#if you're going to fall in love with an asshole make sure he's a rich ass hole

[fiddleyoumust]

Ming is about to fight his whole rich ass family for Joe, and I'm here for it. I'd say he deserves to see Ming get disowned for him as a treat, but I want Ming to stay rich so he can spoil Joe because Joe deserves that and more.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : Letter from your pregnant self (HIS POV) 18+

I got beef with men but ... what else is new ?

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PILE 1

MY BEEF...any way thank you so much for coming through. Girl you better like it, he got me working fucking overtime. Actually all of them did ...

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PILE 2 

Both of y’all are only child that were raised to be anxious over achiever. Parents are never there. I keep hearing : ‘’Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends. Super rich with nothing but fake friends…’’

Letter suppose to be for you but instead he wrote it for your baby.

Dear Lucetta (Various ethereal ‘’L’’ name came through. Other name that came through : Lysandra, Lysianne and Lucretia) 

Daddy messed up (This man is bawling. I mean breakdown and everything. He tries to be strong but for the sec that he admits that, tears are overflowing. If he was actually writing the letter they would be teardrop on the letter). Daddy is nothing but an asshole. I should not write this right … Your mama is going to get mad when she realizes how I butcher your vocabulary (yellow laugh ( french : rire jaune) … idk how to explain it in english). Fuck … You deserve a fucking good letter. That’s the least I can fucking do … yeah that’s the least I can do. Mama decorate your room like the royalty you are meant to be. The tapestry tailored in Spain in an accent of gold and soft pink are all over the walls. Made sure to ask the maid to polish the wooden floor until she can see herself in it. She actually sent me in here to check the oxygen cleanliness of your room. First wtf is air cleanliness. Second when the fuck did they created a damm machine for that shit. Lastly, you are not even there … Sorry baby … I love you more than anything but your mama is gone mad with the way she’s preparing for you. I never understood when  my poor friends complain about rich people's spending habits.  Now I am standing in the room section reserved for your room oxygen. I can help but run a hand in my hair and agree. (Another yellow laugh (rire jaune) before falling down on his knees and crying. Give him a couple minute y’all he needs to catch his breath … ) You're going to cost me so much baby. I never care for my trust fund, finances or even money but I am asking the family accountant to come to me first thing in the morning for the 4th this month. I hope I have enough money ( and for some of y’all … gold … liquid gold …iykyk). I know Mr. (His dad's name) has enough money in the bank but maybe is not enough. Maybe you need more than the couple millions we have. Maybe you need more than the properties we own. Maybe you need fucking more than an oxygen regulator machine. Maybe you need a whole lung doctor. Yes… you  need a nutritionist, a child psychologist … Does the baby have a tutor ? Fuck you need it. Baby just said and daddy will get it. You understand everything you want daddy get. You want a hug, a kiss, for me to count all the stars in the sky to describe how much he loves … done. You need me to buy the moon for you … done. You need me to resurrect  Leonardo Devinci so he can paint you in all your glory … done. There’s nothing I would not give to you but the thing that makes my heart ache is the way I crave intimacy with you. Can’t wait to hold you in my hands. Can’t wait to touch your littles toes. Can’t wait to see your lips pout like your mama when she is done with my mess. Can’t wait to see you grow. I promise princess I will never make second ever again. I will go to every parent meeting at school, bringing you to all your ballet, opera, harp, fencing, horse ridding whatever fucking classes your mom has for you; I will never miss your school competition and I will listen to all your house show you will produce to show yourself off. I don’t care if I am in a meeting, I will always have time for you. I will always have time to remind you how much I love you, how pretty you are, how much you matter and how much of a blessing you are just because you are. Yes… just because is you,  baby. Forgive daddy please. I know I am not in a position to ask you for anything especially after giving up on you for so long but if you don’t make it out of the NICU … mommy may never make it out. We both made her suffer enough. 

Please baby (damm he's whimpering in pain, choking on tears) stay with us. 

YOUR DADDY. 

Don’t worry you are not dead or close to it ( in the physical form at least …), you are being monitored at the hospital. I am getting traumatic labor (I should do a PAC about it) not because of pain but because of blood. You may have not lost your water but blood. I see you laughing at some joke the father of your baby did. Not a single care in the world. Girl your hair is perfect, if you have a Dyson and are working to perfect your blowout … just so you know you are the blowout queen in a couple years. Skin glowing, you look so pretty pregnant. That baby was really the blessing that changed your life forever. You are wearing a 2 piece white set … boom blood. You touch and look at your man. I keep hearing : ‘’ nononono … that can’t be it. (HIS NAME !) It can’t be … my baby. 

This whole letter  has nothing to do with the cards so let’s dive … shall we ? (Intuition took over …)

First you guys were both extremely hardworking workers. Never had time ( and also if I may … never learn ) to create deep bonds. I see both people living in their own penthouse. Yours has more of a Victorian look and his is more modern. You may have a white cat. 

You met at the work gala. I see 2 people look at each and accept y’all fate. 

You start fucking. The deal was perfect. He needed a woman that was not going to get attached to his riches. You needed a man that’s not trying to fix your cold heart. 

I see y’all literally planning to have sex like it’s a meeting … I think y’all use it to blow some steam annoyed by your empty life, useless parents and annoying coworkers. 

At first just fucking, no aftercare, clothe back on and on the go. Then he cracks a joke and you giggle which makes you stay 5 minutes longer. Then he charms you while cooking dinner for you before you leave. Then you spend more and more time together… Now he grabs you a snack and y’all always watch a kid show. He complains about how dumb the character is but you enjoy the deep dive he’s doing without even realizing it. 

You are not wrong, there's a lot of things he doesn't realize. He doesn't realize how much he craves connection. He doesn't realize how much he craves intimacy with you. When asked why ? Is it because you allow him to be ( do you realize the synchrony with the letter … anyway sometime my psychic surprise me 2 girl) 

You took the pregnancy test together and he joke on the fact it was getting terminated and not to stress so much but a light a hope awaken in your  heart for the first in soooo fucking long but you brush it off and went on the same page as him. Not because of him but because ‘’ you the fuck has time for a kid anyway’’ (your word not mine). 

Then you heard the baby's heartbeat and you cut all contact with him. Someday at the beginning of your second trimester you text him paragraphs upon paragraph on how you kept the baby, how it was never to hurt him, but for the first time in your life you felt hope and it felt like you needed to hold on to it. That you don’t know how but you are going to make it. 

He will villainize you and block you. One of your close friend is going to send them drunk voice memo in the middle of the third semester announcing him is a girl between cursing the fuck out. WAKE UP CALL FOR MISTER. 

He comes back the same day you threw your private luxurious baby shower. 

Some of y’all are Italian 

He has a no relationship with his parents and refuses 2. Calling them by their first name while you still seek love from them. 

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PILE 3

Dear Red (y’all call each other by colors so anything can fit, just took that one because it came through first) , 

You are resplendent. I know you think I am exaggerating. Or maybe you think I am only talking this sweet because everything is new ( I just heard : ‘’ The talk is cheap …’’ Lol this one is sassy) but baby I can put my hand the fire that I would still go that hard for you in 30 years when you boobs going to sag, your face will wrinkles from all the time I am going to make you laugh and you have grey hair just like mine ( You : YAH! Stop that in 30 years we are not going to be this old … you dumb fuck. I swear too God this fucking skincare better work. You better stop being goofy .. I want to be a MILF. You know, that is one of my life goals … GIRL YOU BETTER TELL HIM; Me: (choking on my laugh) Now… Why am I getting yelled at ?). Can’t never forget when I saw your sexy ass that day at the beach. I did not think … yeah I can’t wait to fuck it and make her yell my name (ok can’t lie it was my very next thought) nahhh, baby I was hook by the way the sun was making your skin glow. The tattoo on your body is a telling story before my eyes but you know I never wear my damm glasses so I could not read it. Anyway the way your hair flows gracefully with the wind, the way your eyes light up basking in the sun. I knew I had to get a lil mama number. When I first hear your voice … it made me breathless (should have asked for your asthma pump but I did not know you like that at that time but that shows you how much I was starstruck … Almost I had my first asthma attack- You: BABY stop telling my damm business to this lady). Your words, your tone, the way you move with so much elegance … I just knew I hit the jackpot. I would be damm to let you go. I am so proud of having you as mine. I love spending time with you, I love spending money on you, I love kissing you, I love leaving hickeys on you, I love holding your hands, I love texting you, I love making stupid edits of us (Me : the 2014 couple edit … girl … I can’t … you boy is making me cry of laughter). I know everything happens so quickly but you know how you explain me that life is like a book with crystals and your cards with little drawing on it, ( Me : Byeeee I can't, he is trying to explain crystals and tarot cards; Him: Honestly I don’t know about all that … I love hearing her talk about it. I love hearing her talk when she’s excited. I love her voice. The perfect candidate for yap session) anyway my inner child feels so safe and alive with you. I know you feel the same baby girl. Everything is working so effortlessly that must mean we are manifesting something good ( Me : LOL ! He’s talking about the law of attraction). My mom did not even get mad when I announced to her that I got you pregnant (You : Duh she loves me stoopid). You parents loved the fact that we found each other and your dad is as eager as me to formalize our union. Honestly I would marry you anywhere at any time. I told  you from the beginning that you will be my wife and I meant it but I know you want something bigger and so  it’s going to have to wait. That doesn't mean I can’t surprise you with an engagement ring. Standing here with a small group of men allowed to the baby shower, I can’t help but look at you. Your skin tight black dress exposing your full breast and the slide on it showing off your thick thighs. The smile on your face while you act ratchet with your friends ( Him: Damm babe I did not know you could still throw it in a circle 8 months pregnant … you better not say you are tired tonight. I got a plan for both of us) letting yourself go not a single care in the world. This is how I want you to be forever. Not a single care in the world, always full of joy and love and helping you achieve all your goals. Baby I know, it was quick but I swear it is only the beginning of the most beautiful love story. I am going to work hard until my last breath to keep the spark going. 

YOUR ONE AND ONLY MAN 

HIM 

Again wtf is wrong with those men. At first they did not want to work with me … now they are good ? To the point of making me over work …smh.

Yes, you guess it … it was an intuitive letter now let’s get into the card. 

First I am getting PLUS SIZE ! Yes, very thick and curvy women.  Now I understand why I wanted to write a bigger butt earlier … your man loves the curves baby. That’s does not mean is a fucking fetiche. Like if it is affecting health is going to ask you to fix it. News flash loser fat people can have an active life and still be fat. He never forces you to achieve any kind of weird kink. 

Y’all may be giving yourself too easily to men. I am getting that since they only see you for your body. You prefer existing than being invisible (like when you were child, some of y'all have been big since childhood. You were not really bullied but very ignored. People were ashamed to associate with you). Right now I see you are at the beginning of your elf love journey. You are making healthy food choices, spending time mastering a hobby : crystal, tarot, knitting or some other heels dancing. YOU GO GIRL ! Regarding men you still give yourself easily, some even tell you they don’t like you. They just fuck you because you are easy. You accept it and let them take you to pound town anyway. 

This man is going to help you tremendously in your self love journey … you have no fucking idea. You are going to glow more, stop eating your feelings, love yourself, have boundaries with your environment ( idk when the world decides that we have to give less respect to rounder people but anyways …), you will dress more provocatively and wear way more colors. Speak your mind more and be confident in yourself. 

Baby say goodbye to boring sex and say hello to sex toys. Rejoice, babe rejoice you deserve it. Let me tell you something he is pleasure dom … Girl he's going to make you orgasm like it is a damm sport. You better hold on because the night is going to be long. Pussy swollen from overstimulation, ass hurting from spanking and hickeys everywhere. Not him having the audacity to ask you to ride him after all that … anyways chile let me go. 

He gets so hard whenever you talk about spirituality. If you are witch prank by performing some sex magick on him, this man would be sooo proud to be your little helper while you are doing some spell.

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PILE 4 

Judgement (reverse), King pentacles, 4 wands (reverse), page of cups (reverse) 

I put the card because I want to show that I actually try to do the reading at first but the energy aint it. Somebody had an awful pregnancy especially because of an awful baby daddy. Like he dragged you to the filth, made you cry and cheated on you. Even gave you an STD for some of y’all. Since than he calm the fuck down. He tries to come through like a nicer person  but he made sure to make me understand he doesn't love you so I don't want him. I ain't wasting my time for something he can text. Then his younger self came through … boy bye with your filthy energy. 

So I kept trying because I had to feed you guys … Then your future husband came through but you were still not pregnant so … it was kind of useless for me … But then I understood that y’all are actively trying and that's good enough for me. 

No cards … straight intuition ( I don’t  want this filthy energy to come through again) 

Dear Малышка, Солнышко, Киса (ain't going to lie … I google the most popular and line it up. He ain't going to call you all that. Also I am really getting eastern Europe and I know they all have their own language but most of them somehow got colonized by Russia in some way shape or form. But if he’s from Poland then he will use his language. He’s from Lithuania, he will use his language … You catch the drift) 

(before we get into anything … thick, thick accent), fuck I want you. I need you. Like all the time. You ain’t make it easy for me Малышка. One day you welcome me home with a long white robe, hair in a perfect intricate bun and makeup a bit oily. That's how I know our kid did not let you rest. You only had  time to take away your clothes before you had to jump in mommy mode. Other times you tease me by sending me pictures of the lingerie and perfume you are wearing. Swear I hate the fact that I start work so early and finish so late. Oh let me not forget when you took a picture with my computer of you in your favorite brown set. The number of times you give me a blue ball should be illegal. Don’t even get me started when we were invited to the gala, you look so breathtaking … anyways you already know all that. Being a man's desire never was a foreign concept but being in love was one I had to teach you. Every day I rejoice with the idea of spending a whole lifetime loving you and our little bundle of energy. She/He never stops … just like her/his mommy. It took me a while to win over her/his heart. She/He is so protective of your heart. Almost as if he/she everyone in your heart aches when carrying him/her. That’s ok now we are 2 trying to protect you, can’t wait to be 3 humans to love on you. Until then here is the money for the new makeup you wanted to try. 

Love you Малышка. 

LOL ! I swear your future man has some sense of humor. I said the other one he could text you is lame nice word this one came through as a text. 

Also some of you may think he is super old … nah he is around your age. Babe get out the damn book there’s handsome Slavic men your age range in the real world. 

Anyways this man has tattoos and loves metal and goth music. He has moneyyy. I just don’t know the capacity but enough to put you in a luxurious condo and fund your influencer career. 

Lol … I see some of y’all cringing. I don’t think you will do couple content, actually you keep your life extremely private … The only thing people know is the diamond on your finger. I am getting more skincare and makeup content creators. You have a boudoir (beauty room/content room) that’s all we see. When I channeled him, I saw you receiving his message while getting ready to film some content. At that time in your life you are still juggling a 9to5. I mean girl, you are doing it all ! Mommy, corporate baddie, content creator and trophy wife. 

He has a rather dark aesthetic unlike you. You have a quite cute, pink aesthetic but love hardcore metal and goth. 

He came through while I played my NIRVANA playlist.

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2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

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[delopsia]

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!" 

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house. 

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?" 

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert." 

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words. 

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—" 

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you. 

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more. 

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head. 

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it." 

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays." 

Or whenever you feel like, really. 

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint? 

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan. 

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add. 

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel. 

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place. 

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up. 

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship. 

Or at least, you thought you did. 

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner. 

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it. 

That should technically be the last of your encounters. 

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks. 

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head. 

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah." 

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble. 

Knock. 

Knock.��

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling. 

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him. 

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry." 

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?" 

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once. 

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame. 

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question. 

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.  

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure. 

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place." 

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music. 

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks. 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before. 

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout. 

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale. 

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist. 

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No." 

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow. 

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?" 

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment. 

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks. 

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap. 

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button. 

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh." 

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back. 

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making. 

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out. 

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall. 

"What was that?" 

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer. 

The bathroom plunges into darkness. 

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out. 

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely. 

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot." 

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins. 

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears. 

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms. 

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down. 

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey? 

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it. 

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?" 

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense." 

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it. 

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?" 

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight. 

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies. 

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines. 

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office. 

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand. 

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?" 

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body. 

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt. 

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side. 

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes. 

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?" 

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads. 

You're gone the moment he's in front of you. 

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine. 

He turns. 

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape. 

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you. 

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working. 

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him. 

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground. 

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip. 

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily. 

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before. 

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together. 

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying. 

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut. 

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right. 

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his. 

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless. 

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ." 

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name." 

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh. 

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely. 

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough. 

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later. 

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins. 

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most. 

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch. 

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure. 

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me." 

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now. 

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised. 

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face. 

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem." 

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest. 

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing. 

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again. 

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place. 

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance. 

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin. 

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps. 

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later. 

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow. 

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore. 

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt. 

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck. 

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?" 

Your hand is crimson. 

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it. 

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one. 

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened. 

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing. 

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it. 

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game. 

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all. 

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out. 

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing. 

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment. 

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party. 

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried. 

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time. 

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details. 

The music swells. 

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack. 

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off. 

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh. 

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past. 

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you. 

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms. 

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream. 

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter. 

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus. 

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons. 

Because it certainly feels like you did. 

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human? 

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you. 

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince. 

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized. 

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door. 

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key. 

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward. 

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more. 

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh."  His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy. 

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more. 

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder. 

"What, don't like being teased?"  

"I might die if you keep talking." 

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long. 

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive. 

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine. 

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye. 

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily. 

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time. 

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his. 

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that. 

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality. 

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious. 

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine. 

Yeah. 

It's been too long. 

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock. 

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up. 

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find. 

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full. 

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath. 

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat. 

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more. 

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh." 

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall. 

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine. 

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp. 

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder. 

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me." 

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them. 

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper. 

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan. 

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually. 

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?" 

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided. 

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time. 

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns. 

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?" 

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all. 

"...huh." Is all that he can say. 

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too. 

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down. 

But he's not done talking. 

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—" 

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you. 

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself. 

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim. 

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself. 

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you. 

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones. 

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment. 

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried. 

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets. 

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets. 

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set. 

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom. 

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation. 

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh. 

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

[semperamans]

"you should just go," benny tells you in lieu of hello. your arms, once wide open anticipating a hello hug, slowly fall to your sides. benny looks like he's had a rough run; his eyes are red-rimmed, the apex of his cheek is discolored, a galaxy of pain displayed in rich purples and deep blues and sickly yellows. you're staring at him, eyes wide, filled with trepidation as he pushes past you, shrugging his cut off his shoulders and onto the floor. you've never seen him act this way, not toward you, at least. "i think it's best if you just go." benny says, unprompted, and now you're scared because what the fuck? his bedroom suddenly feels too small, even though he is nowhere near you. lounging fully clothed atop his bed, he reaches over plucking the ashtray off the table, balancing it atop his knee.

"b-benny?" your voice breaks, his name coming out in some jagged, pathetic lilt that makes you cringe, but he does nothing. doesn't move. doesn't tear his eyes away from the ceramic tray. "benny did-did something happen? you can talk to me i-" "i don't want to talk to you." did you hear that? it was your heart fucking shattering. he won't look at you. why won't he look at you? if someone is going to break your heart shouldn't they at least look at you? "benny i-i'm so confused." "nothin' to be confused about." he says, taking a long pull from his cigarette. smoke rushes out of his nostrils upon his impatient exhale and you wish you could dissipate into thin air the way the whispy haze does. you're silent for a good minute wondering if this is some kind of game? some way to test your alliance to him? the moment he flicks his eyes up and finally looks at you tells you everything you need to know. there is no love behind those icy blues. benny is disconnected. too far away for you to reach. he says your name; it's supposed to sound sweet on his tongue, but the consonants and vowels come out sharp. he wants to hurt you. "don't think we should keep doin' this. i think you should get out there, find yourself a respectable guy." "benny, what-" "cuz m'not him. never gonna be him." "benny!" "don't wanna see you at the clubhouse, anymore. don't wanna see you here. just, go home."

home? he was your home. you're crying, but sadness sure isn't the cause. no. you're angry. "you can't tell me what to do." you snap, roughly wiping your face on the sleeve of your sweater. benny just chuckles. "m' a grown woman. i can do and go where i please." "sure can, just not with me." the ashtray clatters back onto the table and he's on his feet again, moving past you toward the front door. "you gonna walk out on your own or do i need to call your momma. tell her where you are? she'd come and scoop you in a heartbeat." "fuck you." you spit. it's the first time you've ever said anything like that to him but you're hurt. he's hurting you and he promised he'd never hurt you. "who-who are you?” you gasp wetly, tears streaking your makeup. “i don't know who the fuck you are." you breathe, gesturing to him. "did you leave my benny in columbus? trade him for some heartless asshole? my benny sure wouldn't do this." the man who used to be yours just stands, still and silent, hand on the door open front door “well i’m not your benny anymore.”

[rosenclaws]

Happy Birthday Old Man || Old Man!Logan drabble

warnings: none, maybe a little sad

a/n: I can't believe Hugh is 56. He's now 33 years older than me. For now. (it'll be 32 next week but that's not much better oops)

come join my discord server!

Logan's back ached worse than normal today. It's been a pretty shit day to be fair. The fall weather only made his bones creak more and it's homecoming season meaning all those asshole rich kids with daddies money rent a limo. Stupid high schoolers who think they're being sneaky with their drinking making a mess in his car. He charged double the price after one of them puked all over his seats.

Glancing at the clock in his limo he sees that its finally time to go home. His mind drifts as he drives and drives. Only thinking about you as he nears closer to home. A part of him wonders why you're still here. He can't give you the best life. He can't give you any life. He's dying. Still you stay with him. Taking care of him. Why? He'll never really understand. As he pulls into the dark driveway he sees the lights still on in the kitchen.

"Honey," He calls as he stumbles inside.

"Logan!" You smile as you appear from the kitchen. It's nearly 3 in the morning and yet the smile on your face stays. He collapses into a chair. Groaning as his bones creak and pain shoots through his whole body.

"I'm alright." He says with a tired smile, he's lying but he can't stand to see you look so pitiful. Not at him. You sigh as you go over and start to massage his shoulders. Kissing his forehead as he melts into your touch.

"Are you hungry?" You ask. He nods. To be honest he doesn't really eat much anymore. At least nothing healthy. You disappear into the kitchen only to come back covering something with your hands. Slowly you move your hand to reveal a small cupcake with a candle in it.

"What's this honey?" You place the cupcake by his side and smile.

"It's your birthday." He furrows his brows as he thinks. Was it really? God he lost track of his birthday a long time ago.

"You sure?" You laugh and bring the cupcake up to his face.

"Very. Charles told me a while ago. I know that you aren't big on celebration but..." You drift off, starting to regret your silly little idea. He breathes in and blows out the candle. Suppressing a cough as he plucks the candle out.

"Thanks." He digs his finger into the frosting. It's sweet, just like you. It's also homemade. He can see the flour on your face and clothes.

He almost feels guilty. For being the lucky one who gets your love. All your hard work just to make him a cupcake for the birthday he forgot about. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? He rips off a piece of the cupcake and holds it up to your mouth. Feeding you the soft cake and getting frosting on your face.

"Logan," You gently scold him. Picking up some of the frosting yourself and smearing it on his cheek.

"Hey!" He smacks your hand away and pulls you into his lap. He kisses the frosting off your face and you gently wipe away the frosting on his cheek. He groans when he moves just a little too quick and you get off of him immediately. Settling in between his legs instead.

"I'm fine honey, promise." You smile and rest your head on his knees. You try to hide your sadness as you look at the man in front of you. You love him and you don't know how much time you have left with him. But you push that thought away. It's his birthday. Another year and he's still here.

"Happy birthday Logan." You stay by his side as he rests in the chair. Basking in the soft moment for as long as you can.

"Thank you honey," Happy birthday to the old man.

Now all you can do is hope he makes it to his next one.

[leeny-leens]

Finals Week or Final Week? | B.Z. x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Blaise Zabini x fem!Reader

Summary: Studying for your finals with your best friend takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: Reader has anxiety about exams, swearing, mention of wanting to marry rich and murder your husband

Content: oblivious Reader to some extent, lots of fluff, Blaise is Italian, they're in love your honour, Blaise being an attentive king, not proofread or edited

WC: 3k

AN: My first time writing for Blaise and I low-key hate the end?? but oh well. Interaction of any kind is super appreciated <3

“That's it,” you declared firmly “I'm dropping out.”

“No.”

“Fuck you mean no?”

“You wanna hear it in Italian? No,” Blaise didn’t even bother looking up from his desk when he answered your question, having had this conversation 14 times and counting in the last three hours.

“But Blaise,” you whined, getting up from your desk and flopping on your bed dramatically. “I can't do this shit anymore! I'm too young to be suffering like this.”

At that, he finally gives you a silver of his attention, briefly looking up from his Arithmancy textbook to raise his eyebrows at your theatrics. “Relax, you're gonna be fine,” his words did absolutely nothing to comfort you, and you found yourself sighing in defeat. “What if I marry a rich old man and kill him for his money?” you mumbled, already imagining how you could pull it off. Pansy would surely help you hide the body, and Draco or Theodore could set you up with some rich, pureblood asshole in need of a wife. Lorenzo and Mattheo would probably be down to aid you in the murder plot, so really there wasn't much that could go wrong here.

Blaise finally put his book aside, his full attention on you as he turned your words around in his mind. “Really? You're gonna let the last seven years go to waste and marry rich instead?”

It was a rhetorical question, you knew that, but it was a welcome opening to procrastinate on your studies so you opted to engage in this silly argument with your best friend.

“Absolutely, it's less exhausting and sets me up for life,” you replied, your voice harbouring an edge of challenge, as if beckoning him to counter your statement.

Blaise wasn't one to entertain bullshit, not with his friends, not with his acquaintances. He found it to be a waste of time and energy, energy he could be using on far more efficient things like himself. But somehow, somewhere along his time here at Hogwarts by your side, he found that entertaining your bullshit wasn't quite as bad as he thought. The absurd thought of you going through with the marriage and murder scheme drew a chuckle out of him, the sound low and rich as it pleasantly echoed in your otherwise desolate room.

“What? Are you making fun of my future career Zabini?” you asked, clutching your chest dramatically as you sat up in your bed. He shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “No, never” he replied, sarcasm dripping so heavily from his voice it was basically a slipping hazard.

“I’m just surprised you think getting married, killing someone and hiding it is somehow less exhausting than studying for your finals,” the mention of your fast approaching finals exams immediately killed whatever inkling of joy you'd fostered with the light banter between you, your head falling against the headboard with a groan.

“Don't remind me,” you grumbled “’Mso fucked Blaise, ‘m gonna fail and repeat the year.” When he realized that there was some sort of conviction in your tone, he stood up from the desk, approaching you on the bed. You had closed your eyes, mumbling to yourself about how worried you were about the exams and all the things you had to finish until then.

You could feel the bed dipping under his weight as he sat down, and you instinctively moved to make place for him. It was a habit really, you were so used to make space for Blaise in your life that you never had to think about it. When you walked in the hallway, you always left enough space for him to walk beside you. At dinner, there was always enough space for him to sit, just like in the library or in classes or even the common room. You couldn't quite remember how life was before you started making space for Blaise Zabini in it, but you weren't about to change that. You liked the way he took up so much of your attention, even with his quiet demeanor and biting remarks, and there was nothing quite like watching him sprawl out on your bed on a Friday night when you were hanging out together, just the two of you.

And just like you had learned to make place for him, he had learned to make exceptions for you. He didn't tolerate bullshit unless it was you, he didn't bother entertaining people unless it was you and he most definitely didn't initiate physical touch, unless it was, of course, you. Just like that, you felt his warm hand capture your chin, tilting your head to the side so you were facing one another. “*Principessa*,” another exception he made for you; the petname he'd given you after you forced him to watch every single Barbie movie with you back in third year had stuck all the way until now. “Open your eyes and look at me,” his voice held no bite and no anger, yet you couldn't shake the anxiety that settled in your stomach as you cracked your eyes open to look at him.

The darkness in his eyes was all-consuming, like a black hole sucking you in and leaving you breathless, unable to think about anything but him. Any thoughts of school or exams were banished in the close proximity of him, the warmth of his body seeping beyond the thin layers of your clothing and settling deep into your bones.

“You're going to be okay,” he said after a few beats of silence. Each word came out slowly over his lips, yet he said it with so much trust and belief, as if it was a fact he knew wouldn't change. “You're going to pass, and you're not going to get bad grades in any subject,” his hand released your chin and settled atop your hand instead. He was perceptive, too perceptive for his own good, so of course he'd noticed you pulling at the flesh around your nails, a nervous habit you'd had ever since you were a child. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his thumb tracing over your knuckles in a soothing motion that almost brought tears to your eyes.

“Really?” you asked, your voice shaking more than you'd like. You thought it was stupid to get upset about this, dramatic even, but you couldn't help yourself, not when he was looking at you with such warmth and affection. It was like all your defenses melted under his gaze, reducing you into a gooey, emotional mess that you couldn't control.

A small smile tugged on his lips, and briefly you wondered how it'd feel to have them moving against your own, but you quickly threw that thought away. Now wasn't the time to wonder how kissing your best friend would feel like, not when you've known said best friend for the last seven years of your life and had the best friendship at stake along side your sanity and your entire academic career.

“Yes, really,” he said, in that warm tone that made your heart stutter and your brain fuzzy in the best way possible.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, absentmindedly biting it as you tried to even out your breathing. You couldn't cry, not tonight when you already had a stressful day behind you. Crying would only fuel your misery -and the murderous headache building up behind your temples- and there was no way you'd try to make it any worse.

Blaise’s eyes focused on your lips, and as if possessed by something else, his free hand came up to your mouth to gently pull your lip free from the destruction of your teeth. “Don't do that,” he murmured, “Your lips are too pretty."

You stared at him wide eyed, unable to process what he just said. Did he mean it in a friendly way? Or was he thinking about you the same way you'd been thinking about him for months now, wondering what your lips felt on his?

The silence between you two was tension filled and heavy, not a word spoken as you relished the warmth and proximity. Schoolwork was the last of your worries when Blaise was eyeing your lips with such fixation and hunger. Perhaps it was your imagination, but you could swear that he leaned down just a bit, enough for the scent of citrus and musk to envelope your senses.

His hand cupped your cheek, the touch tender and uncharacteristically unsure, as if he was scared you'd pull away at any moment. Blaise was the most confident person you've ever known, his words carefully chosen, his actions well thought out and never faltering in the face of the unknown. But this? This was completely new to him, something he'd never thought he'd actually do, there wasn't an an ounce of his usual self assured demeanor behind the feather light touches. To his surprise however, you leaned into his hand, your eyes staring up at him with the same hunger he displayed. You'd never once shyed away from him, too entranced by the enegamyic allure he exuded, and you found yourself pulled into his orbit once more.

His face was closer now, so close you could see the gold specks in his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire and affection in a way that had your heart aching for him. His eyes flickered from your lips up to your eyes, searching for any hint of protest or dissatisfaction in your expression. When you managed to give him a light nod, answering the unspoken question for your consent, it was all he needed before he closed the gap between you, his lips tenderly pressing against yours.

The kiss was tentative and light, as if the both of you were in disbelief about this. It couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds, yet when he pulled away, you could swear hours had passed by, any sense for time malfunctioning from what you just experienced.

“Blaise, I-”

“I like you,” he cut off, not giving you any time to make excuses or apologies like he knew you would. “I like you so much more than I should like my best friend and it's driving me insane.”

Your throat went dry at that, your mouth falling open and closing again as if you were a fish on land. Could this be real? Or were you just hallucinating from the stress?

“Is this my finals week or my final week? Am I hallucinating?” you whispered suddenly, completely catching him off-guard. He blinked at you, once, twice, before throwing his head back with laughter.

Just then you realized that your response to his confession was completely ill fitting and the blood rushed to your face. “Don't laugh!” you exclaimed, hitting his shoulder with mortification “It's a reasonable deduction when you're suddenly confessing to me!”

To his credit, he tried to calm down from his sudden outburst quickly, his eyes staring at you with clear amusement. “It isn't sudden when you think about it,” he mused “I've always liked you, always gave you special treatment that no one else gets, principessa.”

Your mind cycled through all the instances Blaise had gone out of his way, and out of his comfort zone, to do something for you; too many to count you just realized. He was a well-mannered person overall, yet his words and action around you had always been just a bit kinder, a bit more vulnerable, reserved for you alone.

Your face burned brighter at the realization. God how could you have been so oblivious? You were sure everyone else had seen it, but you were too stuck in your head to see the way he looked at you, to notice the way his touch lingered just a bit too long.

“God I'm so stupid sometimes,” you mumbled in response, eliciting a chuckle from him. “That's okay,” he said with a teasing edge “I like it when you're stupid like that, makes it more fun to bully you about it.”

Any sort of protest or reply died in your throat when you felt him lean into you again, his lips brushing against yours gently. “May I?” his voice was low and quiet, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment.

Instead of replying, you set your hands on his shoulder, pulling him closer to crash your lips against eachother, satisfied at the surprised noise you drew out of him.

The kiss this time was firmer, more steady with a simmering heat below the surface. The awkwardness of teeth and lips clashing against one another didn't bother you one bit, it only made it more exciting when you finally found a rhythm that you both followed as your lips moved in tandem against one another.

Both of his hands settled on your waist, his thumbs caressing your skin through your clothes in soothing circles that had you blanking out. He was everywhere; his scent, his warmth, his lips and his hands driving your mind into a maddening blank state with not a single coherent thought left in it.

It could've been a few seconds or an eternity, but when you pulled apart, you were both gasping for air, eyes wide open at what had just transpired.

“I like you too,” you suddenly said, realising you'd never replied to his statement. “So much that I don't know what to do with it,” the hint of vulnerability in your voice didn't go unnoticed by him, his expression immediately softening. This was uncharted territory for the both of you, the promise of what you could be staked against what you already had.

“It's okay,” he whispered, his voice nothing but warm and affection filled as he took your hand and held it to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles. “We can take it slow, do it our own way yeah?”

“Even if I wanna go out with you but ‘m too stressed to think about anything right now?” you asked, causing Blaise to shake his head in amusement. “Then don't think about it yet, I'm not going anywhere,” you couldn't help the smile that overtook your features, grinning at him with glowing happiness.

“You're so fucking sappy sometimes,” nudging his shoulder playfully, you half shoved him off the bed to get up, laughing at the dramatic protests as he faked a fall to the floor.

“Only for you, ungrateful wench,” he huffed, grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the floor with him. You landed on top of him, shrieking and thrashing in protest as you demanded he let you go.

You tried to escape his grasp, yet there was no use struggling against him, his arms wrapped too tightly around your waist, keeping you firmly against him.

“I need to get back to studying,” you mumbled once you ceased your protests, sighing contently when he bang rubbing your back gently. “Actually, you need a nap,” he chided. You eyed him suspiciously, wondering why he would suggest a nap when you had mountains of study material to get through. There was too much to do, and too little time, you couldn't afford slacking off now. “You have a headache, a really bad one at that,” he clarified, causing your eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

“How the hell-”

“Your eyebrows,” he added with a smile, gently massaging the spot between them, “You always furrow them when you're having a headache and you've been doing that more and more for the last hour.”

No words left your mouth at that revelation, at the sheer amount of attention he paid to you. You didn't even know you did that, yet here he was, paying attention to every detail about you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You expected the gesture to make butterflies flutter in your stomach, but instead you felt a sense of calm wash over you, secure in the knowledge that Blaise had always known you, always seem through you even when you tried to hide.

There was no use arguing with him about this, he allowed you to move away from him before tugging you on your feet and gently pushing you towards your bed.

“C’mon,” he said “I'll sleep with you if you want, that way we're both taking a break.” At that, you did settle into your bed with a little less grumbling, moving over to allow him to lay down beside you.

It wasn't the first time you both shared a bed; it had become a routine for you, sharing your space together no matter where. So the moment he settled into it behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

His warmth and scent, coupled with the quiet sound of his breathe, were the perfect way to lull you into sleep, the pounding in your head becoming nothing but a dull ache as your eyelids grew heavier.

The last you felt before slipping into a pleasant sleep was the press of his lips against the crown of your head,the chase kiss warming you from head to toe as you sighed blissfully.

Perhaps Blaise was right; you wouldn't fail your exams after all. When you woke up, you'd get back to studying and trying your best, and while you weren't sure if this was the last of your emotional outbursts surrounding the academic stress, you were sure Blaise would be there by your side. That thought was what accompanied you into your dreams, pleasant and warm sensations easing your mind.

[nikalaeva]

How to Make Romantic Fantasy Interesting

SJM made it... ugh. Okay, you're only interested in fairy sex, without doing any worldbuilding, plot, characters' development and depth. Then let the relationship be a conflict for the story.

Imagine if Rhysand had to go against laws and traditions for the love of Feyre under threat of punishment or even loss of power. Feyre is the savior of Prythian. Marriage to her is desired by ALL the High Lords, including Beron (they're fae, why can't they have polygamy?). And let Feyre's opinion be ignored, to show how deeply rooted the patriarchy is - magic and the land always chooses men.

Feyre (proudly): "Fuck your traditions. I'm a free person, not an appendage to your dicks"

Tamlin (and others): "Sorry, Feyre, but you can't abolish the centuries-old order. There is no such thing as a High Lady"

Rhysand (tries to be a cool bitch): "Come with me to the Night Court. I pass the law, and you become High Lady, Feyre Cursebreaker"

Feyre (burns him with gaze): "And when are you going to apologize for UTM, asshole?"

Rhysand (still trying to be a cool bitch, but is ready to fall at Feyre's feet): "Well..."

Feyre (even more proudly): "Well, fuck off. What do I need your stupid Lady titles for? I'm a Cursebreaker, and Prythian will remember me by that title, not as someone's wife"

Rhysand (whispers pitifully): "Damn, what am I supposed to do now?"

And Nessian? Damn, that's a perfect example of a misalliance. Nesta is the High Lady's sister. Sure, she wasn't born noble, but she was also Made and has valuable magic. Cassian owes his position to Rhysand, but for Nesta's husband candidates he's just a bastard. This could be a conflict: Rhysand as High Lord is obligated to provide her with a politically advantageous match (you know, Eris or Helion or even Tamlin).

Rhysand (truly morally gray): "Feyre, darling, I don't hate your sister. Nothing personal, just politics. She will be a High Lady like you, is that bad?"

Feyre (furious): "How dare you decide who my sister will be with? We are equal, and you have no right to decide this alone. (Smiles menacingly). Rhys, my love, if you poke your nose into my sisters' future, I'll rip your head off. Deal?"

But Nesta is agreed with Rhysand 'cause she was raised and prepared for it. And without bullshit like "I'm shitty and deserve someone like Eris". Let Cassian fight for her with arrogant nobles and Rhysand, reminding how he did the same for Feyre. And thanks to his efforts, Nesta will understand that she doesn't need princes, kings or even gods - she will be truly happy with man who endured all the mockery, learned to dance and courtesy, chose gifts from the heart, not just expensive ones, listened to her and cared about her.

Cassian (tries to be a cool guy, but hardly hear himself, his heart is beating so loudly): "Fuck politics. Nesta Archeron, you deserve someone who will love you not for your status, or your magic, or your relation to Rhysand and Feyre. I will love you whether you are queen or servant, good or evil, poor or rich. I will love you, not the power you wield"

Nesta (confused and touched): "Thank you, Cassian, but what about Rhysand? If he orders as your High Lord..."

Cassian (really a cool guy): "... then he is no longer my High Lord. I'd rather be your slave than his general".

You know what I mean?

[freelancearsonist]

el chico del apartamento 512

➔ Frankie Morales x gn!Reader - 1.6k

➔ There's a rumor going around your building about the resident of apartment 512, and you're eager to investigate.

➔ Rated PG-13 for allusions to sex but otherwise just some plain old fluff and fun. post movie canon wife and kid erasure sorry, takes place in colombia, both reader and frankie speak spanish and everything is translated.

➔ this is my entry for the Selena Drabble Challenge hosted by mi esposa @fhatbhabie <3 sorry i've been sitting on this forever hehe but i hope you enjoy

Frankie barely manages to pull himself out of the slump he’s in for the first year or so after the absolute disaster in the Andes.

He misses his family, misses his friends, misses his crew–his brothers. He tries to convince himself that it’s for the best, that it’s only a matter of time before those assholes who were in cahoots with Lorea come after him–that the people he loves will be safer and happier if he’s not around them when it happens. And most of the time he can block all that sadness and pain out by throwing his whole mind and body into the earnest construction job he picks up in this new town within this new country. But it catches up to him late at night in dreams and quiet whispers of intrusive thoughts; that he’s a coward for abandoning the ones that needed him most, that he could’ve done more to make that damned mission less of a disaster. That he could’ve come out of it rich and happy if he wasn’t such a fuck-up.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, an ache so deep in his chest that it feels like he’s been shot. He clutches at his sternum and tries to catch his breath but he can’t. His body wracks with sobs and he knows he’ll never be okay again.

But somehow, he ends up okay anyway. Somehow, he falls back to sleep just to repeat the cycle the next day.

There’s a rumor going around amongst your neighbors that apartment 512 is haunted.

People hear things–weird things. Screaming, crying, banging–and always at the dead of night. And everyone swears up and down that they’ve never seen the guy who supposedly lives there. The people who say they have seen him get more dramatic with their descriptions every time–toweringly tall, shoulders that could stand up to a wrecking ball, hauntingly sad eyes and gaunt face. It’s like he’s a thing of legend–a story they tell their kids to make sure they behave. “Don’t run in the halls or the guy from apartment 512 will get you.”

You figure he’s probably just some guy who works long hours and likes to watch horror movies to unwind or something–not a monster or a ghost, just misunderstood. You haven’t seen the guy yourself, but you kinda like him anyway. The building’s certainly been a lot quieter since he moved in… well, everywhere except his own apartment, at least. 

You find yourself keeping a more vigilant eye out, alert to any face in the building that doesn’t look familiar. It seems kinda silly to want to see someone you don’t know, but you’re a little nosy and a little more than curious. If there’s some truth to the rumors that have been going around by the people who claim to have seen him, you want to find out for yourself.

It’s a completely ordinary night when you notice an unfamiliar face in the mailroom, and you have to do a double take. This stranger is handsome–tall and dark with shaggy brown hair and an even shaggier patch of stubble across his jaw.

He’s just standing there, staring blankly at a row of mailboxes, looking so… foreboding. You approach slowly, cautiously; part of you thinks you should just walk away and let this man do whatever he’s doing. But there’s a large, louder part of you that approaches with curiosity. There’s just something about him that draws you in, that makes you put on your best smile and ask, “Señor? Necesitas ayuda?” (Do you need help, sir?)

He blinks slowly, heavily, and then dark brown eyes flicker towards you.

“Oh!” He clears his throat and it’s like he’s coming back from an out of body experience–the color returns to his face, his eyes lose that glassy sheen, and his posture loosens a bit. He looks friendly now, sheepish even. He wrings his big hands and shifts on his feet, as if he’s been caught at a vulnerable moment. “Lo siento, estaba en la nube.” (Sorry, I was spacing out.)

“Está bien,” you tell him with your most disarming smile. “Andas buscando algo?” (It’s okay. / Are you looking for something?)

“No, solo estoy recopilando mi correo,” he rumbles before flashing you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen in your life. (No, I’m just getting my mail.)

He fishes through his pockets and finds a small silver key–and then he inserts it into the box labeled “512”.

“Tú vives en el apartamento 512?” There’s a strange air of reverence in your voice despite trying to hide it. This is the guy everyone’s been talking about, and he doesn’t seem nearly as monstrous as everyone tried to make him sound. (You live in apartment 512?)

“Uhhh… sí?” He chuckles and looks over to you, and you can see the way his brow furrows at the look of shocked surprise on your face.

You realize you’re actually gaping open-mouthed at the poor guy, and you snap your mouth closed as soon as you see the little crease between his brows deepen. Not soon enough for it to go unnoticed, though–the corner of his mouth flickers up in a pseudo-smirk, and god he’s handsome.

“No hemos tenido la oportunidad de conocernos aún.” You look up at him and give your best, winning smile as you give him your name. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your stomach as his dark eyes meet yours–have you mentioned how handsome he is? (We haven’t had the chance to meet yet.)

“Mucho gusto,” he says with a smile. “Soy Frankie. Supongo que vives en el edificio también?” (Nice to meet you. / I’m Frankie. I’m guessing you live in the building too?)

“Oh, sí,” you say with a slight laugh. “No soy ningún tipo de acosador, vivo en el apartamento 526.” (Oh, yes. / I promise I’m not some kind of creep, I live in apartment 526.)

And then you catch his eyes dragging along your form, not even the least bit subtle, and you try your best to be nonchalant about the way you have to lean against the wall to avoid melting into a puddle on the mailroom floor; especially when you see those full lips of his curve into a smile, and you know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

“Nah, no creo que seas un acosador,” he hums–and there’s that damned smirk again. If you don’t get out of here you’re going to start drooling. (I don’t think you’re a creep.)

He grabs two letters from his mailbox, examines the envelopes, and then unceremoniously dumps them both into the trashcan in the corner with a mumbled, “Malditas estafas por correo.” (Damn junk mail.)

“Eso es lo único que recibo ahora también,” you tell him sympathetically. (That’s all I get anymore too.)

He brushes past you slightly as he moves to the door, and you get a whiff of distinctly woody cologne that makes your heart pick up a beat. You try to act normal and go to open your own mailbox, but he stops in the narrow doorway and leans against the jam to look at you.

“Te volveremos a ver aquí?” (Will I see you around again?)

You think the rumors about him were right, at least a little bit. He’s towering and imposing–he fills the entire doorway with ease. He’s firm and broad and sturdy and big. Maybe he would be intimidating to someone else, but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

“Sí. Puedes verme cuando tú quieras.” (You can see me whenever you want to.)

His eyes flicker indecisively for a moment, and then he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Qué tal viernes por la noche?” (What about Friday night?)

You try not to focus on how you want him to bite into you like that as you tell him, “Sí, eso sería perfecto.” (Yes, that would be perfect.)

“Perfecto. Te veré luego.” And then he flashes you that damned adorable boyish smile again before he retreats from the mailroom. You think he’s going to be trouble for you. (Perfect. I’ll see you then.)

The monthly building meeting is Saturday morning, and you’re glad to see Frankie’s decided to join in finally. Everyone throws curious looks his way as he walks through the room towards where you’re seated, but no one is curious or brave enough to ask who he is.

“Buenos días, querida,” he murmurs, discreetly ghosting a kiss against your cheek as he drops into the seat beside yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as they trail over your outfit: the same one you wore to dinner last night, the same one you picked up off his bedroom floor this morning and shoved on hastily to get to this meeting in time. (Good morning, dear.)

Before you get a chance to respond, your neighbor from across the hall plunks down in the seat on your other side.

“Escuchaste ese ruido anoche?” She asks, sounding more amused than annoyed. (Did you hear that noise last night?)

“Qué ruido?” You ask with a raised brow. (What noise?)

She smirks with satisfaction, like she knows something you don’t. And then she looks pointedly between you and Frankie. “Suena como si nuestro fantasma en el apartamento 512 hubiera conseguido un socio para él.” (It sounds like our ghost in apartment 512 got himself a partner.)

You nearly choke on your own tongue, but Frankie just chuckles raspily and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He learned all about the rumors from you last night over dinner, and he thinks they’re hilarious. Besides, they’ll die out soon enough anyway–he’s never slept quite as peacefully as he did last night in your arms–if he doesn’t feed them a little bit. And if feeding the rumors means keeping you moaning and groaning the way he did last night, he can’t say he minds it one bit.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[riality-check]

riiaaa!! for the 100 ways to say i love you prompts, #1 and steddie please!!

(this is also very late, but here we go!)

"Pull over, let me drive for a while."

"Steve."

"Mhm."

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna drive us off the road."

"I'm fine," Steve says, and Eddie watches from the passenger seat as the car moves a full two feet onto the shoulder.

And people have the nerve to criticize his driving.

"Yeah, no," Eddie says. "Pull over, let me drive for a while."

"I got it," Steve says, a mid-sentence yawn ruins his credibility.

Eddie sighs. Steve is more than just a good dude; he's become one of Eddie's closest friends over the past few months, thank you, trauma bonding. But even though Steve Harrington is a good person, he's exceptionally stubborn when he wants to be, and driving his Beemer is the most stubborn he ever gets.

Seriously, though? He needs to sleep. He's gonna get them hurt otherwise.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says, and where that came from, he's going to blame on the sleep deprivation, "please. I promise I won't scratch your car."

Steve straightens up at that. Sneaks a glance at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Relaxes his grip on the wheel.

"Okay," he says, and he puts his blinker on, pulls onto the shoulder. "Yeah, you can drive."

Eddie breathes out a sigh of relief as they switch seats. He's lucky he and Steve are the same size, nearly; he doesn't have to adjust the seat or the mirrors.

He glances at Steve, just to make sure he's settled, before he shifts the car into gear and gets them back on the road toward Hawkins.

Move in was a success all around. First Nancy, in Boston, then Jonathan in New York, then Robin in Philadelphia. Steve and Eddie had nothing else to do, the gas money to spare, and a want to help out. Taking the Beemer seemed stupid until Eddie was reminded by everyone, less than nicely, that the van would fall apart on a drive to Indy, nevermind to three different cities on the East Coast.

They fit less boxes, but at least they made the journey without breaking down.

And now they're on their way back, at nearly midnight with four hours left to go, because it makes more sense to drive than to find an affordable hotel that's not a shithole in Philadelphia.

"This is weird," Steve mumbles.

"What is?"

"Letting someone else drive my car," he explains. "Last time, I was concussed, and Max almost drove us into a telephone pole."

"Mayfield?"

"Yeah, back in '84. Hargrove beat the shit out of me so bad I could barely think, the kids had to get somewhere, and she was the only one who knew at least a little about how to drive."

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. "Everything I learn about you is weirder and weirder."

"I didn't even tell you the worst part."

"Which is?"

"I was so out of it, I thought Mike was Nancy."

Eddie cackles, wiping the tears from his eyes as he continues to drive. Thank god no else is on the road.

"They don't even look alike," he wheezes.

"In my defense," Steve says with a smile, "I did have brain damage."

"Past tense?"

Steve punches him in the shoulder. "Asshole."

Eddie rubs over the spot with one hand and keeps driving with the other. It's nice, this time of night. No one on the road, warm enough to have the windows cracked in the pitch black. Music playing loud enough to hear but low enough to have a conversation over.

It helps that Steve's rich-boy car drives smoother than anything else Eddie's been behind the wheel of, and Eddie's been behind a lot of different wheels in his life.

"Thanks," Steve says after a little while.

"For what?"

"Driving."

"Of course," Eddie says, because he means it. Of course he'd drive when Steve can't. It's what you do for the people you-

Eddie looks over at Steve. He's kicked his shoes off and scrunched his knees to his chest on the passenger seat. He's curled up, toward Eddie, with his hair fanned out and his cheek squished against his knee, eyes closed. The streetlights, as they race by them, cast his skin in varying shades of silver and gold, highlighting the contrast of his freckles.

-love.

Eddie's doing this because it's what he does for the people he loves.

It's a quieter realization than he expected. Eddie has loved a lot of people like he loves Wayne and his friends, but he's never been in love before. He thought it would be an all-consuming, heart-racing crash, a collision bringing fire and constriction, needing the jaws of life to pull him out.

This isn't like that. This is liking being a little kid, jumping off the couch, and knowing someone is waiting at the bottom to catch him. There's the feeling of danger, sure, but he knows what's at the bottom.

He wonders how long he's known. Long enough for that love, the love he has for Steve, to be something comfortable and warm in his chest.

Steve's hand rests on the space between them, palm up, outstretched. Eddie takes it and squeezes it.

And, though Steve is surely asleep, he thinks he might squeeze back.

Prompts here.

[viisoul]

MAKE IT UP TO YOU!

{dom!sanemi , sub!reader , degrading , overstimulation , use of the word ‘bitch’ , choking , modern au.}

when y/n’s new pair of shoes are ruined because of her clumsiness enemy, her enemy is forced to apologize and make it up to her, but it seems to go a little further than just that.

"you fucking asshole!"

"oh, shut up, you whiny bitch!"

"you ruined my shoes! i hope you die!"

"shut the hell up! the shoes were ugly anyway!"

y/n l/n, the forever enemy of sanemi shinazugawa, was currently fuming because of his clumsy actions. y/n was always a spoiled daddy's girl since birth. her dad bought her anything and everything she wanted. he was filthy rich, after all. she lived in a huge mansion with a huge bedroom just for her. she'd always gotten the latest designer clothes or bags, and the newest shoes.

today was yet another day in college, y/n and sanemi arguing over every little thing. however, it was lunchtime. sanemi doesn't usually eat lunch food, so he just got a red fanta out of the vending machine. unfortunately for y/n, she was walking towards sanemi and she hadn't realized it.

the poor girl bumped into him, the red drink spilling all over her brand new white shoes and her outfit. though, she was more concerned about her shoes.

"you shut up! i think they're cute! you just don't have any fashion sense, you tacky motherfucker!"

as sanemi was about to say something else, his eyes shifted over to his friends before he spoke. "tsk. you're embarrassing me. i don't have time for you."

sanemi purposely bumped her shoulder before walking over to his small group of friends, as she walked off to the bathroom to clean off her shoes as much as she could.

when y/n made it to the bathroom, she sighed lowly. she put soap on a tissue and wet it, scrubbing her shoes roughly. although y/n was spoiled, she was very appreciative. she was happy with anything her dad gave her. it'd hurt her deeply to know that the thing that was given to her from one of the only people that actually loves her had gotten messed up.

she exhaled, throwing her head back as she let the shoes fall from her hands and onto the ground. despite scrubbing as much as she could, there was still a reddish pink color on her shoes. now she had to deal with the embarrassment of walking around with dirty shoes. hopefully bleach would do the trick when she got home.

y/n slipped her shoes back on, throwing the napkins away in the garbage before walking out. as she walked out, she saw sanemi leaning against the wall next to the boy's bathroom.

"what are you doing, you creep?" she murmured.

sanemi pushed himself off of the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"tsk. i already don't wanna do this."

"do what?" she stared at him in confusion.

"look, i'm sorry. okay? i'm sorry about messing your shoes up." his cheeks were tinted with the reddest color possible, and his expression showed his embarrassment.

"oh? sanemi's apologizing for once?" she teased.

"shut up!" he hissed. "if you want, i can... make it up to you."

she paused. "...who's telling you to do this?"

"shino— nobody! i'm doing this on my own! now, do you want me to make it up to you or not?"

"um... how?"

"i'll take you out to dinner—, to your favorite restaurant."

"ha! unless you're planning to spend a couple hundred dollars at least, i think not."

"...whatever. it doesn't matter. so, do you wanna go or not?"

"um... sure." she replied quietly, thinking that if she said that, it'd change his mind.

"give me your number. i'll pick you up at six." he held his hand out, expecting her phone.

after exchanging numbers, y/n left to go home early with her dad. she ranted to her father, who was off of work that day, for what felt like hours on end about sanemi. her father could only awkwardly listen to her as she paced around the spacious living room.

y/n's father was used to listening to her rants. especially about sanemi. he'd suggested switching schools, yet, for some reason, she always insisted on staying.

"his dumb white hair and those ugly scars all over his disgusting face—! i hate him!" she groaned, holding her head in her hands.

"listen, sweetheart, i'll just buy you another pair."

she sighed. "daddy, that's not the point. he ruined my shoes on purpose!"

"mmh. did he apologize...?"

"w-well, yeah. he said he'd take me out as an apology..." she said lowly. "it's not something he always does."

"maybe he finally realized what he did wrong." her father smiled, though, on the inside, he was raging.

how dare someone as poor as him make his sweet baby girl so angry like that?! he was just as furious as she was, if not worse. he wanted to pounce on sanemi as soon as he got the chance.

"okay, fine." she exhaled.

"where's he taking you out at?"

"i don't know. he said he would take me out to my favorite restaurant—, but you already know it costs a couple hundred."

he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "that boy... i'm gonna have to give him a good talking to."

"what time is it?"

he checked his watch. "five thirty."

"ah! he said he was gonna pick me up at six!" she rushed to leave the living room, hurriedly going to her bedroom.

she looked through her huge walk-in closet, looking for a dress that wasn't too over the top, yet fancy enough. she wore a tight black dress with a slit going up to her thigh, that had a black belt with her first initial in gold on it, laced with small diamonds. the dress had spaghetti straps and was quite low in the chest area. she'd also worn some black heels to go with her dress.

for her accessories, she wore some expensive gold hoop earrings and one necklace that had a famous brand on it. lastly, a gold tennis bracelet and her watch.

she then put on a small amount of makeup, having the thoughts of impressing no one—, not even sanemi... maybe just a little. she glossed her lips and stared at herself in her vanity. y/n couldn't help but take a picture and post it.

"y/n!" hearing the loud calling of her name, she stood up. she checked her watch, seeing it was already six fifteen. she was fifteen minutes late

the boy had just arrived at y/n's house, and god, was he shocked. he knew she was rich and all, but to live in such a large house? he'd almost thought she lived in a castle. he whistled as he got out of the car.

sanemi then walked up to her porch, which that alone was big.

he rang the doorbell.

not long after, her father came out. his eyes were practically piercing into sanemi's soul. sanemi swallowed thickly.

"hi—." his voice cracked. he then cleared his throat. "hello, sir. i'm here for y/n."

"why are you here for my daughter?"

"to take her out."

"on a date? so, you think you're worthy enough for her?"

"uh... it's not really a date. i'm just— making something up to her."

"you messed up her brand new shoes, didn't you? the ones that cost more than you could ever afford?"

sanemi clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, deciding not to respond.

"however, not many people would do this for someone they dislike. i appreciate it. i'll handle getting her another pair, just make her happy tonight. you understand?"

"yes, sir."

in an instant, her father grabbed sanemi's collar, pulling him close to him.

"and you better have her back home by nine. even one minute later than that and you're gonna get a piece of my mind. i want her here like she was before she left. i may not be here by nine, but i have cameras everywhere outside and inside of the house besides her room and a gps on her phone. if she comes back pissed off like she did today, you better fucking believe your life will be over and you'll see the rusty gates of hell. you hear me?"

"y-yeah, i hear ya." he muttered, nodding his head slowly.

"y/n!"

after her father called her name, the girl rushed down the stairs and to the front door. the sound of her heels clicking against the floor indicated that she was close. the clumsy girl bumped into her father's back, rubbing her nose.

"ouch..." she muttered. "sorry, dad."

"mmh. it's fine."

she stepped away from him, standing right in sanemi's view. sanemi could feel his cheeks grow hot upon seeing her.

"hi, sanemi."

"hey, y/n."

"well, i guess we should hurry and go now. i know my dad has some type of curfew for me."

"yeah, nine pm. any later than that, sanemi. remember what i told you."

"yes, sir. i'll bring her back by nine."

"good. that's what i like to hear. now, let's see if you'll make it happen."

the man then kissed his daughter's cheek, hugging her side.

"love you."

she giggled. "i love you too, dad."

she walked off with sanemi, as her dad watched her leave.

sanemi opened the door for her, and then went inside of the car himself. she looked through the tinted windows, watching as her dad closed the front door.

"sanemi,"

"huh?"

"honestly, i'm not that hungry. if i ever do get hungry, i could just go for a fast food restaurant on the way home."

"what are you implying?"

"i don't wanna go out to eat. i wanna do something fun."

"like?"

"let's go to a club." she grinned.

"hold on, your dad has a gps on your phone. what if you get in trouble? no, wait, i'm gonna get in trouble."

"oh—, come on. don't be such a pussy."

"i'm not being a pussy. if you think i'm gonna get in trouble because you wanna get drunk and party your ass off, you're thinking wrong."

"you're so lame."

sanemi rolled his eyes. "fine."

"there's one across the street from my favorite restaurant. it's less expensive, too. on ******* street."

"oh... that one."

"hm? you been there before?"

"yeah, once. it was fun, i guess."

she smiled. "well, come on! let's go!"

—

as the two arrived, they were greeted by the blaring music, colorful flashing lights, and people talking loudly. she grasped his hand, pulling him over to the bar.

when he sat down, he stared at her confusedly.

"i wanna have a couple drinks before we party, 'kay?" y/n said, taking off her jewelry and placing it inside of her purse.

"i didn't know you were a drinker."

"i don't do it much. i just have two or three before i stop. it's pretty rare of me to drink anyway."

"so, what's with the change now?"

"i just wanna have fun. take this night as a night to forget about what happened today, i guess."

he sat there quietly, lips pursed together as he stared at her. whatever this swelling feeling was in his chest, he wanted to get rid of it immediately.

when the bartender took their orders and gave them their drinks, they had a quite nice conversation with each other. honestly, the two realized they weren't as bad as they'd thought. however, they were only convincing themselves that it was just the drinks getting to their heads.

after y/n's third drink, she let out a relieved sigh.

"that was good. you drunk yet, sanemi?"

"i should be asking you that... but no. i'm nowhere near drunk."

"okay, let's go party, then!" she grinned, running off to the dance floor.

he paid and tipped the bartender, rushing after her. sanemi grasped her shoulders, stopping her where she was before she could get any further.

"calm down! at least wait for me."

"okay, sorry. come on."

she walked with his hands on her shoulder towards the dance floor in the huge crowd of people. she then grabbed one of his hands, bringing him in front of her. the smile on y/n's face made sanemi's heart flutter. he shook his head.

he was embarrassed to be seen with y/n, being that she was dancing nonstop to the loud music. he just stood there awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest.

"sanemi~!" y/n groaned. "you're being lame again!"

"uh? how?"

"why aren't you dancing?"

"i don't dance."

"okay—? no one's gonna judge you if you try."

"no."

"please?"

"absolutely not."

"i'm not having fun if you won't dance with me!"

"oh, well."

"i'll tell my dad."

"okay, okay! how am i supposed to dance?"

"want me to show you?"

"um? how're you gonna do that?"

"just do whatever your mind tells you to do, 'kay?"

"what do you m—?" his cheeks began to get red as he watched the girl stand in front of him, the slight contact of her hips on his his making his adam's apple bob when he swallowed. "w-what're you doing?!"

she laughed. "dancing, duh!"

she danced in front of him, their bodies touching and grinding against each others. sanemi could only awkwardly try to follow what she did. feeling her pressing against his dick made him horny, however. he wasn't thinking about dancing.

he was getting turned on, and so was she. she could feel his hardness pressing against her inner thighs. sanemi moved his hand down, grabbing her waist and pulling her closer to him. they followed each other's movements, enjoying the fun of dancing until he moved his hands down a little too far.

"y-you—! stop, you dickhead!" she turned around, glaring daggers at the boy.

"mm? you don't like it?"

"we— we're in public...!" she stammered, not wanting to admit that she did, in fact, enjoy it.

feeling sanemi's big bulge in between her thighs made her even more turned on.

"so... you do like it?"

she crossed her arms, refusing to answer.

he could only smile arrogantly. "you do."

sanemi grabbed her leg, placing it on his hip. she struggled to keep her balance, but he kept his hand on her waist.

"what time is it?" he muttered.

"it's only seven..."

"mmh. you wanna go back to your place?"

"huh— why? we've barely even been here!"

that cocky grin on his face told her exactly why. she swallowed the knot in her throat, smiling right along with him. she put her arms around his neck and brought him in closer.

"you wanna fuck me?" she asked him.

"hell yeah."

she pursed her lips together. sanemi removed her arms from around his neck, grasping her hand as he walked out of the club.

—

stumbling inside of her room, sanemi kicked it closed without departing his lips from hers. he pushed her against the wall roughly, items on her shelves rattling and some even falling over. he groaned, hands roaming up her dress. the mere contact of his cold fingertips on her skin was enough to get a moan out of her.

he pulled away from her, unzipping her dress. he gave her a look before gradually tugging it down. she stepped out of it, kicking it elsewhere. sanemi unclasped y/n's bra, letting it fall from her shoulders. his calloused hands immediately grasped onto her breasts, kissing her once more. she let out a dragged-out whine at the feeling of his fingers pinching at her nipples.

he moved his lips down her jawline and her neck, sucking on her skin harshly. his teeth scraped at her delicate skin as he bit on it, the flat of his tongue pressing against the spot he'd bitten. she could feel herself getting wet at his touch, getting more turned on than before.

"sanemi—," she choked out, instinctively placing her hand on his chest. "let's go to the bed."

he then scooped her up in his arms, walking over to her bed. he dropped her down, her eyes widening in surprise as she stared at sanemi's expression. y/n's lips curled into a nervous grin as she sat up, only to have him crawl on top of her.

he grasped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"you havin' second thoughts?" he raised an eyebrow.

"w-what—? hell no."

"mmh. thought you'd chicken out."

"i'd never. even if i did, you probably already came in your pants from just kissing me." she said with an arrogant grin on her face.

"oh, is that right?" he smirked, looking down at her bare chest before staring into her eyes.

she nodded. he roughly pressed his lips against hers once more, the two falling back onto the bed. she wrapped her arms around his neck. he moved his hand down her abdomen and between her legs. he played around with her underwear, leaning back down to kiss her.

before he could, she spoke up.

"go on, take them off. you know you want to."

hearing her words, sanemi unabashedly ripped her panties off, throwing them across the room. he dipped down to kiss her, spreading her legs out wide. he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, rushing to get his garments off.

he pulled his pants down, palming his erection through his boxers. he ogled at her rather vulnerable figure, grinning to himself.

"you're kinda hot."

"yeah, i know." she replied. "y'gonna fuck me with your eyes or?"

"nah, i'm gonna fuck your brains out."

"i'd sure like to see it."

"oh, you're gonna see it." he began pulling his boxers down, only for her to grasp his wrist. he raised an eyebrow, confused at her actions. "what?"

"can you uhm—... take your shirt off?" she muttered, eyes trailing off elsewhere.

he hummed, unbuttoning his shirt. he let his shirt fall from his shoulders and down on her bed. she stared at his abs and the scars going across his chest. it was so hot. she could barely keep her composure.

"yeah, i know." he repeated her words. "don't cum yet, i haven't even put my dick in you."

she rolled her eyes. "uh-huh, okay."

sanemi pulled his boxers down, his dick springing out and tapping against his abdomen. digging in the pocket of his pants, he pulled out a condom. she watched as he opened it, getting ready to slide it on. she could only grin, giggling at him.

"what's funny?" he asked, grasping his cock in his hands.

"you were planning this, huh? i'm that irresistible?"

his eye twitched. "shut up."

"make me."

sanemi grabbed one of her legs, holding it up so he could align himself with her entrance. he pushed himself in without a second thought, a loud squeal coming from her mouth. she covered her lips with her hands, staring up at him. the two locked eyes, a cocky grin growing on his face. he laughed derisively, sending a light slap to her thigh as he shoved himself in deeper.

"ha! you should see the look on your face right now!"

"s-shut the fuck up!" she said, her voice slurring and a string of expletives coming from her as he began moving his hips back and forth.

he chuckled, mocking the noise she made. feeling her clench around him, he groaned and picked his pace up. she grasped onto the sheets, feeling pure bliss at how deep he was inside of her. he didn't hesitate to touch all over her, grasping onto one of her tits while his other hand was tightly holding onto her thigh.

he bent down, kissing her lips sensually. she moaned into it, her stomach getting butterflies once he forced his tongue in her mouth. their tongues pressed together, mixing their saliva with each other's as he relentlessly thrusted into her.

pulling away, he stared her in her eyes while he began to speak. "y'like me fuckin' this slutty pussy? hm?"

y/n nodded absentmindedly, the feeling of her being pounded against the bed by sanemi much better than she'd ever imagined.

"use your words, bitch."

she choked out a 'yes', her eyes beginning to roll back. his hand suddenly went around her neck, squeezing it tightly, but not enough to hurt her. the feeling of sanemi's rough hand around her throat was turning her on even more.

y/n would have never thought she'd be in a position where sanemi was fucking her brains out.

"s-sanemi," she mumbled.

"what?" he asked, the pace of his thrusts not ceasing.

"rub my clit." she said.

"you really are a dirty slut." he said with a laugh, moving his free hand down so he could find her clit.

once he did, it was like paradise for y/n. he was balls deep inside of her, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow while he choked her, called her names, and added more stimulation by rubbing on her clit.

she was a moaning mess, whining and practically screaming his name and several different curse words.

"it feels good, yeah?" he asked her, slightly panting.

her eyes were squinted shut and her face was a bit scrunched, biting down on her lower lip.

"yeah—!" she nodded quickly.

"you're a whore for me, right?" he circled his fingers faster on her clit, making her whimper loudly.

"mhm~!"

"say it." he tightened his grasp on her neck, making her chest raise.

"fuck, i'm a whore for you! i'm a slutty little whore just for you!"

"that's what i like to hear, bitch." he let out a throaty groan, his adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. he stared down at her, seeing how vulnerable she was just for him.

she heaved a short, yet rough exhale. "sanemi!"

"what is it?"

"m-make me cum, please." she blurted out.

"mmh? you wanna cum on my dick? is that what you wanna do, bitch?"

"yes!"

"don't worry, i'm gonna make you cum, whore. more than once, too."

"d-do it then."

and so, sanemi was like a monster. he made her bed rock back and forth, creaking as it tapped against the wall with his movements. he'd also successfully made her scream and claw at him for mercy. it was quite a sight for sore eyes, if someone were to ask him.

moving his fingers around her cunt, he gathered some of her wetness on his fingertips and continued rotating them at a face pace. it was then he let go of her neck, holding one of her legs up close to her chest. it was then he'd hit a whole new spot, making y/n's back arch.

"oh, god, sanemi! t-there, right there! m'gonna cum!"

"right here? that's what you want? you want me to fuck you just like this? yeah?" he questioned her with a grin, thrusting into her pussy harder. it'd created a squelching sound, along with the sound of their wet skin clapping together.

she yelled out a curse, sanemi tensing up as she clenched around him. he grunted, slowing his quite animalistic pace and staring down at her. she breathed heavily, covering her eyes with her arm.

"holy shit." she muttered. "that was so—..."

"it felt good, didn't it?" he laughed.

"very."

"i could say the same with you... but we're not done yet." narrowing her eyebrows, she moved her arm away from her eyes and stared at his cock that was still rock hard.

she swallowed thickly, a smile growing on her face. she didn't mind. nodding her head, she spread her legs once more, welcoming him for a second round.

—

y/n's hands rested on sanemi's shoulders as she bounced mindlessly on his dick, her head thrown back to give him space to kiss on her neck. his hands were grasping on her ass and he couldn't help but laugh at how worn out she was.

she was so sensitive, she'd orgasmed several times that she lost count. honestly, she'd probably gotten all of her hate for him fucked away. she let out a drawn out moan, biting her lower lip.

she rolled her hips against his, going so slow so she could calm herself.

"sanemi~." she slurred. "it hurts... i can't take it anymore."

"you can. you can take it." he mumbled against her skin, leaving yet another mark. "i think you just need help."

"then help me, dumbass." she said, stopping her movements.

tightening his grip on her skin, he began bouncing her up and down on top of him more roughly, and she could only whine at how sensitive she was. it hurt so bad, but the pain felt great.

pressing her lips against his, she moved her hand down in between her legs and began rubbing her cunt unrelentingly. they shared a sloppy, yet slow kiss, both of them getting tired and ready to finish things off for the night.

their lips smacked together as sanemi moved his hands off of her, hoping she'd take the lead. curses slipped from her mouth as her eyes were shut closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and beads of sweat fell down her body. their chests would press and stick together as they leaned in closer to each other.

they were unable to resist one another's touch. he hummed, moving her hand away from in between her legs. she opened her eyes, watching as he licked her fingers, soon sucking on them. her eyes widened, her stomach tingling.

"tastes so good." he muttered, tensing up and groaning. "keep riding, baby. i think i'm close."

her heart fluttered at the name, but she nodded and continued moving her hips so slowly, but in a way that felt so good. her moans were like music to his ears, so melodic, and not the mention how good she rode him. he knew that after this, no one could compare to her.

staring at her figure, he saw one hand down on her bed while the other gradually massaged her cunt at the same pace as her riding. her eyes were closed and her lips were pressed together, so concentrated on getting him to reach his climax.

he exhaled, feeling his orgasm creep up on him. he groaned, catching his lip between his teeth. he cursed, feeling his cum spurt into the condom. she smiled, reaching her own with a soft, drawn out whine.

they panted, y/n's hand going on top of his. she leaned her forehead against his, kissing him gently as she slowly inched off of him. he caressed her face, deepening their kiss. it felt so romantic and meaningful.

sanemi sucked on her bottom lip before they pulled away with a smack of their lips, y/n falling onto her bed. she stared at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. it was then that sanemi sighed, staring up along with her.

"y'know, your dad's gonna fucking murder me?"

"yeah... i know." she mumbled. "good luck."

♡

[youremyheaven]

I’m a Chitra girly. I’ve been a virgin for 22 years. (All my life basically) I do have urges where I wouldn’t mind having one-night stands, but I want it to be with someone I trust for my first experience. Although, I’m kinda over it now because I just wanna experience s*x. I’m getting older!! 😫 Also… I wouldn’t mind using my body to get what I want, but I obviously never done that. (yet 😜) It’s just a thought, like for example I rather have s*x with a sugar daddy or a ceo to boost my career instead of having s*x with a flop ass dude. My mentality is that instead of giving myself for a “normal” dude, I rather just use my sexuality for my benefit. Like, women get slut-shamed for using their sexuality to get where they are. Like don’t hate the player, hate the game.

i feel like a lot of Martian women think this way. they either hate men and sex or they use it to their advantage.

so many women famous for their sex appeal (Marilyn Monroe, Brooke Shields, Adriana Lima, Denise Richards) have Mars ruled naks but they've either avoided men and used their sex appeal to their advantage or really suffered in love and romance.

even though you say you wouldn't mind sleeping your way to the top, I feel like Mars women are better at seeming sexually enticing than actually sleeping around to get their way, yk?? everybody wants them but no one can have them type stuff?

the reality is that life is not a movie and men in powerful positions are often complete assholes. if things were so simple, then we'd surely have more women making $$$ and being girlbosses but that isn't the case. things seldom go well for women who choose this option bc at the end of the day sleeping with rich assholes is 100x harder than actually doing the work you need to get ahead. everybody is all about casual sex and using their body to make moves until they've been treated like scum by some asshole who uses them and is left in the dust. bc trust me, rich men will treat you like you're a cum dumpster

ill say this again and again, casual sex is a myth. there is nothing cAsuAL about this arrangement. men want a sex doll and a babysitter who will do all the things expected of a girlfriend without returning anything. its literally just a way for them to use women and get away with it as you cant be the bad guy if you aren't even in a relationship. dating apps and porn have ruined the game.

the biggest flaw in the way Mars women think is this tendency to believe that they have no emotional attachment to sex so it doesnt mean anything to them if they can just bang someone for the heck of it. BBG ITS A JUNGLE OUT THERE,,, the most worthless you will feel is when you realise how little you mean, sexually or otherwise to someone. you may not be emotionally attached to sex but you will suffer emotionally from disrespect you endure.

i dont mean to sound like im from the 1950s or anything but trust me, if a man is only attracted to you sexually, he will immediately lose interest in you once you bang. and those monkey brained assholes are def the ones who dont deserve to experience your body. pussy trapping a guy into being with you is a delusional lie.

edit: since you're a virgin you should be extra careful bc men go ape for virgins 😶‍🌫️ but tbh some guys won't fck with you bc it's too much responsibility as men often think women fall in love with their "first" (there is some truth to this tbh)

[barbex]

I’d love to hear about “dance in yellow” from your WIPs!

Love, thedastrash

Oh thank you!

Amazingly, this is an unpublished fic! See? I'm trying. I mean to finish it before publishing. Thanks, I hate it.

I'm on the forth chapter and it's a trope collection with Fenris x Anders, with

fake dating/bodyguard

enemies to lovers

heist and thievery

ballroom dancing

Zevran! being too sexy

Anders is a sexy BAMF, Fenris can't deal

hurt/comfort

"you touch him, you die"

and so on.

Have a taste:

"Why don't we ask him?" Zevran says and opens the door, revealing Fenris to the room. He hadn't even noticed that he stepped closer. If Fenris had any doubts about the man's skills as an assassin, he knows better now. 

"Fenris, there you are." Hawke calls out, oblivious to his eavesdropping. Hawke is a force of nature, but awareness of his surroundings outside of a battlefield is not his strong suit. "Have some wine. Listen to this great plan, it's gonna be fun."

"Fun?" Fenris asks as he steps into the room. 

"And lucrative," Isabela says, twirling her dagger. "Stealing from rich fucks is my favorite game."

"That sounds promising." Fenris fills a glass with red wine at the table and slowly turns to where Anders sits. His long legs stretch out from the stuffed chair and he seems to drown in his ridiculous coat, the feathers fluffing up to his ears. 

Anders rolls his eyes. "Wait till you hear the plan. You'll change your mind."

"I was able to procure invitations for Lord Falange's extraordinary party, happening in [X] days." Zevran pulls two richly decorated cards from his vest and lets them flutter onto the table. "It's the event of the year, and the rich asshole density is unparalleled." 

"And while we're at it, we'll procure —" Hawke is clearly proud of this new word he learned from Zevran "— some highly sensitive documents to shut down a slavery operation Lord Falange keeps on the side."

Fenris takes a long sip of his wine, savoring the taste before he swallows. "An extra incentive, I'd say." 

Hawke takes Isabela's hand and pretends to place a kiss on it. "I'll be a big shot merchant and Isabela will be my hot wife."

Isabela winks at Fenris. "The hottest." 

"What do you need me for?" Fenris asks.

"You'll have to play my bodyguard," Anders says with a gravelly voice.

Fenris freezes. Not this. Not again. "No."

"There, I told you." Anders throws his hands up as he looks away, his hair falling in front of his face.

Fenris turns to Hawke to glare at him. "Why Anders' bodyguard, why not yours?" 

"Because we need someone to get really close to Lord Fuck-his-face," Hawke says and gestures dramatically at Anders, "and this lord has a special taste for lanky, blond brats." He takes a step closer to Fenris, smiling at him. "It's only for show. You're not really his bodyguard. But we don't want Anders all alone with the guy, just in case."

"That does, in fact, make me a bodyguard."

The smile on Hawke' face brightens. "Just a little. You're more like backup, in case things go tits up." 

It's impossible to deny Hawke anything when he puts on this soft smile. At least that's what Fenris tells himself when he glances at Anders and imagines being his bodyguard and cannot really find fault in that. "Alright. I'll do it."

"Wait, you're fine with this?" Anders gets up to step around him, searching his face. "Remember, you'll have to listen to me, do what I say, and actually be nice to me, at least for a bit."

Fenris holds Anders' gaze, ignoring the heat rising up his neck. "I am sure I can pretend for a while." It sounds harsher than he meant.

Zevran sidles up to them with a disarming smile. "An angry discussion between bodyguard and employer might even be a useful distraction at some point."

"I'm sure we can provide that, easily," Anders spits out. 

He doesn't look Fenris in the eyes again, not for the whole rest of the evening. Fenris tries several times to catch his gaze but the mage never looks at him. He seems to be lost in thought, staring out of the window despite the darkness.

[mrstsung]

You know how people dont listen and think a pill will make all the problems go away when actually it's only to help you,not cure you.

Yeah. Make shang tsung more like

"Hey guys i found stuff that may help ease you. It will help ease all your pains and problems."

So no he doesn't say cure. He says eases. And without treatment,tlc,and care. Nobody will truly heal.

Plus making him pathetic (more so liu kang doing so and expecting him to not get pissed at knowing his whole existence is because of petty beef lou had with him FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE LIFE. And never was told,thus once again the cycle continues because you didn't fucking tell him WHY IT WAS BAD,WHAT HE WAS DOING AND WHY HE SHOULD HAVE A CHANGE OF HEART OR CHANCE TO CHANGE?! like liu how can you AND raiden fumble shang tsung by doing the same fucking shit. But somehow liu is worse with this. Because raiden did it to protect the realms. Liu kang does it because he's fucking a petty whore. But i digress. No shang tsung,despite being written like shit. Still is in the right because how can a man under poverty and corruption live like he do? Like you think outworld and edania won't become corrupt just because it look nicer or shao kahn aint a problem?! Ha! Look at real world empires. Yeah,how did they turn out?! Same shit. Just mystical. Nothing changes. Really. Honestly. Liu kang should have stayed dead. I loved liu. Emphasis on LOVED. Now i can't stand this bitch. Especially how they are doing him now. Fr.)

Anyways. Back to shang.

I feel him being good at many trades. But not really a master in them. He's legitimate. But people are assholes not listening to him. Or they dont want him rich,because you know damn well the rich ruling class wouldn't want a commoner to believe they can have good things in life right?! So this in turn shines a light.

No edania,outworld. Isn't actually at peace just because no war. Or shao kahn isn't a problem. No. It becomes its own problem. Like rome. It falls to corruption and greed. Empires fall one way or another.

Down with the fucking bourgeoisie! That's how i see it. Shang was a small part in the people uprising against an already corrupt regime. Kitana was a fucking fool for believing,mileena knew but didn't know how to say it due to they positions. Sindel is revealed to be no damn better than shao kahn or jerrod. In fact,it goes to show all of them are fucking pretty terrible people to the poor. Privilege and class is something that is so skirted by in mk and its kinda interesting that nobody else sees this.

Sure at the end of the day. Vidyagaem. But damn if ya gonna tell a story. There are better ways to do it.

Especially if you add fantasy politics. The point of world Building is to actually build a believable world and people and characters. Not just make it plot convenient for the masses.

See this is why shang tsung is more and more the only fucking good thing left about mortal kombat.

"Shang tsung was right about the gods!?"

*glocks gun*

"You fool! Always has been!"

But seriously. Having him a novice is fine but making him weak for plot to make liu kang "the nicer god" is pathetic and weak writing.

Nah. Shang tsung is supposed to be "that bitch you don't fuck with. Less you wanna die" type of character. This could have been avoided if you were nice to him and he had friendship. Seriously.

You can see and smell the bias from the character.

Which would have been a perfect opportunity to make liu kang dark or evil or something! Like falling from grace like raiden a mirror to "if you aren't careful you become what you hate!" And mirrors shang tsung in that "nah you aint that different than me. You're actually worse"

Like there could have been something epic. Or good guy shang tsung whaaa?! But nope

Nrs just wants to keep same ol same status quo while guising it as something new.

Nah nrs is the quacks. Not shang.

Bite me boon. Suck my nuts.

And honestly,shang tsung deserves better than this shit.

Especially after cary hiroyuki tagawa reprised his role after many years. All for you to be doing this shit again.

Smfh.

Nah i stan shang tsung not because im a shang tsung tsimp.

Nah i stan him because some of these people suck and are fucking mean.

( Especially when again a lot of shit once again can be easily avoided but nope,shitty plot. Also fire god liu fanboys specifically,are mean af. And rude. Hella rude. All because people said they feel bad for shang. Regardless if they personally agree with him or not. It's fucking rude to be an asshole to someone randomly,just because someone feels bad for a bad guy. I thought we were past this shit. Villains are very much loved especially nowadays given how the world be and irl governmental corruption and society be,so what gives?! You mad he got more pu**y than you ever could?! Is that it. You mad because he got more popular than liu kang chosen quack now? Maybe if nrs didn't write liu kang to be an insufferable prick. Maybe people would like fire god liu kang. And again shang tsung to me no matter what kind of life he has,good or bad. He refuses to live in squander. Regardless you could write him many ways. However one thing stands throughout all of them. He's fucking good at whatever he sets his mind to. So to make him pathetic lil welp is ooc and ridiculous af. And pisses me off. And makes me not really care for liu kang. At all. Like he could drop dead in the next game and i wouldn't cry. Same with every other character,i dont really feel anything profoundly with any of them. The only one I'd care for is shang tsung. Because he's the only fucking character that seems to have a good head on his shoulders despite the shitty writing and predicament he was placed in. )

Look this is me venting. Like this is a jab at asinine people,and the game writers. Especially when NRS should damn well do better but they don't. They dont want compelling villains,they want palatable villains. Complacency. And not a morally grey character that is funny enough,honest to god telling the truth. They hate it when the devil is right. But y'all know. Shang knew the corruption of things. But instead of making things actually livable. Nope. They make him a mockery. No offense but that's why it was so easy for him to become a dark sorcerer again. Wouldn't you? Could have been easily avoided. Very easy. Especially if liu was "so damn powerful" enough to prevent it. Its not because he's always this way. No it's because YOU MADE IT THAT WAY! period.

Fellow Shang stans,my shang tsimps. I'm sorry.

Hey at least we got fanfics,hcs,and each other.

Regardless of what form,timeline,no matter how shitty the writing is,no matter how asinine the fans can get. There are people who understand. And whatever you look like shang.

Know I will always love him.

💚🐍- mrstsung

[lurkingteapot]

Only Friends เพื่อนต้องห้าม Ep 4

Nearly two weeks late and I'm finally, finally getting around to catching up with my favourite mess.

Live watch notes!

Oh wow, we're starting out right away on the heavy stuff, huh

oh god Khaotung's acting, He's so good.

there's that word again, "burden"

thank fuck Mew cottoned on to this being a goodbye

I somehow fully expected Ray to just drop the phone into the tub

he's sitting in the EMPTY tub??? was this just for mess prevention? oh Ray, oh baby.

No, love, no, your mum did not die because of you.

HELL YEAH CHEUAM'S A LESBIAN (sorry, I'm just so excited to hear a girl actually SAY it) (but also Ray being a hit with the wlw tracks)

ooh wait wait, these shirts-- is this the make-out night?

also Ray I get you probably don't mean it like that, but you're sorta … guilt-tripping Mew here.

love the way this kinda tells us audience members a) the backstory of Ray taking that call b) that Mew's rejected Ray before c) that Ray was so desperately seeking connection that he came off weirdly manipulative about it

GOD Khaotungggg

this is shot very prettily but also what the fuck, Boston, is EVERYTHING blackmail material to you

adfsadfa LOVE Mew calling Ray out on the shirt

sleepover!!

"not your type" huh. HUH.

Ray really is hung up on him, huh.

Proud of Mew for setting that boundary.

Sand is not buying it.

Oh Sand, oh Sand.

Ooop put your foot in it

Nick, what are you lying to Sand about that?

oof "he's not normal, his reputation is bad"

oh man the employees all wai'ing the boss's son … urgh god I hate rich people, sorry Top I'm sure you're not actually that bad but URGH (also yes I'm aware of the double standard I've got going here, the way just-as-rich-kid Ray is my little meow meow)

wait, is this the photo booth where Top and Boston made out?

is this just a common architecture feature in spensive hotels, or is this the same hotel they shot Chaan's apartment in LoA with?

ooooh that plane is Boston's, isn't it

Ray and Sand may be doomed by the narrative but I love every second I get out of them anyway.

I love Sand so muchhhh

First is really good at that searching eye contact thing

ถ้ามึงอยากเป็นเพื่อนกับกูอยู่นะ คิดถึงความรู้สึกกูบ้าง BOUNDARIES we love to see them

the way they put the asshole angle on Boston here, I love it

oooh you made Boston mad just now

hookups so you can sleep, hookups to let off steam

oh man, Nick, oh man, this is not okay behaviour and you KNOW it

"I can't" -> the way it's put in Thai is กูไม่สดวก which is basically 都合が悪い but feels like 困る. Gotta ask teacher about that one.

is this why physical pictures are all you deal with, or are you just … talking out your ass because you know Nick is dtf either way for a bit yet

Mark Pakin, the actor you are

this is not news but I'd like to reiterate that I love how we have Rich Boys and Poor Boys are a theme here

asdfadfasdf "stay away from Boston" Nick, Top's been TRYING

but oh man Top is an arrogant ass. like. scary slick.

Ohhhh wow Nick, wow, wow wow. at least you're self-aware? ish?

Oh fuck of course he ran over Sand

Go go go Sand

oooof there's history here, I see. I still think it's about someone Sand liked before.

I really hope Sand's bike is fine

Nickkkkk how about you don't lie to Sand? but urgh you're also getting him in trouble which. ooof I can see this making things really complicated for him and Ray going forward.

Sand is like "oh bruv NO"

CALLED IT

Mew is so unimpressed. I'm impressed with Ray for owning up to it though, and for apologising – it's so easy to fall into the "I'm an awful person and they'll hate me anyway" spiral.

okay so at least Sand and Ray can bond over hating Top

Mew, please get mad about Top being a controlling ass like that

You've got nothing to hide, right, Top? Right?

sooo was that Not Mew in the car with Ray, then? Photoshop?

oh we're going here, huh

oh wait, was that him again just now?

that's a really good line to draw, Mew, and also you've got an excellent point about addiction here

oh man oh man oh man I'm really liking Mew more and more this ep and Top is doing nothing to endear himself to me.

oh man, someone's gonna drink that water and it's going to be a Situation™

Top, you asshole, if you could not question every single one boundary Mew sets, that'd be ace

so the thing is. Top. Why would you think Mew would believe that? you talk big.

!! this is a song from the playlist!!

fuck, Sand is so gone on him alreadyyyy, I really thought he had more distance than that, but nope nope nope

I continue to be so impressed with this show. The preview is nerve wracking, but I'm going to be strong and only watch that when I've got another 5k or so of work words done. One more ep, and then I'll have a day to wade into the tag! EXCITED.

[thegarden66]

Garden of Eden

Chapter 1: Call this # Now

Ice cubes melting in her Glass, a young boy tugging at his moms dress to show her a rock he found, someone ordering a coffee, leaves falling off the trees, raked together to perfectly frame the sidewalk by the campus cafe. Usually it was easy for y/n to listen to her girlfriends talk about everything that the college life of rich girls had to offer. But somehow today, she couldn't quite seem to focus. „Hey, are you listening?“ Cassie looks at her with big eyes „Sorry. I zoned out, what did you say?" she stirs her coffee and takes a sip. „I was just telling you how Rickie acted like a total dick earlier.“ Cassie crosses her arms. „I was thinking of going to the party without him today, you feel me? Post some pics of me looking good, just to make him jealous or something.“ she says unfazed. „You're coming, right?“ „Yeah, of course! Not sure what you're supposed to do about Rickie though. Hasn't he always been like this? Maybe you should just let him go.“ Cassie rolls her eyes, chewing on the straw of her smoothie. "Ugh, I don't know why I even asked you in the first place. It's not like you're known for boys being your speciality." She opens her mouth as to add to her rant, but decides against it. Emma gives her a nudge with her elbow. "Cass you're such a bitch sometimes. It's not her fault you're dating an asshole." Cassie looks down on her freshly done nails and sighs. „Yeah, I know. It’s just- I don’t understand why he's acting like this. He used to be all nice and a real gentleman but now all he does is get mad and bitch around." Y/n looks out of the coffee shop window and the conversation fades into the background. She finishes her drink, grabs her purse and gets up. „Its fine Cass. I get it, you’re upset. It’s just I-„ she pauses. „Im not good at this stuff. You know me. I wish I could say something to make you feel better but I genuinely don’t know what. I’m sorry.“ she looks at her friend with a tired smile. „I think I should really go now though, I still need to grab some stationary for uni and I shouldn't be home too late. Bye guys, see you later!“

Stepping out of the cafe, she takes a big breath, fixes her skirt and pulls out her phone, hoping the girls didn’t notice her obvious lie to get out of there. She types in a number and her phone starts ringing. As a voice on the other end of the line greets her, y/n smiles and starts nervously running her fingers along the hem of her cardigan. "Hello, I'm y/n. Is this the manager of Club Velvet?“ „It’s him.“ the voice answers „Amazing! I called one of your staff members earlier to ask if it would be possible to shoot some scenes at your venue for a documentary I'm working on. I know you have a small gig coming up tomorrow with a punk band performing and I'd love to interview some of the guests, film the performance and maybe even speak to the band. Would that be possible? If you want to look at my work I can forward some of my previous documentaries." „Ah, yes. The aspiring movie director.“ he answers with a sarcastic undertone. „Sure, that’s fine with me. Yes, my colleague already told me about it and you can film at our location but I'd have to ask the boys from the band first if they would be up for an interview. I’ll do that and call you back later alright?" "Oh really? That would be amazing thank you so much. I'm practically already waiting for your call back!" Y/n says, laughing nervously. The line goes silent for a second until she hears the manager breathing in sharply on the other end. „Yeah sure. You’ll hear from me. G‘bye" The connection cuts off and y/n stands there awkwardly for a second before she makes her way down to the subway station.

The way home goes by twice as fast as usual and as much as she loves to people watch while riding the train, she just sits there with her eyes closed and a big smile on her face, thinking about the upcoming shoot. There has always been this passion for people in her life. Learning their hobbies ambitions and dreams, what they do to pass the time and the things they enjoy. It was in high school when she discovered filmmaking and even though she's never thought of herself as a very creative person, capturing the world from her own perspective has revealed a new side of herself. Only as she walks up the stairs to her apartment in Manhattan her mood shifts when she remembers the upcoming New-Term Fall-Party. Y/n has never been one to pass up on a good party and surely it’s gonna be a great evening. Yet a quiet voice inside of her head is begging to stay home and she can’t understand why.

Either way, canceling on the girls would be easier said than done and the following disappointment and being excluded from any friend group activities for a week ist absolutely not worth staying home. As Y/n steps into the already steaming hot shower, it’s almost making her forget the looming dread of going out tonight. She gets out, curls her hair and ties it into a half up/ half down hairstyle. Because makeup has never been her strong suit, she keeps it simple with brown eyeshadow to accentuate her eyes, a rosy shimmer on top, mascara, blush and a nude lip that matches the color of her jumper dress ontop of her favorite bell-sleeved blouse. To tie the outfit together, she puts on black knee high leather boots, a matching bag and a blazer. One last check in the mirror, a quick breathing exercise and she is out the door, and as a small treat to herself, on her way to take a cab to the party.

Emma, Cassie and Julie are already standing infront of the club. The four have been best girlfriends since Highschool. They greet each other with hugs and compliments and make their way past the bouncer, straight to the bar, where Julie promptly orders a round of drinks. The barkeeper hands out champagne flutes to the four and Emma turns around, facing her friends, and tying her arms around Cassie’s and Julie’s waists. She sticks her head in the middle of the group and speaks a toast, yelling over the club music. „To a new term, hot parties, wild nights and my favorite girls.“ They all laugh, clunk their glasses and take a sip. „So are we gonna go dance or what?“ Cassie shouts. They move to the dance floor, shoving away confused first term students and making room for themselves, shaking their hips, balancing champagne glasses in their hands until they find a good place to stay. Four girls dancing in a circle, singing along to bad remixes of pop songs, forgetting the world around them. To y/n this moment is movie worthy. The purest form of bliss she could ever imagine. The effortless fun of dancing to rihanna with your best friends while pearls of sweat are forming on their foreheads. It almost makes her feel stupid about not wanting to go at first. After a while of silly dancing and singing the wrong lyrics to obnoxiously bad pop songs Cassie looks at her phone and gestures the girls to follow her off the dance floor. „What’s wrong?“ Julie asks. „Rickie called, he wants to meet!“ Emma looks at her confused „What about looking hot and making him jealous?!“ Cassie holds back a chuckle and shrugs. „I’ll meet you guys again later.“ The other girls exchange looks and Julie rolls her eyes. „I guess in the meantime I’ll go get some more drinks. I could really use a break!“ „Sure Julie! Y/n and I are gonna go check for a free couch in one of the lounges! I know one of the bouncers. Maybe i can get us into vip!“ Emma grabs y/n‘s Arm, ready to go as y/n feels her phone vibrate in her bag. „Emma wait!“ She lifts up her phone. „I really gotta take this call! I’ll step outside for a second“ she hurries outside while Emma looks after her, barely making it in time to take the Call. „Miss y/n. We spoke earlier.“ it’s the Manager. Her heart starts beating faster and she’s fidgeting nervously. „You asked me if you could speak to the band, remember?“ „Yes of course!“ „Well it seems like todays your lucky day! They’re free for a short interview but in a bit of a time crunch. I can forward you the contact but if you want to meet them you have to call this number now!“

[marypsue]

Anon, quite aside from all other considerations...by doing this, you're robbing yourself. This is the whole basis of what fanfiction is - you take somebody else's story idea, you wonder 'but what happens next?' or 'but what if X happened instead?', and then you run away with that idea and emerge from the wilderness of a Word document or notebook or google doc or whatever several months later, tattered and ragged and out of breath and half-feral, with a story that you created out of nothing. And the more you do it, the better you get.

But if you're feeding it into the machine, you're not doing that. You're not training your brain to see patterns in how stories work and figure out how to fit the pieces together. You're not learning how to use language to evoke certain reactions from other people. Hell, you're not even getting to spend hours while you're stuck working on boring chores daydreaming about the various twists and turns your story could take, while slowly narrowing it down to the right ones. You don't get that eureka! moment when some random pair of neurons fire together just right and suddenly you know exactly how everything has to fall into place. And you did that. You, god of this tiny world of words.

Feeding other people's stuff into a machine so it can spit out more stuff that's vaguely like it is only cheating you out of everything that is good and fun and delightful about using your own creativity. Maybe this makes me sound like an out-of-touch public service announcement from 1999 about going outside to play, but I would rather read your first attempt at a story - no matter what the grammar or spelling is like, no matter whether it's believable or even coherent - than a technically polished, perfectly fine, mediocre thing that an aggregator spat out. I want to know what you have to say. I want you to have the chance to make something you can share, something you can take pride in. I want you to have the chance to know what it feels like to have written somebody's favourite [X]. I want you to know what it feels like to know somebody was inspired by your [X], and wrote their own.

(And also, maybe, if you try your hand at making something of your own, you'll really get why it feels like such an enormous slap in the face to hear that someone who probably loves your work and just wants more of it is giving your work to a machine that some rich asshole wants to use to make sure that no one ever, ever compensates you or even recognises you for that work, and also to destroy the whole concept of 'good, interesting stories written by people' forever, so that he can add a couple of digits to the end of a very long number.)

oh I wasn’t aware it was feeding the ai. I’ve inserted hundreds of fics into chatgpt for their continuation or for a different plot within the same context just for fun and out of curiosity… but I’ve never posted any of them…

Indeed, anything that is given to AI it can use later to draw from. That's why it doesn't matter if you post them or not as it has now access to those writers' texts without their permission.

~Mod L