rocker called “Ignition,” the rest of the band took a break while Harry stayed in the recording booth. He chatted back and forth with Kenny and Jim in the control booth, asking for this, and deciding on that. Then as he adjusted his headphones, I began to hear the most beautiful piano intro being played through the speakers.

I knew right away it was going to be a ballad, and I knew I would probably get emotional. But as I watched Harry sing his heart out into the microphone, taking in not only the lyrics, but the message he was conveying, I found myself crying. Sitting there in that little waiting room on the sofa, I watched him sing to me. Just me.

During the final chorus, we made eye contact again and I heard his voice crack just a touch. He didn’t lose pitch or stop to clear his throat; he just kept singing. It was the most romantic moment I’d ever experienced.

When the music faded, Kenny pressed his button to talk. “Damn, Styles.”

This time Harry cleared his throat. “Let me do that last chorus again.”

“Are you kidding, man? That was the best take we’ve gotten! That was flawless.”

“I nearly lost it there at the end though,” Harry chuckled as he rubbed his eyes, trying to cover up his emotions.

“That’s what makes it so raw,” Kenny added. “Seriously, man. That’s a take.”

With a smirk, Harry removed his headphones. As he stood up from his stool, he looked at me and mouthed I love you.

“I love you, too,” I whispered.

The other boys filed back in as I got my bearings. When Harry walked into the waiting room, I grabbed my purse and asked him where the bathroom was.

“Just out the door to your left,” he replied. Then he took my hand. “Sorry this is taking so long. I’d meant to take you to dinner.”

“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “We can grab a burger or something later.”

Giving him a kiss on the cheek, I left to find the restroom. On my way, I came across a vending machine. As if my stomach could sense its presence, I felt it growl. I figured I should probably grab something on my way back.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a voice called as soon as I left the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, Bret,” I grinned, seeing him leaning against the wall next to the vending machine, a beer in his hand. “I thought you guys were rehearsing.”

“They’re all working on some guitar parts. I’m not needed right now.”

“Oh,” I nodded.

Stopping at the vending machine, I dug into my purse for some change.

“You shouldn’t have to pay for that,” Bret commented.

Gazing up at him, I noticed the sly look on his face.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I have money.”

Dropping the coins into the slot, I selected the button for potato chips.

“I have something that will go great with that,” said Bret.

“I bet you do,” I muttered, as I bent down to retrieve my snack.

“I meant beer,” Bret chuckled.

“Oh.”

“Lemme go grab you one,” Bret pointed back with his thumb, “and we can go sit outside. It’s nice out tonight.”

“I don’t-”

“C’mon. I’ll just be a second.”

Not wanting to be rude, I stood in my spot and waited for his return. And just as promised, he was back in a second with another beer for me.

“Let’s go out here,” he gestured to the exit. “There’s a bench.”

Handing me the beer, Bret held the door open for me. The cool evening breeze felt great, actually warmer than the cold air conditioning in the studio.

Finding the bench, I took a seat at the far end. Bret quickly sat next to me, leaning back with his arm across the back of the bench. It made me a little uneasy, so I scooted away a bit and set my beer on the ground next to my feet. Then I opened my bag of potato chips as if it was the most important and deliberate thing in the world.

“Styles doesn’t feed ya?” Bret sneered.

“He’s taking me out later,” I eyed him. “When he’d picked me up, I’d just come home from work, so I didn’t have time to eat yet.”

Bret rolled his eyes. I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain things to him. It was none of his business.

“I guess with a pretty girl like you, food is the last thing on his mind.”

Swallowing hard, I glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bret laughed, a laugh that under any other circumstances I might’ve found attractive, sexy even. But again, he made me uneasy.

“I don’t mean nothin’ by it, darlin’. But…well, look at you.”

“I think I’m gonna go back inside,” I remarked, rising from the bench.

“Aw c’mon, I’m sorry,” Bret grabbed my arm to stop me. “It’s my fault. I tend to say the wrong things sometimes. Things come out of my mouth before I think.”

“Apparently,” I scowled.

“Please, forgive me, Sky. I’d really like us to be friends.”

Bret’s blue eyes softened, and his expression seemed sincere. With a sigh, I sat back down.

“Don’t forget your beer,” Bret added.

Reaching down, I grabbed the can next to my feet. Popping the top, I took a swig and set it back down. I heard Bret laugh again and I looked at him.

“You don’t drink?” he asked.

“I do.”

“That was a wussy sip.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not looking to get drunk right now.”

“Oh, I see.” Bret’s gaze wandered down my chest.

“Do you only drink to get drunk?” I asked him.

“Pretty much,” Bret chuckled. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“So both of those six packs were just for you?”

Bret shrugged. “Or anyone else who wanted one. Like you.”

“Oh.”

My bench partner was finally quiet for a bit while I finished my chips. I gazed up at the night sky, agreeing that it was a nice night. Perhaps I wasn’t being fair to Bret. He was Harry’s drummer after all, and I did want to be friends. I didn’t want any animosity or friction like I’d had with Lee and Duncan.

“So, are you from L.A.?” I inquired, making small talk.

“Tulsa,” Bret grinned.

“Right on. How long have you lived here?”

“Came out here as soon as I turned eighteen. There’s not much happening in Oklahoma. What about you?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life.”

This time, when I reached for my beer again, I took a longer, bigger gulp.

“That’s more like it,” Bret smirked.

“It is a pretty good beer,” I smiled. “And nice weather.”

“See, told ya.”

As I sat back, looking up at the stars, Bret lifted his beer. “To nice nights.”

I grinned again, tapping my can against his. “And new friends.”

Bret beamed at me as I took another swig. Then I felt him scoot closer, his arm practically behind me on the bench. There was no way to scoot any further left, or I’d have been on the ground.

“And beautiful women,” he murmured in my ear.

Sitting frozen, I felt Bret’s breath on me, smelling of beer. He pushed a strand of hair from my neck and moved closer, but I dared not move.

“I definitely see what Styles sees in you,” he said. “You are one gorgeous babe. I just can’t believe my horrible luck that he found you first.”

I swallowed hard, my hand holding my beer can so tightly I thought I might crush it.

“I think you should get away from me now,” I remarked with a tight jaw as I stared straight ahead.

“Why? I thought we were friends, Sky.”

Bret’s hand touched the back of my neck and I jolted up.

“Fine, then I’ll just get away from you.”

Storming up to the entrance, I swung the door open so hard, I heard it make a noise. Once I was in the waiting room, I set the beer can on the coffee table and crossed my arms. I caught a glimpse of Harry out of the corner of my eye and he gestured at me.

“Hey,” he said, peeking his head out of the glass door. “Do you know where Bret went?”

“He’s outside,” I muttered softly.

“Can you go tell him we’re ready for him please? Just one more run through and then we’re done for the night.”

“Okay…” I said hesitantly.

Making my way back down the hall, I caught Bret just as he was re-entering the building.

“They need you now.”

With a curt nod, Bret walked past me and into the recording room. I stayed in the hallway for a few seconds until I knew he was inside and most likely behind the drums.

I listened to the band run through another song, but I couldn’t even remember what it was. My brain was foggy, and my body ached.

By the time the band was finished, and everyone had said their goodbyes, it was after ten. I eagerly took Harry’s awaiting hand and walked with him to his car, avoiding all eye contact with his drummer.

“Babe, I’m really sorry about tomorrow,” Harry apologized as we sat in the car eating our cheeseburgers.

“It’s okay.”

“I feel like I keep wrecking our plans.”

“Harry. I said it’s okay. You’ve got a gig. And a big one, at that. That’s way more important than some fancy dinner.”

Leaning across the front seat, Harry took my chin in his hand.

“Can I try to make it up to you?” he asked, his green eyes dancing.

“How?”

“I dunno. Whatever it takes. But I have a few ideas.”

It didn’t matter what he did, Harry Styles was always able to make me feel weak in the knees. I bit my lip and nodded.

He took me home to his bed where he found more ways to make me weak. And although it was right on the tip of my tongue all night, I never ended up telling him about Bret.

Songs mentioned:

Earth Wind & Fire - The Way of the World

Taglist: @fkinavocado, @daphnesutton, @freedomfireflies

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[jesuswasgay]

The first day we really fuck happens to be a Monday. We’ve been flirting openly since Wednesday, exchanging nudes alongside casual conversation. On Friday we make plans to meet up on my next day off. By Sunday we've amped up the foreplay with explicit detail. The anticipation is killing me.

Now it’s Monday night and we just cannot hold back anymore. You come over to pick me up to grab a drink but we never make it to the bar.

I open the door and you’re just standing there smiling so sweetly. I feel my panties dampen as I take you in. Wavy chestnut hair frames your delicate cheekbones. A black minidress hugs your curves. Gucci heels make your legs go on forever. I’m gone. I pull you into my arms and bury my head in your neck, inhaling your scent for the first time.

Your lips meet mine as we stumble inside still embracing. I shut the door and resume kissing you. I can’t get enough of your lips, your taste. I want to taste you everywhere. I run my hands through your hair and across your collarbone. Your hands find my ass and pull me into you as we kiss.

I lead you over to the couch and sit down, then pull you into my lap. You straddle me and I kiss you greedily as our hands explore each others’ bodies.

I slip off my top, then undo the back of your dress a bit so I can slip my hand in the bodice. Your nipples harden as I run my fingers over them.

You lean down and swirl your tongue over my left nipple, then my right. You begin to gently bite my nipple and I groan in agony.

You run your hands over my tits and down my stomach til you find my hip bones. I feel your hands dance across my hips.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” You whisper softly in my ear.

“Absolutely,” I moan back. You slide down into my panties. I lean into your touch, already so wet and desperate for your fingers. You slip a finger inside me, then another. I literally cannot breathe.

I slide my hand up under your dress and gently run my hand over your inner thigh. You moan and lean into me.

“Are you okay with being touched?” I ask.

“Oh god yes," you reply. I slip my hand inside your panties. Your girldick is huge, hard and leaking precum. I take off your panties and hold you, running a finger up and down the length slowly at first, before I wrap my hand around you and pump faster. You’re squeaking and gasping as I touch you.

I run my fingertips across my wet pussy and then swirl them around your girlcock so my wetness mixes with yours. Your breathing quickens and I can tell you’re about to cum. I feel you start to explode into my hands and I realize I’m about to cum too.

You pump your hand in and out of me deeper and deeper. I spasm and arch against your touch, still working my hand up and down your girldick. When we cum together it seems to last forever. You erupt into my hands as my cunt swallows up your fingers.

We’re aching to the point of overstimulation but we can’t stop touching each other.

We spend the rest of the night in bed. I suck you with gleeful abandon and you repeatedly bring me to the brink of orgasm with your tongue before gently and delicately fucking the shit out of me. We have the most epic, orgasmic sex for over 2 hours. I’m literally gasping for air.

I don’t know how I got here and I don’t really care as long as it’s real. It feels like a dream.

[formosusiniquis]

Gonna Y/N on his Wattpad til we're Canon

Written for @stevieweek Day 5: AU! A little peek behind the curtain here, originally I was going to do another installment of my Miss Congeniality!Stevie/Rockstar!Eddie universe until I had the world's longest day of work and they say write what you know. Now here we are.

Pre-Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson; Robin Buckley & Stevie Harrington WC: 3523 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: Nonbinary!Steve Harrington; He/Him Lesbian!Robin Buckley; QPR Stobin; Librarian!Steve Harrington; Pseudo Influencers Stobin; Steve & Mike Friendship

AO3

“What are we doing, Stevie?” Robin’s voice coming from over their shoulder is a surprise if only because until Mrs. Robertson’s grandkids put her in that home next month they don’t actually live together.

Wrist deep in dishwater, the only sign they let slip that Robin startled them is the splash the plate they’d been washing makes when it lands. Flicking away water and suds from their fingers, Stevie reaches over to turn off the music they’d been playing. “If I turn around and I’m staring at your phone camera, so help me god.”

“Don’t turn around then.”

Ripping the dish towel from the stove door, Stevie gracefully dries their hands taking the time to get the dishwater wet out from between each finger. Satisfied, or calm at least, they turn to face the two unblinking eyes of the cameras on Robin’s android.

“Robin.”

From behind his phone he grins back at them, unabashed and uncaring as usual that he’s been filming for god only knows how long. “So do you want to tell everyone about what they just saw?”

They shove gently at the phone, jostling it enough that they can get past. There are a ton of things that need to be done around the apartment, chores that had been put off for Friday, but Stevie moves to the sofa instead. Now that Robin’s here nothing is going to get done. “Not really,” they say as they settle into the spot on the couch that they’ve perfectly broken in, “you know I hate it when you use your lifestyle vlogger voice with me.”

“Stevie!” Robin groans, flopping down onto the couch beside them. The camera is still up, but there’s no way the footage isn’t a blurry, motion sick mess with all of the movement that the two of them have forced it to do.  

He looks at them from over top of the phone, eyes serious even as he maintains the light and bright influencer voice on, “We owe it to the world to be a shining example of queerness in the homogenized world of the blogosphere. Me, a beautiful, occasional he/him lesbian. You, a chest-haired example that nonbinary doesn’t mean fem-lite, the both of us educating the world on what a queerplatonic relationship looks like and how it isn’t just ‘friends with a fancy name.’”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” he shoves at their shoulder, shaking them with a good natured vigor that pulls a laugh from Stevie for the first time in hours. “Okay, starting over. Stevie, do you want to tell our viewers who are helping us afford that new condo what they just witnessed.”

“There really isn’t anything to explain, Robin.” They say in the voice they’ve started adopting when the camera is in their face. Fake, a little extra. Something just a step beyond the persona that they relied on to get through the first couple years of high school.

“Ugh!”

“There isn’t! It’s been the longest day in the history of the entire world,” they point at the camera, looking into those blank black eyes. “If anyone in our audience has kids that they bring to a library, be good and kind to your children’s librarians, they are suffering. 

“I wanted kids,” they say as an aside to him, “remember how I wanted kids.”

Robin rolls his eyes, “So you’ve had a long day and decided to do what about it?”

“I’ve had the longest day.” They correct. “My one man department hosted three events, saw three hundred kids and someone peed in the floor.”

“So you decided to do what about it?”

“So I did what I always do at the end of a really long day. I put on my person-maker playlist.”

“Which is different from your baby-making playlist.”

“Obviously. That’s for sex. ” Stevie grins, mostly for Robin but they know it will get gif’d by the minimal audience that the channel the two of them ‘share’ has collected. “This is a bunch of songs that sound good when they’re really loud, with a solid bassline that I can play until I remember that I’m a person with a body that gets 12 hours at home before I have to go back to work and have parents ask me again why I don’t have the right free stuff to give to their kids for reading books.”

“You’re losing the plot and making me sad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Which one of us had to clean up another human person’s pee today as part of their job after getting yelled at for not having enough dinosaurs?”

“Who is the only band on this playlist right now for the third year running?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like there’s some kind of meaning to it.” The collage of their faces that Robin has as his phone case gets caught in the corner of their eye. Reminds them that this isn’t just a conversation between the two of them, it’s one between them and the 3,689 subscribers that help pay their bills. “It’s Corroded Coffin, a band I like a normal amount especially compared to our friends. When I was in high school it was a lot of dad rock and glam metal. When I was in college it was Fall Out Boy. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything when you’re 28 years old and thought about pinning a poster of the lead guitarist to our shared-”

“This is my apartment, you don’t live here. We are still living our ‘the door is always open, shared, individual apartments across the hall, Friends, Joey and Monica’ fantasy.”

“One, nobody has ever referenced Joey and Monica in duo and don’t think I’m gonna let the implication that I’m Joey slide. Two, you’ve just admitted that it’s our shared living space! As your partner in crime I get to decide which things mean things.”

“Oh yeah okay. Speaking of things meaning things: does this video have a point or did you need a full explanation of my activities before you post something humiliating me?”

“Nope,” he says with an undue cheer, “just thought you looked like a dingus shaking your ass while doing the dishes to a grown man screaming about how sex is also religion or whatever.”

“That is not what that song is about.’

“I’ll take your word for it, I didn’t grow up repressed and vaguely Catholic so I’m sure I’m missing some context.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever,” he mocks.

They think about letting this be the rest of the evening, getting baited into another argument about stupid shit that they'll meander through for hours. At some point, as they chase each other's tails like puppies, Robin will forget he's filming and drop the camera and Stevie will actually be able to relax. But even with their mouth open Stevie thinks better.

“I might be the repressed former Catholic listening, but at least I know the songwriter also has a thing about punishment and forgiveness.”

They wink as the camera falls down into the sofa cushions, disappearing for however long it's about to take Robin to stop being mad at them. Now though they have opened themself up as a target of revenge, sharp smacks come along with cries of demonetization.

Robin's face is, thankfully, just as familiar blurry as it is in every other state. The only way Stevie could be any more familiar with that face is if it stared them in the mirror every morning. And that familiarity saves Robin from a trip to the floor, when Stevie blinks awake to him looming overtop of them.

“You can't be mad.”

“Whatever you did to me in your dream, you're forgiven. Unless it was shaving my head again and then you're dead to me.”

Flopping down from the plank he never had any hope of holding, Robin covers them from chest to toe. “I shaved both of our heads, it was an act of rebirth. I know you remember this. It was literally the day after our shared gender moment.”

“And I wasn't mad. Dream Robin is forgiven, real Robin needs to get off so I can go piss.”

The weight disappears from their chest, the feeling of the bed shifting under the added weight of their best friend comforting even though Stevie can feel the way he fidgets now that he's over there. Reaching for their phone on the bedside, their fingers close around nothing and suddenly things start making more sense.

“Where's my phone?”

“Why do you need your phone to pee?”

“I'm not playing questions with you, if you broke it just say something. I won't be mad. If you're pivoting into a prank channel I will be.”

Without their glasses, it's hard to make out what Robin’s face is actually doing but his hands fidget in the duvet with guilt. 

They can't be sure what his eyes are doing, but it feels like the two of them are locked in a movie standoff style, tense eye contact. Stevie can hear the kinda racist musical sting playing in their head. They squint. It doesn’t make anything easier to see, but it soothes their flaring sense of drama. 

The two of them stare: three, two, one. 

Stevie lunges first, but Robin’s elbows are sharper. They catch one to the shoulder in a downward karate chop. Twins in every way that matters, Stevie knows that Robin is only like a half inch shorter but his limbs gangle like he’s Big Bird and there’s a smaller person inside piloting him. Every time Stevie grabs for an arm or wrist they roll away, jerked in by strings. Stevie can see their phone, clutched tightly enough in Robin’s fist that it looks like it could crack.

He pulls it in tight to his chest, rolling into a roly poly ball around it.

“Okay, okay,” Stevie says, rocking back on their heels. Sight is the best place to move forward from here, if only so they can decide what kind of angry they should be with Robin right now. It’s hard to land on one when they can’t see any of the details on his face. Scrunchy face guilt is different than the kind where he can’t stop from smiling.

They lean around each other like stray cats circling in an ally. As Stevie reaches for their glasses on the nightstand, Robin rolls away with the phone still clutched tight to his chest. With them on, they can make out the pinched brow and brittle edges of his forced smile. This is more than just guilt over something, this is the same fragile shock from when he got into a college two states away and didn’t know if they’d come with. This is the face that came to Stevie the first time a research hole turned recorded rant posted online to make it easier for the Party to watch ended up being seen by ten thousand. This is the Robin that got a job offer someplace different than Stevie for the first time in years and didn’t know what to do about it.

“Just tell me what happened.” They flop back down on the bed beside crunched up limbs. Poking fingers into the ticklish spots behind kneepits until Robin starts to unfurl. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it together.”

“The video went viral.”

“That’s great?”

“Like really viral,” Robin repeats, the fluster taking over the normally soothing tone of his voice. “Like if we actually see any of the money from the video after it got ID claimed it’ll pay our bills for months viral. I had to start reporting comments for hate speech because I didn’t want to turn them off completely -- some of them are really sweet -- and the subscriber count has skyrocketed. It's kind of intimidating actually.”

“Sorry I’m so irresistible.” Robin still doesn’t crack a smile, the more he talks the more it looks like he’s about to crack apart. “Seriously, Robs if it’s just people being creeps on social media it’s not a big deal. You wouldn’t believe the kind of comments I get on my Instagram.”

“I think you should delete all your social media. Think about how cool and mysterious you would seem.”

“I think you should just show me whatever it is you think is going to freak me out.” Their phone has completely disappeared now, it’s probably been shoved deep into Robin’s sports bra where it will stay until he thinks the crisis is averted or until the sun explodes. “Is it work? One of the bitchy homeschool moms found it? My mom found it? Nancy found it and called you to say it was actually me and not her; and also she’s ending your flirtationship because virality is bad for her work? Tommy found it and called us both slurs but mine was in that kind of repressed sort of flirty way like he might want to hook up at the class reunion next month?”

“Stop guessing!”

“What! You’re freaking out, and since you won’t actually tell me why I’m stuck guessing. Unless you can get rabies from accidentally making one sorta popular-”

“Super popular.”

“Briefly popular video that no one is going to remember in a week from now because it’s the internet, then I’ve kind of run out of worst case scenarios,” they pause. “Oh! Wait, no, I’ve got another one, a really popular ‘this week on the internet’ content reviewer got both our pronouns wrong even though you literally said yours in the video.”

“Corroded Coffin saw the video and made a public comment about it.”

Stevie buries their laugh in Robin’s stomach, “Yeah, sure, if our worst case scenarios are happening inside one of those band fanfictions Mike wrote as a kid that he thinks we don’t know about.”

The rasp of the bandaid on the tip of Robin’s finger comes before the warmth of her palm on Stevie’s cheek. Face tilted up they can see the way the nerves have blown away like snow leaving only an icy seriousness. 

“Corroded Coffin saw the video,” he repeats each word, leaving a pause large enough to drive a truck through between each one, “and they made a public comment about it.”

There’s a ringing in their ears. Just overtop of that they can barely make out the sound of their own voice saying, “Let me see.”

Their phone appears from under Robin’s shirt like a rabbit from a hat, expected but no less miraculous. The notifications on the lock screen are ridiculous, numbers that make them realize their night’s sleep was saved only by the grace of do not disturb. Every person that’s ever been saved in their contacts have messaged them and every social media app they have has an red notification alert on it. Whatever public comment Robin was talking about would be impossible to find in the sea of people vying for full time public librarian and part time internet assistant Stevie Harrington’s attention.

Except every single one of their favorite baby geniuses has texted the screenshots, several times.

Mike is at the top of their inbox, beating out Dustin for the role of informant by ten minutes. He’s sent them 15 new messages, the most recent one an image and the word ‘Explain.’ He’ll be more fun to tease once they know what’s going on anyway. Dustin’s message looks more like a rant, the first sentence cut off but ‘I’m the one who intro…’ doesn’t look half as fun.

Message sixteen comes in before Stevie can open the others. The same image again and ‘How did you do this?’ Definitely the one to go to.

The same picture has been sent with every message. Making it easy to find out what has got the whole world up in arms.

Corroded Coffin @Corroded_Coffin_BandYes, we’ve seen the video. Eddie is very interested in knowing if he also features on the baby making playlist

robin rob bobbin @rockin_robin This is why i’m learning sign @believieinstevie [video]

Eddie Munson @eddiemunson_ohfishall Replying to @Corroded_Coffin_Band I said I wanted to find out what was on it the way Satan intended, just give me one chance Stevie please 🙏😈

“See what I mean.” Robin groans.

Already moving on from Mike’s messages, making sure to heart each one before they leave, Stevie has Twitter open scrolling through a heap of notifications they didn’t give a shit about looking for the one name they did. “Sure do.”

“We could take the video down, but I’m not sure that would fix anything.”

“I’m not worried about it, Rob, really.”

“Then what are you doing? Cause believe me doom scrolling through all of the terrible things people have said about you first thing in the morning is not the way you want to spend the morning.”

“I'm not doing anything.”

“You're mad, aren't you. I'll take the video down, we can pretend like this never happened.”

“If you do that I will be actually mad at you.” Stevie says. At this point it probably wouldn't really matter but the point is what's important. “Didn't you say we're making a ton of money on it?”

“If we get to keep any of it, the music copyright claim system is confusing and we've never really made enough money on anything to do more than splurge on nice pizza and wine on movie night. I think we're going to have to start a podcast.”

“The world doesn't need one more podcast. We would be like the Basement Yard but better.”

Robin wiggles down the bed like a worm, arms tucked in tight to his sides, moving until the two of them are nose to nose. A fucking busybody, Stevie saves them both the trouble and adjusts the phone so he can see it too. It took a couple tries but they finally found the tweet from Eddie, he had followed back too.

“Are you sure that’s the first thing you want to say to the guy?”

“You think I’m coming on too strong? He already knows I’m into him and his stuff.”

He shrugs, makes a face that Stevie easily interprets as yes but with exceptions. Robin actually says, “You’re better at this than me.”

Stevie Harrington reformed babysitter @believieinstevie Replying to @eddiemunson_ohfishallI’d love to hear how you sound screaming over top of it. If you ever actually wanna take your shot.

Sending it off, Stevie spares a second to wonder if maybe they should have thought this over a little longer. Here in the middle of their fifteen seconds of fame, a thirst tweet is more than just an ill advised harassment it carries weight. These thoughts aren’t going to get buried under an avalanche of fellow desperate attention seekers.

They take a screenshot to capture for posterity what will either be the last moment of semi-normal life or one of the most embarrassing faux pas they’ll probably ever have. Either way it’ll make an interesting story a couple years down the line, especially if Robin keeps this digital media creator thing up.

Another text from Mike comes through at the top of their screen. A series of frantic question marks and on the wind Stevie thinks that they can hear the sound of his scream.

They’re just vain enough to be certain that he turned on post notifications waiting to see what they would say in response to his current favorite musician.

The floating dots are in the text window when Stevie opens it up to respond. “How mean are you going to be?” Robin asks.

“He told Holly to ask me if I was really old enough to remember when phones still had buttons this week. So exactly as mean as that deserves.”

“I feel like I should be jealous that you haven’t dated Nancy in years and he’s still giving you the snot nosed little brother treatment.”

They knock their forehead against Robin’s to transfer their shared brain cell and clue him in on what he’s actually asking. “He’s a shit because I babysat him for three years longer than he probably needed a babysitter. But I’ll gladly transfer ownership, once you actually land something more than a lingering mid-afternoon wine bar thing where you both go home sober but out twenty bucks.”

Robin knocks back, “I think whatever bitchy thing you say to him will cement me as the forever favorite.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

[Stevie]: didn’t even have to pull my hair up in a messy bun to get the y/n treatment

[Stevie]: when i get they try to anna todd me i want you to write the book

[Favorite Wheeler]: i want an autograph, 0 details and to get to be the one to tell Dustin why you turn on post notifications for your favs

[Stevie]: if this works, you can officiate the wedding

[Favorite Wheeler: [Img]

[Favorite Wheeler]: Move this to the dms before you both get canceled.

[Favorite Wheeler]: And I’m happy for you or whatever

[Stevie]: thanks, kid

[Stevie]: if it wasn’t for your 8th grade wattpad fanfiction I might not have known how to handle this