#im back on my bullshit - at least for a moment

[gerbymoo]

Hey Im on my bullshit, here’s a character analysis

Bruno Bucciarati

Complacency and Flaws

I haven’t seen a lot of GW fans talk about this in detail, or even address it thoroughly, but I think it’s one of the more interesting things to think about when it comes to a character like Bruno who is framed with a high moral standing (or at least one for a mafioso). It’s set from the beginning that Giorno is the driving force for ‘change’ in GW and with the main cast as well. Everyone has some sort of interaction with Giorno that usually ends in some sort of epiphany about how they can make tangible changes in an otherwise miserable living. Homeboy literally lights a fire under everyone, which has ended up with the cast of characters having a stronger sense of integrity about themselves and the world around them. It’s all lovely to think about, someone growing and changing for the better, but then begs the question of what would have happened if Giorno was never in the picture (everyone would probably be alive but still!).

During Bruno’s death, he clearly states how Giorno was the one who ‘opened his eyes’ and helped him re-align with his values (which he may have arguably lost in the world of the mafia). Now, that isn’t to say that Bruno has a weak character. It’s really hard to find autonomy in the world of crime, and especially if you spend almost half your life in such a system. It’s implied that Passione was designed in a way to break down morale and character. Everything is for the famiglia or whatever mood Diavolo had that week. I do believe however that it’s a great flaw to address with Bruno because it implies his own challenges of one, sticking true with his values as a person, and two, because it addresses something much more harmful in these systems.

GW uses the metaphors of ‘slave of fate,’ sleeping slaves, chains (GW Op1), unable to break free but I think complacency is a better word to describe this and to describe Bruno’s character when he was first introduced. He comes off as your typical shady, manipulative and violent mafioso who will jump off a cliff for his boss. He hates it, as implied in Purple Haze Feedback, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s spiraled out because of it. And yet he does it, and does it exceptionally well. You can argue he found a loophole through it, where he can be both a mafioso but someone who also brings a lot of positivity to his community (everyone and their mom loves him in Naples apparently), but he is still a criminal regardless.

I know, I know. If he betrayed the boss, he puts himself and his team at risk. And especially without Giorno as a variable, they all could have experienced the same fate as Sorbet and Gelato. He couldn’t do that, especially to people he cares about.

But then isn’t that what Risotto did? He didn’t give a rat's ass about it, nor did he need a dynamic force like Giorno to convince him otherwise. If you haven’t read Risotto Nero Observes, or at least the excerpt, please do. Risotto becomes fed up with the poor treatment from the boss, the disrespect to him and his team, and is ultimately pushed over the edge when he sees how this young boy almost lost his life because of the greed of men in the mafia. He decided to betray the boss, and his entire team backs him up for it.

After the encounter with the boss in Venice, Bruno’s team completely backs him up when he decides to betray the boss. Fugo hesitates, but that makes sense with his development, and if you consider PHF as canon, he fully regrets it. And remember all of this happens when Giorno comes on board. I think we can say Bruno, as great as a leader he is, as empathetic as a person he may be, and as altruistic as he wishes to be, he is still flawed immensely in terms of decision making and in being true to himself. I think his death in GW becomes more impactful because it is only at the moment of his death where he actually becomes the person he always wanted to be. There isn’t anything wrong with having the support of someone else helping you grow (that’s what he did with his gang, and that’s what Giorno helped him with inadvertently), but I enjoy how these explorations make him a more interesting character.

For the fanfiction writers that write him as this person who is so sure of himself, who is confident in the decisions he makes, and maybe leans more of that soft-dom approach, take this as a piece to make him a little more human in that sense. He’s probably not that confident on the inside. He’s probably very hesitant about making decisions. He probably panics internally A LOT. He’s probably not going to take action with something until someone else implores him to. Or at least he won’t do it completely by himself.

By all means argue with me about this character exploration! I love the discourse

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

That podcast is coming on Monday

[gemharvest]

Need to get on top of whatever dumb fucking inferiority complex I got going on I'm tired of looking at everything about myself and going "Wow I am really sub-par." I know it's 2am but this isn't the midnight thoughts talking this is a fucking persistent curse throughout my day.

[captainsparklefingers]

It feels really weird doing this xD but I guess talking about asking for help/feedback/generally venting about stuff (minor or otherwise) is always gonna feel weird? Is that what I'm doing right now? I have no idea. But anyway, writing it all out will hopefully help get it off my chest and I can try to move on to practical things. Mregh.

So I'm working on a series of oneshots about the first year of Kingsley's life (it was initially gonna be just the first six months before M9 Reunited but then I had some ideas that would only make sense after that, so here we are), and I've managed to get exactly one of them done so far. Which is good! I've got a second one in the works and a list of ideas for the others, buuuut I've managed to get myself stuck in the middle of the second one. Turns out it's hard to write Caduceus and Kingsley interactions when you have nothing to base them on XD and I guess that means I need a beta/somebody to bounce ideas off of. My regular beta (who is a wonderful person and one of my closest friends and who I love very much) is busy with real life stuff like work, so I don't want to bother them, and the people I want to ask to take a look at stuff and get ideas from are busy with their own fics and projects, and I don't want to bother them either. So here we are. I have anxiety up the wazzoo for a lot of things, including this, so it feels weird just putting a Tumblr post out there asking for help with something as silly as a fanfic...

And I'm always sort of afraid of writing Kingsley 'wrong', if that makes sense. Like, I know he's not Lucien or Molly, he's himself and there are echos of them in him, but with my whole belief that the memories of the previous purples are still there (just locked up until he's ready and comfortable enough as Kingsley to take them back and not get overwhelmed by them) and they sometimes leak out (the problem traveling with your past lives family is there's plenty of triggers there for stuff to slip through the cracks without context), and I worry that that makes it seem like I'm trying to turn him into Molly when I swear that's not what I'm thinking at all. So there's THAT layer to the anxiety as well.

So here I am with one one shot done, one about halfway done that I need a bit of a push with, and a list of ideas that I haven't started in on yet because I haven't gotten the second one done, and a lot of nerves about never getting anything done. Like, I'm not even gonna tag this because this is mostly just me trying to work out my anxiety about stuff (but uh if anyone is interested in helping or looking at some Kingsley stuff lemme know I guess), and I hope it helps. I've been having a lot of anxiety and nervousness about a lot of crap lately, and compared to other stuff, this is just such a minor bullshit thing to get wound up about.

God, anxiety SUCKS, y'all. It's the stupidest most irrational thing. Like 'ooh you wanted to do this as a fun lil side project to keep the creative juices going during downtime at work NOPE YOU'RE OBSESSED AND NERVOUS NOW ENJOY FEELING WEIRD WHENEVER YOU'RE AT YOUR LAPTOP FOR UNRELATED REASONS'.

[alphalesbian]

Like whose gonna try and call THEMSELVES a brother to YOU while not being able to withstand a very expectable period of silence from me of which he was forewarned about as a possibility no matter how much Id rather it not happen if I had the choice, and regardless of how he interpretted that I Was Going To Try To Give That And Could Not Right There Because Thats Something Im Working On and You Also Know That. And wants to say I DONT know what LOVE is! btw.

[dollarbils]

don’t wanna be your fan | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. when your favourite fan suggests featuring in one of your videos, you reevaluate her position in your life.

warnings. smut, strap, oral, mommy kink, degrading?, ofstar!reader (very inaccurate only fans portrayal). also not proofread!

part 1 masterlist

when she’d first brought up the idea you were hesitant to say the least. she was kind, sweet and hot, but you hadn’t ruled out serial killer just yet. having her feature in a video would be great for your page since lesbian sex is climbing up the ranks, and seems to be the majority of your following. but you were hesitant, more that hesitant.

“Billie, it’s a good idea but i just don’t know if it would work out.” she huffed, on the other side of the phone, her frustration apparent.

“why not? are you scared?” she taunted you, but truthfully you were.

“it’s not that, what if my other fans think they have a shot and start harassing me?” a bullshit excuse and you knew it, but you felt like you owed it to yourself to be wary of the suggestion.

“they won’t know i’m a fan.” she paused for a second, and you could hear her breaths through the phone speaker. “besides, i’m your favorite fan right? i think i deserve it don’t you?” those words made you smile, imagining her smug little smile on the other side of the phone.

“okay.” she went silent, as if hoping you’d repeat yourself.

“wait, okay?” she asked.

“don’t make me second guess my decision. be at the hotel by 9pm or im locking my door. i’ll send the details.” she agreed quickly and you hung up, holding your head in your hands while you ran through the previous conversation to look for any red flags.

-

“i mean honestly, ask a girl to dinner before filming a sex tape with her.” she rolled her eyes, smiling softly as you positioned the camera.

“is it recording?” she asked, biting her lip when you approached her.

“mhm.” she was cautious with putting her hands on your hips, this having been the first time she’d intentionally touched you, the other, being when she’s brushed past you when you’d opened the door.

“give them a show, baby.” she tugged on your shirt, clarifying what she meant but letting you take it off. you were stood in front of her, your back to the camera while she remained sitting, letting her hands drift to your clothed ass as you slowly peeled off your shirt. once it had been discarded to the side, your jeans followed shortly after, leaving you in your underwear.

“all for me?” she teased, commenting on the matching set as you turned towards the camera. she pulled you down onto her lap and pulled your hair back so that she could attach her lips to your neck. and when she did, she didn’t make an attempt to be gentle.

“mm.” you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of her bruising your skin, sucking and licking as you whimpered. subconsciously you began to grind your heat against her thigh, the thin fabric of your thong doing nothing to mask the harsh material of her jeans.

“so needy.” she whispered, loud enough for the microphone to pick it up though, and a whine followed.

“fuck.” she exhaled, before lifting you up, and placing you on the bed. she took her shirt off and hovered over you for a second, giving you the perfect view of her tits, moments from spilling out of her tight bra.

“like what you see?” you nodded, reaching behind her back to undo it before she halted your actions.

“not yet, give me a real answer.” her tone asserted a kind of dominance you weren’t used to. annoyingly easy to comply with.

“yes.” she wasn’t completely satisfied but gave way regardless. when she lowered herself onto you, you could feel the bulge in her jeans, shutting your eyes momentarily as she pressed herself against you.

“tell me what you want, babygirl.” she smirked, pulling your chin to face her while she waited for a response.

“i want it raw.” you weren’t hesitant to voice what you wanted and it turned her on.

“ask nicely, baby.” she teased and your rolled your eyes.

“fuck. me. please.” she smiled, but contemplated it for a second, her hands running up and down your naked body, doing everything to distract you from the conversation.

“do you deserve it?” she asked, the same teasing tone lacing her words.

“yes.” she chuckled at the confidence in your voice.

“and what makes you think that? you’re a little slut after all, aren’t you?” that made you go silent, the truth to her words making it difficult to counter.

“well? are you?” her hand was squeezing your chin again, forcing an answer out of you.

“yes.” it was said with resistance but still satisfied her. she slapped the side of your ass, eliciting a small jump.

“on your knees.” she ordered, letting your imagination complete the request. and when you were on your knees, in front of her, she gave no further instructions.

“go on, show me how much of a slut you are. and maybe i’ll give you what you want.” she shrugged, taking a sort of nonchalant stance as she waited for you to unbutton her jeans. when you pulled them down to reveal her strap, your eyes widened slightly at the sheer size.

“come on, you can take it.” she’s noticed the uncertainty in your expression. but when you took the tip in your mouth, and then finally the rest, she bunched up your hair and pushed you closer to her, the tip hitting the back of your throat. you gagged multiple times, your eyes going glossy and your pussy even wetter as you clenched on nothing, moaning around her strap.

“fuck, what a whore, huh?” you nodded quickly, doing almost anything to please her while she pulled on your hair, harshly, revealing the entire strap until she pushed it past your lips again, your saliva coating the base as you whined and cried. your muffled noises turning her on and she rested her head back, closing her eyes.

“that’s right, take it like a good girl.” her voice was sultry, and so seductive you could swear you were leaking from your heat. and when she was done with you sucking her strap, you thought your mouth would bruise. when she pulled it out of your mouth your saliva made it glisten in the dim lighting. the tears on your cheeks and drool on your chin was a sight for sore eyes and the camera had long been forgotten.

“was that slutty enough for you?” she narrowed her eyes when you stood up.

“watch your mouth, princess.” she threatened, moving to grasp your hips and push you onto the bed.

“i think i gotta show off that pretty ass of yours no?” she smirked, getting on top of you once she’d urged you to turn around. you used your elbows to prop yourself up as she unclasped your bra, letting your tits spill as her hands came to feel them up. your legs were spread wide and her knee came up to your heat, pressing lightly against your panties.

“billie, please.” the desperation in your words were pathetic, playing further into her ego.

“patience, sweet girl.” she let her hands wander down your body before resting, just below your waist, her fingers biting into your hips. you fought the urge to turn your head back, to see what she was doing, but all thoughts were silenced when you felt her silicone tip prodding at your entrance.

“you’re soaking, bet i could just slide into that tight little hole of yours.” the harsher she pressed the tip against your pussy, the filthier her words got, as if the teasing hadn’t been enough already. she knew what she was doing.

“please just do something!” you whined, and she contemplated making you beg for it.

“do what? i’m going to need you to specify, babe.” you could imagine her smirk, and you almost dropped your head in frustration.

“please fuck me.” she sighed in content of your response.

“well, since you said please.” and she was pushing her entire length into you, before she’d finished the sentence, disrupted by a moan.

“fuck.” your elbows gave out and you were gripping the sheets already, feeling her push herself further into you.

“so ready for me, i swear i can feel you clenching, pretty.” she didn’t really give you time to adjust before she started thrusting, agonisingly slow at first.

“billie.” your whines only fuelled her, but she responded with a light slap to you ass.

“try again.” she tutted, halting her movements for a moment.

“mommy? please?” she groaned in satisfaction before continuing her motions.

“that’s right, baby.” it didn’t take long for her actions to turn harsh and messy, your moans and whimpers making her feral.

“ y’like getting fucked like this? like a fuckin’ slut?” she grasped your hips pulling them towards her with every thrust, as you arched your back, pushing your ass against her lower abdomen.

“mhm.” your moans we’re muffled by the pillow you’d hurried your face into. but that response obviously didn’t satisfy her. she fisted you hair again, pulling your head away from the pillow so that you could answer her.

“i need an answer, babe.” she pulled out of you completely, leaving you clenching uncontrollably.

“yes.” your mouth was running dry, your breaths still staggered.

“yes what?” she was unbelievably persistent. she wouldn’t be able to get away with it if she wasn’t that fucking hot.

“yes mommy.” she let you fall with a small bounce when you landed, and she was back to abusing your pussy.

“all your other fans can’t compare can they?” you felt the pressure in your lower stomach building, as she filled you up with her strap.

“no.” you shook your head, unaware of your words and actions, only focusing on the feeling of her inside of you.

“tell me i’m more than a fan.” the camera was so long forgotten you spewed out words of agreement.

“you’re so much more.” your hands were roaming the sheets for some kind of solace as you felt your high approaching.

“are you gonna cum on my dick then? make a mess?” when you nodded, she moved her hand to your clit, pinching it with two of her fingers, before continuing to toy with it.

“fuck.” you could barely feel your legs as her thrusts became quicker but sloppy. and when her hands came to spread your legs wider, she hit deeper spots than you could’ve imagined, and you were releasing all other her strap.

“holy fuck.” she gasped, your heat, empty and aching when she pulled out.

“fuck that was insane.” your turned around, facing her, and she almost collapsed on your body.

“yeah?” the metal on her teeth glistened through her smirk.

“mhm” you confirmed, and she came down to kiss you, no hesitation in the matter whatsoever.

“i think i’ve earned the ‘more than a fan’ title, right?” you laughed, a smile forming on her lips when she heard it.

“yeah, you definitely did.” she pecked your lips again before she spoke.

“perfect, i don’t wanna be your fan anymore.”

request (kinda)

taglist: @adinda-eilish @ijustlovemaths @sweetcherriexs @jaxon-nathaniel-drake @mybluebossanova @diceroll65 @tothediner @st0nerlesb0 @bilssturns @london-uhmye @bxllxebxtch @tan1shere @babybornbluenow @greenbttrflyy @asterisk-eyes

[kill4luvina]

"Right thru me"

Onyankopon x Black!Reader

Summary : You and your man been havin' this dumb argument, and he know you so well it lowkey freaks you out. Especially today because he already had your whole routine down from prior nights when you'd act up exactly like this.

CW : SMUT, Pussy Slapping, Overstimulation, reader tryna run from the dick,Unprotected sex, (probably a lil more),not proof read. (This is a really really old draft im posting.)

" What are we doin'? Could you see through me? 'Cause you say, "Y/N," and I say, "Who, me?" And you say, "No, you," and I say, "Screw you"

Your jaw would drop as your stared at your boyfriend after hearing the bullshit that just came out his mouth. "You blowin my shi, like shut the actual fuck up." You'd say before turning your body away from him annoyed as fuck. "Mamas, you know damn well this ain't worth gettin' all worked up about," Ony would say, glancin' at you for a sec before realizing you were genuinely mad.

"Mamas… can you at least finish my hair before you get mad…?" he'd ask, getting up from where he was sitting and slowly walking over to you. You'd turn your back quickly, throwing the comb you had from doing his hair straight at him. He'd catch it, pissing you off even more as you stormed off into your room, leaving him completely alone in the living room.

He already knew you'd be in your room hitting your vape like a mad woman just out of pure anger. "Mamas.." He'd call from the opposite side of the door, slowly opening as you two make eye contact. "Come back please," he'd plead, already knowing you'd say no as you'd turn your body so your back was now facing him.

You'd hit your vape a couple of times before feeling a small kiss in your neck. "I'm sorry.." He'd whisper softly, knowing this always made you weak. Even before this, in a life before when it came to him his soul knew how to make yours feel better no matter what.

"Why would you say that..?" You'd ask firmly, trying to stand your ground. You'd be caught off guard feeling Ony's warm hands up against your skin. He'd softly play with your tits under your shirt leaving soft love bites on your neck. "You know I don't mean it.." he'd whisper.

"Onyyy-" you'd moan eyes rolling back as you felt his dick hitting you in all the right places. Your pussy creaming all over his dick as he gave you slow deep strokes. "You like that?" He'd ask, slapping your ass as he kept a constant speed.

"Oh-- oh my god.." You'd cry as you felt him pull out slapping his dick against your pussy. Slowly pushing himself back in you'd push your hips back so it'd slip in faster. He'd softly whimper, his eyes focusing on how your pussy swallowed him whole.

"Mama's, stop acting like you can take this dick.." He'd slap your ass getting a gasp out of you. "Y-yes I can!" You'd try to say as you started fucking back into him trying to prove him wrong.

"You always saying that shit until I'm rearranging your guts and you runnin'.." He'd said as he used a hand to push you head down into the bed, already aware of what your stubborn ass was gonna say. "Onyy, fuck mee" you'd whine getting your head pushed down, arching your back more for him.

"mmhm," He'd say putting a leg up onto the bed, as he started to pick up his pace. His eyes focusing now how creamy he could make your pussy, your moans getting louder as you tried your hardest to keep fucking back into him to prove him wrong.

Your eyes getting blurry the moment you felt a slap to your ass, whining you'd turn to look up at him. "Ony, stop being so mean.." You'd weakly let out as you kept fucking yourself onto his dick, he'd raise a brow before pulling out and slapping your pussy. "Ony!" You'd moan the mixture of pain & pleasure confusing you.

He'd go right back to fucking you, but this time his thrusts were deeper, quicker and much more rough. Not even a minute passes by and your cumming, your eyes rolling so far back as your pussy tightened around him.

"See, look at you, a mess." He'd say still fucking you, at the same pace but even rougher. "O-onyyy, too muchhh." you'd cry tears already rolling down you cheek as you felt him speeding up his pace. "But you can take it, right?" He'd continue as he'd slap your ass here and there.

"Can'ttt" you'd cry, reaching a hand back to attempt to push him back. "Mama's, what i said abt running from the dick?" he'd ask ignoring your silly attempt as he picked the pace up fucking you even deeper. "ddont rememberr" you'd babble out feeling like you couldn't remember anything.

"yeah, alright. just move this fucking hand."

" You make me laugh, you make hoarse from yelling at you And getting at you, picking up dishes, throwing them at you "

[pearlescentparade]

Ur probably gonna ignore cuz it’s kinda boring but can i request two time x reader angst ?

Two and reader spending time together, reader trying to enjoy snuggling up to their partner yet two time isn’t returning any of the affection. Just sitting with their hands to themselves with no attempt to do anything besides watch whatever was in front of them.

Basically reader trying to cope with two time not actually returning their feelings despite dating and probably terrible communication.

up to you if two time loves them back.

light years 🔄 two time x reader angst drabble❤️‍🩹

it's cold tonight.

you shouldn't complain, considering it was your idea to go star-gazing. but in your defense, it sounded cute in the moment.

the blades of grass uncomfortably drag against and poke your skin, prickled with goosebumps, as you shift to turn on your side to face two time. they only blankly stare up at the eternal night sky.

"timey?"

they hum, but are complacent in making any other effort beyond that to acknowledge you.

"i'm a little cold.. can we cuddle? ...please?" your whispered pleas could've been mistaken for the ambient howling of the wind. perhaps that's why they don't answer you. but there is much shame to be had in asking again, you think.

hesitantly, and with much space, you reach your hand out to them.

nothing. no acceptance, no rejection.

then, you dare to slink your arms around their body, loosely embracing them as if unsure whether to commit fully to it. you think you feel colder touching them than not.

their body tenses under your touch. did they feel disgusted by you?

you shakily exhale, trying to ignore the deep pain rooting in your heart and constricting your throat. times like these, you wish that they'd start yelling how much they hate you. at least then, you'd know for sure, and you'd know how they feel or think for once. but instead, you are left in the dark, blind and guessing, and playing a game meant for two alone.

a familiar sting burns your eyes, and you take it as your cue to distract yourself.

"..that's orion's belt. it's thr-three stars." you point to the constellation, light years away. two time blinks, inches away. it's less about telling them, and more about telling yourself.

"over there is gemini. it--hic--has the twin stars, castor and- and pollux-" despite your futile attempts, the tears fall anyway. and when one slips out, the rest comes in a flood. it takes only seconds before you're uncontrollably sobbing, muffling your cries in two time's arm.

yet, even as you wet their arm with tears, snot, and saliva, they say nothing. no comfort, no disgust, simply silence.

they couldn't say anything.

not when fear paralyzes them.

they've messed this up before. it's not out of the question to say it could happen again. the same voices that lead them to atrocity chatter viciously in their mind, angry wasps rattling in the nest, urging for another sacrifice.

to once again spill blood, warm with infatuation. to take advantage of this golden opportunity to present their devotion to the spawn by stealing the love they hold with you and metamorphosizing it into the love for their god. one wrong move, and their ghostfire dagger will plunge right into your heart.

to two time, inaction is the greatest reciprocation of love they could offer you.

without turning their head, their eyes flick to glance at your blubbering form.

it's cold tonight.

(parade postscript: sorry this one is a lot shorter mostly bc reader is talking to a fkin brick wall and yk dialogue carries all my mfin writing and also i js thought itd be fitting that everything is all short and lacking bc of the whole two time not showing reciprocation thang [me pulling out a million bullshit excuses out of my ass for why ts is so short and pretending im being a literary genius]

also fun fact! castor and pollux look close together from earth but are farther from each other in reality! castor is actually 51 light-years away, while pollux is closer at 33.8 light-years)

[grimmsbride]

i saw ur that ur request were open and i just need you to hear me out on multipaul 🫣 that man is to dam fine for there to be literally nothing of him 💔 if you write a paul fic MY LIFE IS YOURS 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🙏

𝄃𝄀⠀⠀my mine⠀╲ multi-paul ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary you decide to give your beloved convict boyfriend, paul cha, a little gift <3.

tags canon-divergence | pre-established relationships | ooc characters | paul literally jerks off to pictures of you | mentions of him being an assassin | masturbation | chubby coded reader | etc

authors notes i was so nervous writing this imagine cause i realized i have like, zero input on how paul would act in a relationship 😭 so im sorry if i didn’t do his character justice but i really appreciate you requesting for him, it gives me much needed practice 🫶🏾. as always please excuse any typos and grammar mistakes

Imagine sneaking polaroids to MultiPaul in prison. You don’t know what had driven you to this; whether your mind was clouded with the thought of missing him, or simple human horniness— you had no idea. The only idea that struck you was taking scandalous images with your camera, printing them, and getting them to your lovely, convict boyfriend.

Through the entire prison visit you were practically beaming with excitement, something the man picked up on easy. He was a killer for god’s sake, human nature was something he had to know. Plus, Paul was your boyfriend after all.

So the moment a simple what’s got you so excited? climbed from his lips, you burst out into a little giggle, reaching over the table for his hand— which Paul accepted with zero issues.

“Nothing.. just, so happy to see you.” Despite your words, your hand was busy, pushing something small right into his palm.

Paul was quick yet discreet in accepting it, squeezing your hand for extra measure before slyly pulling his hand away and under the table, tucking the mystery gift right into his pocket.

Now it was his turn to be excited, pretty features pulled into a smile as he tilted his head at you.

“From the way you look, I’m assuming I’m really going to enjoy this gift?”

Your smile was worsening at this point, practically leaning over the table as a sweet; “Oh, you’re going to love it..” escaped you.

You weren’t lying. While Paul was expecting maybe a key or some sort of cliche file to help take his collar off, he certainly wasn’t complaining the moment he tore the film off of his little gift.

There you were, in all your glory, images of yourself in some type of lingerie, position, or even completely bare— that left him salivating. It was no secret Paul missed you, the visits the only solace to the distance between you.

At times it seemed it wasn’t enough, given the amount of restrictions placed on the two of you. No excessive touching, you had to stay across the table, extra bullshit Paul wasn’t in the least impressed with, yet was stuck complying to.

But you, his sweet girlfriend, just knew when to push boundaries. And he was eating up every second of it.

The laminated film shined against the light of his cell, highlighting every perfect curve of your body. Paul’s eyes were practically glued to the photo, thumb sliding across the smooth surface as a soft hiss slipped from him.

Fuck, did he miss you. Every single inch. He missed coming back to you after a particularly hard mission, spotting your waiting body under the blankets to which he would climb under, securing his arms around your waist and pulling you in. You would always cuddle close, hand carrying up and down his body, assuring he sustained no major injuries. Sometimes, your gentle touches would illicit something deep inside his stomach— the man using the little bit of energy he had left to show you how excited he was to be back home.

But now, Paul was stuck in this damned cell, paying for his crimes with only fleeting images of you to keep him company. A sad case indeed, but he knew to make due.

Plus, Paul didn’t particularly plan to stay cooped up so long.

For now however, he would satiate himself with what you provided. Paul backed up until his knees hit his bed, sitting down and turning to press his back against the wall. Flipping through the polaroids, the man felt that familiar ache right between his legs. His hips shifted uncomfortably for a moment, blindly reaching for the zipper of his orange jumper. Revealing his white undershirt, and plain black boxes— the man hissed softly the moment his palm dragged across his growing bulge.

Blindly his fingers swept through the waistband of his underwear, curling around his length whilst his freehand flipped to the next photo. The light of your camera shined against your skin, the man wondering if you’d used some type of glittery lotion the way you just seemed to sparkle. A pretty purple set of lacey lingerie cupped your body perfectly, accentuating your breasts and the curve of your ass— and it certainly didn’t help the way your body arched; showing off every inch of your body.

Slowly, Paul’s palm dragged against his dick, teeth tucked tight against his bottom lip, quieting down his soft grunts. His mind was running wild, thoughts of you consuming him entirely. Replays of your past nights together, the man trying to perfectly remember every twitch and every moan you emitted.

He flinched the moment he made contact with his sensitive tip, hips rising right up into his hand. Precum was trickling from his slit, creating a mess he would concern himself with later— for now, the man was focusing on the next polaroid of you.

The picture featured you straddled a pillow, pretty thighs squeezing the plush item whilst covered in black sheer stockings. Hung up by gaterbelts that dug into your plump flesh, attached to the prettiest black underwear that rested high on your hips. Except this one was different then the other, given the undergarment was entirely crotch less; and the moment that realization hit, Paul was knocking his head back against the wall, closing his eyes tight.

“Fucking tease..” The man muttered to himself, eyebrows pushing close as he continued to fuck his hand. As the pleasure grew, he felt his legs widening, even pushing his boxers down further as his actions grew more vigorous. Paul could just imagine it, fingers playing with the lace and with your exposed pussy; fingers sliding across your wetness before dipping in, rubbing against your walls so perfectly you would cry out his name like some sort of prayer.

Paul’s stomach was clenching as time passed, lips parted as soft breaths escaped. His hand formed into a tight, wet fist, hips rising up into it as glossy eyes took in your last final polaroid.

You were completely bare, legs spread, arms opened— completely exposed to the watchful eye of your camera and Paul himself. He couldn’t help but focus between your thighs, wondering if you played with yourself during this process. The man could just guess how excited you were getting the entire time, pretty lips pouted as sweet moans escaped every time you rubbed at your little button.

Maybe you even played with your breasts; pulling and squeezing your nipples until they peaked, that thought alone caused him to twitch, hand falling to his side as the images laid out amongst his bed.

Paul dragged his hand up and down his length urgently, bated breaths and quick swears falling from his lips before he clenched, making a complete mess of his lower half.

Slowly, his hand slid down to his waist, slumping against the wall entirely as soft pants escaped him. His eyes closed, attempting to regain his breath after that little event.

Soon enough Paul’s eyes were opening, peeking at the pictures amongst his blankets, the corner of his mouth twitching into a little smile.

Which slowly fell the moment he glanced down at his legs, releasing the loudest sigh ever.

Now.. to get cleaned up.

[littlelamy]

rafe spiraling at the house party because you’re there with your new bf and he’s jealous and he’s all like “if you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back why don’t you just say it to my face” and he hates that smug look on your face it infuriates him. the fact that you’re able to move on from him and his blood boils just thinking about it

a/n: im think of making a pt.2 where he begs to get you back but idk🤭 thank you for sending a request!!

the music’s pounding in your chest, the low hum of conversation filling the air as you laugh at something your boyfriend just said. you feel a bit lighter tonight, like you can breathe, finally moving on from all the chaos rafe brought into your life. but as you glance across the room, you lock eyes with him, and all that ease disappears.

rafe is leaning against the kitchen counter, jaw tight, eyes dark. he’s been staring at you for the longest, barely blinking, his grip so tight on the cup in his hand you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. he looks furious, like he can barely keep it together.

"fuckin’ knew she was gonna be here," you hear him mutter to topper, his voice slurred with alcohol and anger. topper shakes his head, tries to calm him down, but rafe’s already in his head, spiraling.

you can see the storm brewing from across the room, but you don’t care. at least, you tell yourself you don’t. you stand a little closer to your boyfriend, let your hand brush his arm, all while keeping an eye on rafe. you know what he’s like when he’s pissed off, and tonight’s no exception.

suddenly, rafe pushes off the counter, stumbling forward until he’s in the middle of the room. his eyes never leave you. the noise of the party dulls, or maybe it’s just that all your attention is on him now, the way he’s zeroed in on you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment.

he doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, his chest heaving like he’s holding back every insult he’s been dying to spit out.

"if you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back, why don’t you just say it to my face?" he growls, slapping his cheek. his voice is venomous, dripping with jealousy, and his eyes flick from you to your boyfriend, barely concealing the rage underneath.

your boyfriend stands a little taller, his arm shifting like he’s about to say something, but you place a hand on his chest, stopping him before he gets involved. this isn’t his fight.

“what’s your problem, rafe?” you ask calmly, that smug smile already tugging at your lips because you know exactly what’s driving him insane. you can see it, feel it radiating off him—he can’t stand seeing you with someone else.

rafe steps closer, the scent of alcohol strong on his breath. “my problem?” he scoffs, taking another step forward until he’s right in your face. “my fuckin’ problem is you, princess. standing here with the punk like it doesn’t even fuckin’ matter.”

topper’s behind him, pulling at his shoulder, whispering something in his ear, but rafe shrugs him off like he doesn’t even feel it. “get the fuck off me,” he snaps, brushing topper’s hand away. “i’m not done.”

you stay rooted in place, meeting his gaze without flinching. he hates that, how unfazed you seem, like you’re not even bothered by his presence.

“you don’t scare me anymore, rafe,” you say, voice steady but laced with a bitterness that matches his anger. “you don’t get to control me.”

“control?” rafe’s eyes narrow. “i wasn’t tryin’ to control shit. i was tryin’ to fuckin’ love you, and you—” he stops himself, jaw clenching, his fists balling at his sides as he grits out, “you just threw it all away.”

the smugness in your smile only grows. “i threw it away?” you laugh under your breath, stepping closer to him, closing the gap so it’s just you and him in this moment. you lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “you should’ve treated me right when you had me.”

rafe stiffens at your words, his breath catching in his throat as you pull back, locking eyes with him. he doesn’t say anything for a second, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out what to do with all the emotions flooding his system. his blood is boiling, you can practically see it in the way his skin flushes, the way his hands tremble.

“fuck you,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. his eyes flash with something dark, something dangerous. “you’ll come back. you always do.”

topper’s back at his side now, grabbing him with more force, dragging him away from you before things get any worse. rafe fights it for a second, his eyes still locked on you, but eventually, he stumbles back, letting topper pull him out of the room.

but even as he’s led away, you can feel the intensity of his gaze on you. his world is spiraling, crashing down, and all because of you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

[jjsloverre]

babydaddy!jj taking pouge!reader on their first official date for valentine’s day!

in which… jj is on a mission to man up for you and the baby. his first step is taking you on an official date.

contains… a bit of angst, fluffy fluff, cursing, jjs first step in becoming a better man! (not proofread)

__________________________________________________________

being with jj wasn’t easy, bitches still flirted, he still acknowledged them, possibly sleeping with them… who knows at this point? he’d been ignoring you and yelling at you for days, you didn’t understand what you were doing wrong, then kiara comes in and says that he’s staying with her instead. figures right?! your best friend, way prettier and she’s not pregnant? jj would have a good time.

“hi pretty, whatcha thinkin bout?”

you were surprised to see jj right there with your favorite pink roses. “went across the world to find these damn flowers for you mama to be! go get ready, i got dinner reservations for us.”

“for what?” you ask confused.

“it’s valentine’s day? i want to take the mother of my child out on a real date, show her how much i appreciate her carrying my child and never giving up. you’re amazing, my superstar.” he kissed your temple, not wanting to overstep your boundaries. “please let me take you out.”

“i don’t really wanna go out.” you lied. it was bullshit. you just didn’t want to be out with him.

“alright… i’ll just sit here then and bring the dinner to you.”

“or you can just go home.” you cut him off. he sensed it, you didn’t want him there. tears welled up in his eyes but he pushed it back. “it’s my only time to take you out, i have work nonstop… im sorry for hurting you i really am, just let me try and make it up.” one tear escapes his eye. you never saw jj cry, not ever. he barley cried when his dad abused him. but he’s crying in your face? all because you don’t want to spend time with him? somethings up.

as fast as the moment came, it left instantly. jj realized you were staring at his tears and quickly wiped them away. “but if you don’t want to spend time together it’s fine. i could take the extra shifts for some more money anyway.” something in you snapped. “sit down.” you demanded. jj immediately sat down, looking for the first time in years, looked nervous.

“did i do something? do you want money? anything you want please just tell me, i don’t want to get yelled at today.. just tell me how to fix it and i will.” you rolled your eyes. “i’m not mad.” jj nodded. he continued to fidget and was over the top nervous. your mind drifted back to the weeks jj calmed you down during doctors appointments, during outings, through it all. the least you could do was cuddle him and tell him everything’s okay.

so you did just that. you wrapped your arms around his trembling body. “look at me.” you demanded. jj reluctantly looked up at you, taking in your beautiful features. he was shaking uncontrollably now, tears welling up in his blue eyes. you quickly kissed his forehead. “shhh baby, everything’s okay.” you whispered to the blonde. in that moment, he was just a lost boy who could never find his way, but somehow; his way was to and with you. “let’s go out today, just like you wanted.” you promised him.

“i wanted to do it for you if you wanted to go.”

“well now i want to go. so go get that cute little outfit you were gonna wear while i put mine on.” jj nodded and kissed your cheek. “thank you for this beautiful. i won’t disappoint you ever again.”

once you arrived to the restaurant hand in hand, you notice that jj had rented the whole place. “this cost my whole fuckin’ check but i wanted you to be happy, oh! and here! i got you your favorite flowers.” jj exclaimed. you were over the moon with the flowers. your pregnancy made you overly emotional and the flowers were icing on the cake, or so you thought.

“order whatever you want beautiful!” you started to see the real jj, he was a really happy boy, a happy boy who was misunderstood. you moved your seat and sat close beside him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“honey— it’s supposed to be a date! you’re supposed to be on the other side so we can hold hands or shit like that.” jj reminded you.

“i wanna be right here. wanna be near you.” jj nodded, and wrapped his arm around your waist, then the waitress comes to your table. “go ahead and order love.”

once you both ordered, you had conversations. conversations about the baby, the potential gender, clothes, living situations, child support all of it. “i’m not putting you on child support jj.” he looked down at you surprised. “really? i mean why?”

“you literally always give me your whole check. maybe one time you gave me 2/4 of your check cause you had to play bills.” you explained to him. “thank you sweetheart. i promise i won’t fuck this up anymore, i’m all yours.”

“speaking of, block kie.” jj was extremely caught off guard. “i don’t have her blocked already? ok well you do it for me and just block anyone you don’t want me talking to.”

“good deal!”

when your food and drinks come, you both dig in, your eyes watered at jj’s plate and instantly wanting it in your mouth. “baby… can i have just a bite?” he smiled and fed you. “taste good sweetheart?”

“i love it! i want more!” he gave you another big bite. “you look so cute eating my food like that.” he cooed at you. suddenly, jj sat you in his lap and pulled your food closer. “i love being this close to you baby, i’m happy you changed your mind about letting me take you out. i wanna do right by you y/n, just want you to be a happy girl and a happy mom.” your heart soared at his words. “you’ll think we’ll make it?” you asked him curiously.

“of course we will, baby you and our child are the only things keeping me held down. if it weren’t for you, i’d probably be getting my ass beat or sitting in a cell, i’m grateful for you and gonna do anything and everything for you.”

“you’re sweet. thank you for this dinner baby. it really helped me open my eyes about our relationship.”

“it’s a relationship now??”

“don’t get too ahead of yourself.” you giggle. “you need to properly ask me.” he nodded and pulled out a small box. “one more gift beautiful.”

he pulls out a stunning necklace and attaches it to your neck. “happy valentine’s day beautiful.”

__________________________________________________________

taglist: @sturniologirlzz @sturns-mermaid @ethanthequeefqueen @superlegend216 @masongetinmybed @sophand4n4 @aaliyahsturniolo @eddxemxnson @kieeslove @bee-43 @always-reading @leaseyes @slut4rafecameronn @maybankslover @imsiriuslyreal @sttaejoon-blog @glitterybombshell @moonywhisp3rs @idontknowwhyimhere33 @coalicionees

more babydaddy!jj x pouge!reader here

[rosenclaws]

Restless night | Variant!Logan x reader

summary: Logan has nightmares about his world and you want to help.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of bodies (not graphic), sad logan, possibly ooc bc ive never written for him im sorry dfslj. Reader has like, memory manipulation powers? Ig that's how you'd explain them??

a/n: Hello! This is my first Logan fic ever and I am very nervous but after watching Deadpool I have fallen in love with wolverine, particularly this wolverine. I don't know if I'll ever write again for him but I wrote this and felt like sharing so I hope you like it too <3

wc: 1.7k

"Logan!" You yell angrily. He grits his teeth as you slam the door wide open. Curious heads turn towards the two of you as you storm after him. 

"What." He bites back as he continues to walk. 

"Can you just stop for one fucking second!" Your fists clench at your sides as you stop right in front of the front doors. "You are a real asshole, you know that? You're a mutant whether you like it or not. So how about doing something good and helping us." He pulls out a cigar and lights it, blowing the smoke directly into your face. 

"For the last fucking time, I don't want any part of your X-Men bullshit." You sigh and shake your head. So fucking stubborn. 

"We need you Logan, please. I need you please." You place your hand on his arm, rubbing your thumb over his leather jacket. For a moment you think he might stay. Maybe he'll admit for once in his life that he wants the family that waits for him here. Instead he pushes your hand off. Rolls his eyes and walks straight past you. 

"Fuck off." He walks out the doors, letting them slam loudly.

Those were the last words he ever spoke to you. Well, the you that he knew.

"Logan?" He flinches hard as your voice snaps him from his spiral. 

It makes his stomach turn to see you. You look exactly how he remembers. Except you have a scar on your forehead. His eyes focus on that, a reminder that you're not the you he knew. No, in this universe you're Wade's next door neighbor. A mutant who retired from teaching at the mansion and lives a quiet, happy life. At least you're happy in this world. 

"M'fine." He mumbles as he stands up from the table. No one was really paying attention to the two of you as dinner was dying down. You want to say more but he leaves before you can. Sighing, you watch him retreat into his room. He's barely said two words at a time to you. No matter how hard you try he refuses to speak to you. At first you thought you had done something but the few times you've caught him staring you see a terrible sadness in his eyes. You know he's from another timeline and that something went terribly wrong. Your room shares a wall with his and as hard as he tries he can't hide his nightmares.

"Don't worry about him, he's got that tragic backstory kind of character development going." Wade comments. "God knows he could use some therapy but I doubt Marvel would ever green light that movie." You nod absentmindedly, not really listening to Wade's rambling. 

You float around for a little longer until you can silently excuse yourself and go back to your own apartment. Logan stays on your mind the whole time. You wonder if he knew you in his world. If something had happened that made him like this. As you lay in bed you close your eyes and listen, you can hear him tossing and turning. He settles and you silently hope that for once he can sleep through the night. 

It's eerily silent as he stumbles back to the mansion. He stops right outside of the door. His ears alert for the sound of you to see if you were awake yet. Except no matter how hard he listens he can't hear anything. A horrible scent fills his nose and it makes him sick. The smell of blood. Barging through the door's he's met with destruction and bodies.

This is a nightmare, it has to be. He calls your name frantically. Racing through the mansion, begging for anyone to be alive. Instead he finds body after body. Until he stumbles upon yours. He falls to his knees, his hands ghosting over your face. You look so peaceful but you're cold to the touch. Maybe if he had been there, he could have saved you.

His claws unsheathe themselves as white hot rage bubbles to the surface. Without another word he walks out of the mansion with only the thought of killing on his mind. Blood for blood.

Logan's voice is what wakes you up. Even through the walls you can hear him. You can't quite make out what he's saying but it's clearly a nightmare. He's turning wildly. You knock on the wall, hoping maybe it would wake him somehow. Worry builds as he gets louder. 

Suddenly through the walls you hear a resounding shout before metal claws burst through your wall. You can't help but scream as they miss you by only a few inches. Breathing heavily you slowly reach out to touch them but they retract before you can.

"Fuck!" You hear him shout. The sound of scrambling and frantic footsteps following his outburst. A loud knocking fills your apartment as you shake off the shock. Quickly you rush to the door and open it, finding a shirtless Logan standing before you. His eyes scan you for injuries, injuries that he would have caused. He grabs your arms firmly and pushes you inside, closing the door behind him with his foot. 

"Logan I'm okay, just a little startled." You try to reassure him but he doesn't hear you. His mind is snowballing out of control. 

"Logan!" You say louder and he finally looks at you. 

"I'm okay." You say softly. Slowly he loosens his grip as he lets his body relax, but only a little. 

"Another nightmare?" You ask and he nods. His eyes drift to your open bedroom door. He can see the holes left by his claws. Just how close they sit next to your pillow. Guilt floods him as he deflates.

"I..." He doesn't really know what to say. This would be your first real conversation since he came to this world. For years he's thought about what he'd say to you if he was ever gifted the chance. Yet, he stands here completely silent. 

"They're getting worse." You say, breaking the silence. 

Cautiously you reach to take his hand. He closes his eyes as he feels your thumb rub along the top of his hand. He lets you guide him to your bedroom. When you let go he almost reaches out to take it back, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns his attention towards your wall. He’s ruined a fair amount of bed sheets before but this was new. He traces the holes with his hand. Wincing as he notices just how close he was to cutting you open. 

"Sit." You gesture to the empty side of your bed. He hesitates and you huff. 

"Humor me." You plead and he can't find it in himself to say no. 

It's almost too much as he sits down, everything smells like you. Your hands move towards his temples but he grabs your wrists before you can go any further.

"Logan, let me help." He half smiles at that. 

"You were always so persistent about that." Your eyes widen as you realize he's talking about his universe’s you. 

"I told you I didn't want you poking around in my head but you just wanted to help the nightmares. I never let you though" He admits. 

"I should've. I should've stopped being a stubborn ass and just listen to you." His voice wavers and you have a feeling he's not talking about dreams anymore. 

"Then listen to me and let me help you." He lets go of your wrists and looks up at your face. Savoring the look of kindness in your eyes. 

"You don't want to go in here, once you do..." Wordlessly you place your fingers on the side of his head. Suddenly you're overcome with visions of bloodshed and anger. A tear slips down your face as you see flashes of Logan's memories. 

The rage, the hopelessness, the darkness that plagues his mind. Through all of that there was a lurking feeling of indescribable guilt. So much pain, so much sorrow. Logan knocks your hands away as he watches more tears pour down your face. You open your eyes and wipe the tears away. 

"I told you baby," He waits for you to move away from him. To call him a monster. It's what he deserves. To his surprise you wrap your arms around him instead. He buries his face in your shoulder and hugs you tight. 

"I'm so sorry." It’s the last thing he expects to hear and it nearly breaks him.

"What I did.." 

"You were in pain, so much pain." You know it's not easy for him to see but all of this pain led to him becoming the hero he never thought he could be. 

"You saved the world Logan. You're a hero whether you like it or not." He winces as he remembers you say something similar to him before. "And a hero deserves to sleep peacefully, for one night at least."

"You won't stop will you?" You shake your head and he finally relents.

He sinks down into your bed, resting his head on your lap. You bring your fingers back to the side of his head and use your powers to calm his mind. Searching for happy memories and temporarily suppressing the bad ones. Calmness washes over him, a feeling he hasn't felt in years. He's already drifting in and out of sleep but something nags at him from the back of his mind. 

"I loved you. My universe's you." He admits in a whisper. The words he never got to say. It's been eating him alive for decades. He never got to say them to you, he was too much of a coward. 

Your heart skips a beat at his confession and he can hear it. You don't respond, instead offering a comforting hum. He doesn't know you. The similarities are there but he knows you're two different people. But he wants to know you and he hopes you feel the same way. For a moment he thinks that maybe the universe is finally giving him what he's always wanted, a second chance.  

"Sleep well Logan." You watch his breathing slow and his mind settle. Though you could stop using your powers now, you hold on for a while longer.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan sleeps.

[biolumien]

... carried flower petals

pt 2 to this

notes: I AM. such a bad writer. help. going through double the stages of grief on this one. who even cares. who even gaf! i don't. im winning in the dgaf wars. (lying)

samurai!soshiro hoshina x fem!reader NSFW! w/ m/f sex. no i did not proofread this. this isn't a flex i actively just squinted trying not to look too hard at my own writing. this is also hoshina pov word count: 2415

hoshina supposes that he couldn’t blame you for your reaction. there was no way you would have been happy about marrying him, a complete and utter stranger–no matter how many times you might have met prior. and in the three times you’d met, he’d tried to keep his distance. there was an aura of deep discontent about you, and he didn’t want to disturb you, for fear that your anger would turn darker.

at least, until you pulled a dagger on him.

the dagger that he’d gifted you, no less. 

or, well–he hadn’t gifted it to you directly. he had selected the gift, but it had come alongside the marriage offer–and so hoshina wondered if you’d conflated the dagger as something utterly negative. when he’d picked out the dagger, he’d vowed it to keep you safe from harm. a selfish well-wishing on his part, sure–as a samurai, he was bound to make enemies that could hurt you.

he raises a hand to his neck, touching where you might have slashed him.

would he have let you? 

he brings himself to his feet as the sliding door to his room opens. you stand in the doorway, dressed in a simple nightgown–a far cry from the garments you wore during the ceremony. 

his mind flits back to them, for a moment–you’d chosen to wear pure white, contrasting him in his black haori and hakama. your expression had been severe, distant even then. you’d followed your new attendants into the quarters of your new housing within the hoshina clan’s home to change out of your wedding attire, and you hadn’t met his glance once.

you bow your head.

“your attendants tell me you’re quite the talent in bed,” you say, your voice crisp. your eyes meet his, your gaze unreadable. his eyes flick to your hands, folded neatly in front of you–and yet your fingers are fidgeting ever so slightly, a possible indication of just how nervous you were. 

hoshina can’t help but laugh.

“is that what they say? my mother can’t help but find people that run their mouths…” hoshina runs a hand through his hair. “sit. i can’t have my wife–” the word still felt foreign to him–wife, he was really a husband, was that even a moniker that fit him?–but he swallows his misgivings, pats one of the cushions next to the futon. “–standing for so long. it would be unfitting.”

“so are you?” you gather your kimono, sitting down. 

hoshina hums.

“if i tell you, would you see me differently?” hoshina asks.

“well. you’re my husband,” you say. the corners of your lips twitch when you say the word husband, your brow furrowing a little bit as you say it. a clear show of your definite displeasure. “i have to… accept it, after all. as your wife. hell, your attendants tell me that you were in the process of courting concu–”

“ahh,” hoshina leans his head back. “so is that what that’s all about?” he sighs, a strange, tightening pressure forming somewhere in his throat. the marriage acceptance hadn’t been on his end. it’d been his father’s, much to his mother’s chagrin. you were from a no-name clan, having long lost your family’s relevance. his mother had complained about your family’s name dragging down the hoshina family’s name.

but as hoshina reminisced–he couldn’t give a damn about his family name.

his brother–his proud, arrogant, stubborn, awful brother–had made his opinion on their family name very clear, by just leaving.

hoshina did resent him for it, just a little. it just meant that he couldn’t run away, now. 

“no. the concubine rumor’s bullshit,” hoshina says. “quite honestly, i couldn’t be bothered. i’m not in the interest of producing my family an heir.”

“huh?” you ask, sounding confused. “but–” “i mean. the sex is fine,” hoshina says candidly, placidly. “and if the family gets an heir, we get an heir. but it’s never been my concern. i think you ought not to worry about it, either. our families need each other. it’ll be reason enough for you to stay.” 

you stare at him, perplexed for the moment, before your brow also furrows. 

“so, you… don’t, want—”

“mm. you pulled a knife on me last time we talked,” hoshina teases as he begins to undo his ponytail. “i thought that made your opinion on me fairly clear. i won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable if you don’t want it. my folks won’t be happy, but there’s nothing like lying that can’t fix that.” he runs a hand through his hair. “so it’s your call.”

you watch him. 

“it’s fine,” you say. you lean in closer to him, and he simply watches you—watches you like he did on the first day the two of you met, watches you like he did when you raised the dagger to his throat. always watching, waiting for you to make the first move. 

“i’d rather just get it over with,” you say. “the first time.” 

“mm. as you command, then,” hoshina says. 

when he leans in to kiss you, he does it slowly. you taste faintly of the sake you drank during the marriage ceremony, though the alcohol has long worn off. 

he wishes he could take you apart more cleanly. to take you apart with intention. he can draw the lines from the veins in your wrist to the beating, fluttering of your heart in your breast. you kiss him with your eyes open, as if you’re watching for his every movement. he supposes that he’s watching you, too, trying to see what you’ll do. what you like. 

“are you just going to kiss me?” you murmur, something like spite in your voice. “or are you actually going to show me something interesting?” 

“interesting?” he pulls back from the kiss, raising an eyebrow. 

“i’ve read all the woodcuts,” you say. “as apparently was my duty as your wife. i was just wondering if there was anything more interesting than that.” 

“mm. you can’t possibly learn what it feels like through reading alone,” hoshina says. “experience is the best teacher.”

“big talk,” you retort. hoshina almost hates the way his heart flutters at your words, entranced by you. one hand reaches out to touch your face, the other hand gently reaching down to undo your obi as he pulls you closer to him, letting you straddle his lap. 

“i’m afraid most of my lovers say i’m a talkative one,” hoshina purrs. “but i hope you’ll find me satisfactory.” when he leans in to kiss you again, your sash falls gently onto the ground, and the inner layers of your kimono come undone.  

he’s had no small share of lovers—or, well, general brothel experience, he supposes. he’s a man in the end—a samurai from a family of renown, for whom many lovers might have found him appealing simply for how much money he was willing to pay for good service. but he knows what he’s doing, in any case.

he revels in it, though—at how responsive and jittery you seem to be. the faintest touch of his hand against your skin is enough to make you jolt out of your skin, and you whimper ever so slightly as his fingers pull at a nipple, and he feels your pulse jump in your throat as his teeth graze at your neck. he feels you shift against him, attempt to press your thighs together and he laughs. 

he’s surprised there, too—the way you shudder when he laughs, as he’s pressed against you. 

when his fingers seek between your legs, he’s thrilled, but still surprised to find the telltale sign of slick. 

“mm. this wet already, really?” hoshina teases. his hand brushes against your inner thigh, coaxing you to spread your legs a little more, and he feels your leg twitch against the shift of his knuckles. “you’re desperate.” 

“as if.” your breath sounds shuddery, and hoshina laughs, not meanly. he wonders how he could take you apart—could he use just his mouth? his fingers? the mere suggestion of touching you, just using words alone? he wanted to know, desperately so. desperately in the same way he wanted to know your heart, if only you’d let him. but in the meantime, he smiles—and it’s more of a smirk. 

he takes his fingers to his mouth, sucking the wetness from his fingers, and he revels in the way you flush, a half-scandalized and half-flustered sound escaping your mouth. 

“it’s alright,” hoshina says, teasing. 

“i don’t—need you to tell me it’s alright,” you say, flustered. “i just—”

“less talking from you,” hoshina says, fondly. gently. he’s entranced by you, the swell of your breast and the way your skin flushes red from your neck to your collarbones. he wishes he could sink his teeth into your pulse—or would you give him your beating heart, let him devour the tender organ? “you’re doing wonderfully. do you feel up for more?” 

you pause, biting your lip. he marvels at the way your fingers twitch against his in anticipation, and your brow furrows. 

“let—i want to be on top,” you say, and hoshina simply smiles. 

“alright,” he acquiesces. “i’m all yours.”

that much was true. he was learning far too quickly that he was very much a man that would follow you anywhere, that he was at your beck and call. 

you help him undress with shaking hands, pulling his belt away and pushing the kimono from his shoulders. your hands stop for a moment as you survey his chest—hoshina watches your face, propped back and leaning back on his hands. your fingers press against a deep scar against his chest, and your eyes meet his. 

“long story,” hoshina says softly. “not the kind i’d tell my wife on our first night together, anyhow.” 

your hand gently touches his cock and he hisses, practically, wincing at how it feels like too much and not much at all. it takes most of his discipline to not rut up into the touch, to let himself be taken by that pleasure. you gently push him back, letting him lie back against the futon. 

as you lower yourself slowly onto his cock, hoshina watches as your fingers flex against his chest, your eyes squeeze and your toes desperately curl. he shifts his hips a little bit, and you whimper. 

“don’t tease,” you keen. 

“m’not.”

hoshina thinks it’s quite the opposite, really. he’s a patient man, but not this patient. you’re about halfway down his cock at this point, slowly taking him in bit by bit—and then his patience just snaps somehow when he hears you whine again. not in a bad way—just in a he’ll fucking die like this, he’s sure kind of way. 

you gasp immediately as he thrusts up, causing you to bottom out. your hips meet his, and you lean your head back, a loud and desperate moan leaving your lips. 

“y-you awful man,” you moan out, something like a pout in your tone. “i wanted to take my time—”

“mm—hm. sorry,” hoshina teases, not quite apologetic at all. his voice strains a bit—you feel almost like a fire, your cunt desperately squeezing against his cock. “just don’t think i’ll last long with you squeezing me like this. does it feel that good?”

your face flushes, your hair plastered to your forehead. 

“shut up.”

“i’ll take that as a yes, then,” hoshina says, unrepentant in the way he thrusts up into you, reveling in the way you respond to each movement with tiny little whimpers that stretch into longer and longer cries. you don’t say his name, but he finds himself uncaring for the moment. does he wish you’d say his name? does he wish, however selfishly, that this moment might burn itself into your memory?

surely he doesn’t. it would be unbecoming of him to ask that much. 

your hand leans out, digging into his skin, and he lets out a soft, raspy breath, taking your hand into his. 

“‘m close,” you whimper out through shaking breaths, and hoshina’s heart squeezes again, at the way your hips cant against his, as if each touch almost hurts, but you can’t help but continue to press your hips against his, trying to find more traction. hoshina smirks, his free hand reaching out to thumb at your clit, flicking upwards, and tries to see if he can memorize the way you seize up against him, the way you squeeze down on his cock–tries to see if he can memorize every twitch.

he hopes he can.

you cum soon after, and your hand digs into his so hard that he wonders if you might be able to break his fingers one day–and hopes that you can. he holds you tightly against him, letting you ride out the waves of your orgasm as you whimper tiny uh, uh, uhs–until you wince.

“hurts, i–please,” you say, and hoshina takes pity on you for the moment, pulls out, and strokes soothingly at your face. your chest heaves, and hoshina thinks he could get lost in your every motion. as hoshina shifts to move away–he’d rather prioritize your comfort over his in the end, so despite the fact that he was hard to the point it almost hurt, he figured he’d just deal with it on his own—you shift up.

“but you–you didn’t,” you say after a moment, grabbing his wrist. 

“hm?” hoshina hums. “mm. don’t worry about me, dear. i’m more than capable of–fuck, you–” his voice halts right as your hand wraps around his cock, your thumb grazing over the head of it ever so gently. “fuck. you-you don’t have to–”

“please,” you say, something like disdain–or spite? or something, he really couldn’t tell–in your voice. “i can do this much.”

he cums embarrassingly fast–the mixture of being so strung out at this point, so strangely affected, enamored by you–and he can’t help but laugh. he wants to press his face into your collarbone, but he can’t bring himself to cross the distance. he hums, instead, simply exhaling through his teeth for a moment.

“get some rest,” hoshina says. he watches as your face shifts ever so slightly–and he wishes he knew you better, if only so he could understand what you were thinking.

“alright,” you say.

hoshina fears he’s in love.

but the part of him that knows better says he shouldn’t be. he watches silvery moonlight paint the planes of your back, and you turn away from him, lost in sleep. 

he sighs.

[caitlinbueckers]

ok Ik you said Pazzi fic in studio but will never get the idea of Paige calling azzi mamas out of my head so just felt like I needed to share an idea for a blurb or to include in anything you write PAIGE CALLINF AZZI MAMAS

anon ur a genius but i am simply a fool who took this prompt and then ran with it and turned it into a random oneshot soooooo i apologize for the minimal use of ‘mamas’ but hope u like it anyway and will implement that in all my writing deadass

pet names.

paige bueckers/azzi fudd.

2.8K.

kinda bullshit rambling but a lil more of a structure to follow???

minimal nsfw so 18+ as fuck

Wait guys let me know how u rly feel bcuz im not suuuper happy w this one

at first, it’s a subtle change.

it’s not like paige is ever actually serious enough for her words to be taken to heart or with any ounce of meaning behind it— she’s a fucking idiot, and azzi was more than well aware of her incessant antics, and the fact that she just played too much.

so, of course it surprises her, but she can’t say it really means anything, until it does.

it’s funny to azzi, really, when recently, all of a sudden, paige will get caught up in her usual tangents that she’s started letting these random, little pet names slip from her lips, mouth moving so fast, almost as if she barely meant it, could barely even call it out herself.

it happens usually when they’re tired— or, at least when azzi’s tired, and paige is excited. sweat clinging to the back of azzi’s neck, her curls drawing up and away from the edges of her hairline, skin flushed and hot to the touch when paige is suddenly breezing past her. she’s somehow still in a jog despite the rigorous drills they’d done, oblivious to the redness of her face or the plastered strands of blonde hair against her forehead. she’s at the tail end of a conversation with KK, still grinning like a fool about whatever they must’ve been chattering about, yelling out some type of phrase or joke that only those two could conjur up.

azzi’s right eyebrow is already lifted, somehow already suspicious and unimpressed of her intentions when paige is launching straight into a new conversation, cheeks still pink and teeth on display as she skips backwards to keep her eyes on azzi.

“i think me an’ KK are ‘finna go play 2K when we get back to the dorms— i told her ass she doesn’t stand like, a single chance when I’ve been on my grind, and she don’t believe me, like, baby, you know i’ve been on that shit,” she clicks her tongue, rolls her eyes before she’s smacking azzi’s arm, giving her a sneaky grin, one that signaled whatever she was offering was really gonna be a delight, (it never was), “you should come chill. you don’t gotta play if you don’t want, you can always be my lil’ cheerleader.”

it wasn’t like her high energy, rapid movement behavior was anything unusual, but that little, barely missable word was.

baby. it rolls off her tongue like it’s been waiting around the whole time, lingering beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to strike. she says it with an ease of comfort she can’t necessarily place, and azzi doesn’t necessarily hate it, but it’s there, nonetheless.

it momentarily stunts her, but azzi still finds herself smiling— not from any type of fluster or flush miraculously, but one that she usually gives paige when she’s amused by her, eyes wide and exaggerated as she huffs out a chuckle. “that sounds… boring, honestly.” but, she’s laughing at the gape on paige’s face anywa, “i need to shower, dude, i don’t wanna watch video games.” she scoffs, before she grins at her, only because she knows it’ll piss paige off.

and it does, so, of course the walk out to the parking lot is filled with a whole lot of, ‘oh my god, bro, you’re so lame.’ or, ‘like, azzi, you can have a turn ‘forreal, like just come over for like, deadass a second.’

ultimately, and unsurprisingly enough, paige ends up getting her way. though, she’ll swear it’s only because azzi takes her shower, does some homework and is in the middle of taking out her braids when the word hits her again, and again, and again.

babybabybaby.

she can’t really blame the way she rolls her eyes despite herself. her and paige had been close for fucking ever, so there wasn’t necessarily much between them that was off limits, but it still resonated within her as something azzi couldn’t just brush off. whether that was more damaging than pretending it never happened, she didn’t have a single clue.

all she did know, was that paige bueckers got her way entirely way too much. so much so, that azzi has to let out an audible groan reserved only for paige, before she texts that she’s on her way over.

and yeah, whatever, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if it was just a one-off, or if maybe their friendship wasn’t so fucking complicated in the first place.

but then, it does matter, because it doesn’t stop happening.

when paige is frustrated at her homework, sitting plainly with her legs at full extension in the study room with aaliyah, ice, and azzi, it leaves her lips in a huff of exasperation, “azzi, babe, this shit really makes no sense, swear.” even if she’s saying it in the voice that clearly states she hasn’t attempted it for nearly long enough to proclaim she doesn’t get it, “az, can you please just come check it out.” azzi can’t tell what’s worse; the fact that paige had said it, or the fact that nobody had even looked surprised that she did.

or when they’d gotten dressed for media day, everyone milling about as they try not to wrinkle their uniforms or crease their concealer, it’s paige (and eventually nika and aaliyah) that whoops and hollers during azzi’s solo pictures, something like, “yeaaaah princess! nation’s best, babyyyyy! work that shit!” followed by a series of whistles that sounded so off pitch it makes azzi snort, rolling her eyes as she purposely avoids the gaze that paige so obviously wants to capture, teetering at the edges of azzi’s peripheral with a grin so wide it threatens to make her blush.

and, she swears she doesn’t, and instead turns back to the photographer with cheeks only a touch pinker than they were previously, “sorry— can we do that again?”

really, the only time she’d ever allowed herself to actually enjoy it, was on the last night at the hotel after a game. it couldn’t have been later than two or three in the morning, paige and azzi having spent the majority of it whispering beneath the covers, anything to not wake up the two other girls asleep in the other double bed.

it’s not too bad, having to share beds— except that, paige is a chronic cuddler and azzi would rather sleep on the shitty futon than be subjected to paige’s unrelenting weight against her back, or her arms slung lazily over her, but it was because of that precise position that azzi could even hear the words when she says it.

“mmmh-,“ she hums tiredly first, speaking mostly out of her ass, like paige always did when got too tired and let herself start rambling “night, pretty girl.”

it’s soft, and sort of raspy— the way paige gets when she’s been screaming all night on the court, and azzi can really only tell by the amount of ibuprofen that she’d downed before bed being somewhat more than her usual, that she’s probably got a headache. it’s a voice she uses when she’s being sincere.

the quiet sentiment, however insignificant to anyone else, replays in her mind. almost like a secret. almost like the closer she keeps it to her chest, the harder it’ll be to lose it.

it makes her whole body warm all over.

her response comes a few beats later, when she’s sure paige has drifted, and nothing but her measured breath is puffing against azzi’s neck, heard only between the two of them.

“night, p.”

but then, suddenly, everything sort of changes. azzi doesn’t know when this part happened— maybe it’s between the time she kisses her at that bar, tipsy and too close, unaware of the camera that set the internet aflame, and now, where it was customary that paige did homework with her, or ate dinner with her or slept over all the time. perhaps, it’s one selective moment in the chaos between that had suddenly transformed paige’s subtle casualty of the pet names, to something more intimate. more for them, rather for anyone else.

or, maybe it was exactly where they knew they’d end up all along.

it’s after a night out, after neither of them had ever really questioned how this had became their routine. that now, it had become something unspoken, an inherent rule that was followed without it needing to be stated. that, when they got too fucked up with the team, and the ubers were being ordered, azzi and paige always went together, that the address would always end up being paige’s dorm, and that azzi would always be curling into purple sheets by the time she sobers up enough to sleep.

but, she’s not sober. she’s drunk, and her face is flushed hot, sticky with the bar atmosphere. “paige, you’re making me too hot.” azzi complains with an impatient lilt to her voice, lifting her right shoulder up to her neck as if to shrug paige off, but the girl is relentless, humming her denial as she slid a hand across azzi’s thigh, grasping it hard enough that her nails dug into the skin there.

“psh, you’re already hot, shut up.” the words are spoken clumsily, lips brushing against the bare skin of azzi’s shoulder with each word, while a sudden surge of annoyance and somehow gratitude courses through azzi for having worn a sleeveless top, “c’mere, mamas, ‘lemme lay on you.”

she’s being whiny, and it only makes azzi roll her eyes before her gaze flickers to the screen of the car, giving her another light elbow prod, only this time, a short, sneaking smile is crossing her face. “paige, ‘forreal, we’re about to be back anyway.”

this, somehow, only fuels her. “i’m wounded,” she complains, before she’s pressing a little smack of a kiss to azzi’s neck, “my girl’s so mean to me, shit.”

my girl.

what the fuck ever.

azzi should’ve demanded an explanation then, but she doesn’t.

in fact, there’s not an explanation waiting for them when they stumble into paige’s room, their hands in a tight grasp, pulling each other in so that they can both fall against the bed, and azzi really shouldn’t have been expecting one. it’s definitely not explained when they’re somehow under the blankets, and paige has an arm, long and lean, wrapped around azzi’s waist to end somewhere between her legs, fingers finding a rhythm that seems to pull the very air from azzi’s lungs.

it’s not what azzi was expecting to happen, and yet somehow they’d fallen into place like it something they’d done a million times. paige had undressed her, after azzi’s complaint of still feeling too hot, and paige— not even a singular bit sober— finds her hands along the bottom of azzi’s top, tugging it over her head before she tosses her an old basketball camp shirt that had been slung across her dresser.

“you gonna sleep in jeans?” is really what had started it, paige’s pointed tone making azzi’s face burn hot, but the smirk on her face never faltered. “you’re so annoying.”

because then, paige has her fingers hooking into azzi’s waistband, eliciting a string of giggles that escape because fuck, she’s ticklish and paige knows. “what? what am i doing?” the blonde is grinning too, snickering under her breath as azzi’s pants are yanked down her hips, kicked from her feet with minimal effort until azzi feels it. a featherlight kiss was placed to each of her scarred knees, the inside of her thigh, eyes flickering up to azzi’s hazy but steady gaze, “this okay?”

god, azzi hadn’t realized until just then how fucking okay it was.

it’s quiet, sensual even, the way that paige talks her through it— heel of her hand dragging endlessly against her swollen clit, fingers thick as they arched into her, teeth grazing the back of azzi’s shoulder with each word of encouragement.

“c’mon, mamas, jus’ like that.” had anyone known better, they’d think paige must’ve been getting off just to this, by the way her own voice hitched and caught, her own hard swallows that reverberated in azzi’s ear, each laced with little gasps as she plunged into her wetness.

but, azzi did know better— paige was absolutely getting off to it. her voice is all breath, crackling and barely audible, murmuring incoherent mumbles that make it almost incomprehensible to decipher, yet, azzi swears she can understand.

it’s in her ear, over and over, that heat and pressure between her legs building as her hips twitched involuntarily against her knuckles, feels the way they slide deeper within her and azzi lets out a noise that even she’s too embarrassed to recount. “fuck, i wanna hear that shit, need to hear you baby, please.”

it coaxes the orgasm straight from azzi’s core, thighs involuntarily squeezing around paige’s hands, to which the blonde is silent in muted awe. she watches with bleary eyes but bated breath, sitting up only a bit to really witness it. the way azzi’s face drew up, eyebrows furrowed and lips parting, the whimper edged breaths that huffed out of her, the tight clamping of her eyes shut.

“so fucking pretty,” each word is punctuated in a kiss, “so good.”

really, it should’ve been a lot worse for them the next morning. azzi can’t help the wave of a ground shaking realization she gets when she rolls over to inspect paige’s sleeping expression, lips slightly parted, her blonde hair mussed on the pillow behind her. there should’ve been some type of lingering awkwardness that hung above them, some type of trepidation or fear, maybe even regret.

it definitely wasn’t like they talked about it, but they’d also never quite gone this far. did they need to? probably, because azzi knew that the guilt would probably hit sooner or later.

in fact, azzi waits for it to hit, all the way until paige wakes up, and her eyes are a little puffy, watery blue and clear as she blinks up blearily at azzi like she’s the finest thing she’s ever laid eyes on (because she is), and whispers with a grin, “distracted by my beauty?”

she waits even until the next away game, when her legs are propped up over paige’s lap and her fingers are drumming absently against azzi’s thigh, humming something in her headphones with her eyes shut, looking like a complete idiot, before their eyes meet by chance when paige opens them, and suddenly, they’re both grinning.

she even waits for it to hit when the buzzer goes off after the fourth quarter of that game, an easy win, and confetti is thrown. it’s chaos really, with all the girls rushing through the tunnel to get back to the lockers. that is, until, paige pulls her aside for half a second, hidden away from the hungry eyes to press a solid, sweet kiss to her lips.

but it doesn’t end there. azzi waits for it during her injury, when enough nights in linoleum covered white floors with the constant smell of antiseptic start to pierce the inside of azzi’s brain, ruins her attitude enough that paige’s texts go unanswered. and yet, everytime azzi wakes up, the pain in her leg flared and angry, it’s paige that’s sat in the corner of the room, huddled under a shitty hospital blanket, waiting for her to wake up.

it went even as far as the loss against IOWA when the roles are reversed— after the excitement of final four had became real, after the grueling, rampant preparation, and then ultimately, a loss. it’s when azzi gets permission to stick around in paige’s hotel room until she gets back from the game, and the way that the blonde, finally in the safety of the four walls, found herself crumbling to azzi, becoming nothing but a shell of what everyone perceives her to be, everything paige wishes she fucking wasn’t.

it’s only then, that azzi finds herself returning the favor— arms wrapped tight around paige’s waist with a burning, sting in her own eyes that she can feel the moment she sighs against the crown of paige’s head. she can smell the sweat, the smell of a basketball court that had just gotten waxed, but really, azzi just smells paige, and that’s enough to give her the composure she needs to whisper against her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself, baby… you guys did so good.”

and they don’t talk about it, because they don’t need to. the same way they never had to ask the other when it came to the hospital or bus rides or homework dates or hotel rooms— it was unspoken, implied but never mentioned. the same way back when they’d met at USA camp, it was never a matter of conversation for their plays to work, it was all in the matter of a look, or a slight of hand.

and when the team starts asking, giving paige shit about how she’s missing video game nights with KK or azzi’s getting shit about caroline missing her study partner, everybody already knows. when paige tells nika, voice only a little timid as she gives her a condensed version of the last few months like it was a ground shaking news, head tilted to lean on the older girls shoulder, the brunette bursts into laughter. ‘finally, took you guys long enough.’

and really, it was a wonder they hadn’t been like this the whole time.

a wonder that it had taken this long in the first place.

[1-49]

with only your mouth

╰► two broken-hearted strangers meet on a rainless night in late May and casually make something out of it.

─────────────pairing : f! reader × jaehyun ⁝ tags : romance ! little hurt / comfort situation; fluff. cigarettes mentioned , break-ups too; soft! charged lol. w. c. 11k. a complete drag! then im the type i am, sorry!

i love him, it’s all. cutiiee. also listen, for a true dark-haired jae enthusiast i sure find my way back here.. but this bnw pic uh! the la vlog? save me!! actually, i need him. at my house. so i could pet him. endlessly! :') soo fine mmmmh !

Flashes of lightning briefly turn night into day; the thunder ’s so loud, he feels it as much as he hears it. It all still brings back memories of that day. The agony just before it begins to rain, as though there’s a tangle of pain stuck a bit down his throat. This weighty strain on his sternum, this hard ‘reach for air,’ bearly some spare for his lungs… This—this itchiness in his eyes that’s gotten so point that a tear could be shed in a heartbeat…

… almost. Because it won’t. Because the desert rarely meets rain.

Inevitably, rain alone isn’t enough to cleanse a sand-kissed eye. Still, rather—perhaps, there’s no other choice but to adapt, adjust, or let go, but miserably so, so far he’s never truly let go in the same way today ’s rain never truly arrives. It all makes him hurt even more… The easier to give up belief, the far more difficult it’s to pick all the pieces back up. Merely stitched wounds that sore incessantly ─────── as there ’s no use in treating them, they damn near rip back open every. other. day.

But today’s all-hang-on: “Screw it!” He’s been staying low for weeks due an inner opinion bullshitting it’s safer to isolate himself, so things now are in a different gear.

Just hardly any growth in a safe zone, yeah?

Jaehyun gets if he is to overcome, he’s to push for new limits. The sooner, the better… though he’s been at his own pace. So fuck it, really… if it’s not going to rain, the only or at least the least useful way he can exploit this stubborn night is to use its cooling winds to rid his mind and body of negativity.

A drive down a parched road and into the city. A Friday, on a late evening, in late May, ‘WHEN HE’S DOING IT!’ It’s as though, all week, he’s been pressured into ‘try and wind down’s by frens in the chats of his phone—individuals who seem a bit obviously-oblivious of his insatiable desire to slack off, travel back in time, and relive memories, sort of… unconditionally. Both voluntarily and destructively, the mind of a preoccupied yearner. 

Driving with these lil troubles, he finally lines up the car in the car park guarded by aged shrubs and steps outside for a moment of solitude. Only to find himself surrounded by back alleys and the saturated echo of club music & people who are nothing like him... Jaehyun’s unlike any, therefore he’s unique. But at what cost? So many places he doesn’t belong these days.

Only lonely, the night’s bitterness is all the way set into the cold asphalt curb, at the back of some of the clubs his friends promised him party, but is instead where he finds himself a place at…

A flash flood of euphoria goes in and out of the back door he’s focused on. He knows it’s one of the ways in; he knows he’s waited on, but his legs… Just aren’t making the fucking move, man! or… it’s really his fucking mind(?) At times, it seems as though he’ll always stay in this ‘state,’ motionless. Trapped in his past and current emotions… Like neither in his dreams, nor in, what is so far been, ‘weeks’ reality can he escape what happened…

Jaehyun sighs, pushing his crashed boots into the alley’s street and spreads his warm palms back onto the cool sidewalk, annoyed with himself for failing to get his thoughts straight in line before returning home. Seems the car will stay be the only thing he can line up correctly. 

Actually, staying actual- to the ‘yes’ he promised his friends- would have been the ideal option here… And maybe the few beers would have def dulled, these now, ‘trying’ effects, yet—

…here he is, staring up at a jet nightsky with a few ‘clubbers’ upsetting his desired scape for tranquility. 

Like a poisonous vapor the scent of nicotine sits on the air, imitating the tainted atmosphere of ‘that’ night; and the only change now… he hates cigarettes. Still, like clockwork, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lighter. However dull the reason, or having no reason at all, he always has it on him. That he keeps all those memories in the flick of a lighter… Well, is something he just won’t acknowledge… They-

They continue to burn him as he flicks the chrome zippo on-&-off and back on again. 

[Flick… Flick]

“Would you?”

He looks away from the flame and straight at the standing stranger, perhaps, at this moment, too audacious to exclusively trespass into the private space he shares with his memories... What he’s met instead is a cigarette stuck between feeble fingers in an outstretched hand as he raises his head for the whole image.

A ‘Please’ swells through shy, bitten lips, brows knitted in a beg and sorrowful eyes. The foot stomping may be a result of nervousness or the cool current; it’s up to option. 

Somewhat unprepared for any company, Jaehyun does a tiny head shake, ‘shaking everything to the side,’ and stands up to help the shivering figure in front... you. Mans could have lit the cig right from where he was sitting, but it’s as though a tide urges him onwards; something beyond him draws him to his feet.

“...Sure,” he answers. “Yeah,” his attention flickering from the cigarette to you. 

—

‘Some voice…’ you think, 

much richer than any other voice you’ve ever heard; it feels like a new experience. Or you feel so, as it sends a buncha bubbles through your stomach immediately. Paired with his eyes? What a deep alchemy… Still, if you have to make a guess, he’s dealing with something, and the eyes are his windows. Although… 

although he manages... With what little is left of him, he’s communicating his empathy into you, prioritizing your need at the moment over his worries and seeming genuinely wanting to find himself useful.

The fierce lines of his face you walked in on give way to something so far removed from the concept of mystery and unapproachability as two shy creases take form on either side of the cheeks. However, all of the changes they do to his face are hardly the result of him being polite, making you calculate how much damage it could do to get a complete smile from him. 

And so, unfortunately so, under all the crushing weight of his aura, your metrics flow too fast to catch, and the fucked calculation leads you into an even frustrated smile. 

And so, even if short the moment, he lays dominance all over your nerves. 

Your lips, which have curved corners and are a gullible victim of his dimples, are his easy target. The way he’s zeroed in so passionately sort of pulls the curtain, on the prospect, of the times, and the things possible, when he’s not shy... That brisk, tempting possibility... That—

The thought alone burns you across the skin. All in and out.

Eventually, he flicks his lighter toward the cigarette that was all this time waiting on your lips, snuggled between your fingers like a promise of pleasure waiting to be realized. 

—

Jaehyun’s all about the spectacle until you draw in that first breath; then...then his eyes shift from the smoke to yours. ‘An intimacy that’s been all-too-well-lived turns into a distant blur…’ She’s nowhere in his thoughts; it’s like he’s ambiguously hit a revamp you—

You are a curious distraction…

—

You take a slow drag off the cigarette, & it’s only when you’ve suck in all its bad, your closest find ‘damageful,’ that you start to expect he won’t be one more to judge you... Because he can’t, can he? He must be a smoker too. That’s why he’s out here. That—that’s why he has a lighter on him to begin with! He—

He…

...He seems a bit too wound up for someone who should instead be… unwinding. Anyhow, 

odds still place him present at the scene. 

Secluded backstreet, separating a row of nightclubs??

Huh, definitely not a place one just lands at. Or perhaps he has come here with a purpose, but ‘that vision’ has shattered right in front of his eyes(?) your hard guess... But if you must come to something, it’s like the club wasn’t his choice; may as well wish he had never made it choice at all. He—

He’s unexpected, or at least you didn’t expect his effort on you… even—even if it was really you who set the wheels in motion, and—

And not to go on-and-on-and-on about the fact that… that he… he’s gorgeous! All-around gorgeous, a rare smashing attraction! A thousand astounding sensations might take over if—if you refrained from holding back. If—

if you allowed yourself to take him in more deeply. Just—

Well, just because…

The more his stellar, silken face burns through your headspace, the more overwhelmed you get by the way he stands in your presence. His masculine fragrance streams all over, making you feen for a chance, for a 

The feeling stupefies you... And the only way you run over it is by tearing your eyes away from him and sitting down close to where he used to sit. It’s just—

It’s JUST that he sits back, too, which you didn’t think he would!

“Thanks,” you offer, guiltily pleasuring yourself with another sweet glance at him before wandering back to the cluster of smokers for distraction.

“Mhhmmm,” he hums, “Should be careful with those, no? ...Then I don’t wanna come off as a parent, or an older sibling, listing you the risks. It’s a choice, yeah?”

Interesting… You frown sweetly, “You don’t smoke?”

He sways his head side to side, his lips forming into a ‘delectable shape.’

Right, you’re unsure what to make of it… Is he flirting without realizing or? 

Still, having nothing to grasp, you bite your smile and gesture by raising your chin in question to the object he’s still flipping between his fingers. 

“Then what’s with the lighter?”

Likewise, he… he tries to stifle the smile in advance, only it goes beyond his control. His lips stretch, baring more of his teeth. 

“What’s wrong with carrying a lighter?”

“I don’t know,” you rasp, tilting cutely, “other than maybe if-if you smoke!? If not,” you arch a brow, “I’m allowed to assume you’re an arsonist... Actually… there’s really no plausible, god-sounding excuse for carrying a lighter if you don’t smoke.”

He chuckles, bobbing his head slightly, “Fair,” keeping focus on his boots as they form intangible figures, legs extended on the concrete, half of his trousers scrubbing the dust the desert must have carried from a great distance; which! not to say, but he obviously doesn’t mind… 

This beauty thinks for a moment. He measures his thoughts for a bit and even manages to hide another small smile. The memory about it might be too sweet... or the idea, or

He bends himself forward a little, softly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder and then slowly trailing it down his arm, looking at you from a complete wrong angle... A ruinous one! Where his disarmingly dark eyes are all that remains, and his lashes kiss a couple of times enough to inflict their harm. He may give a cuddly kitten, but it’s just... His eyes at moments... 

at moments they bear the flash of a wildcat. Then in eventually murmurs from behind his leather-jacketed arm, 

“Though I can promise you I’m neither. It’s just… It’s a gift from someone.”

The confession blows your eyes tiny more than normal but you remain tender, ensuring your response is kind before diving further.

“Great taste,” you comment the lighter stylistic choice. “Someone you care about?”

With an inhaled “Ummmm,” he arches his neck. His fingers delve into his fat hair, and you watch millions of wild strands become tame to his touch. His jawline joins the study of geometry as he looks up at the black sky, or at least the thin line of it that’s visible between the tall clubs. The shape of things now is,

You. Viewing him. Posing in yet another of his wrong angles!

He’s pretty hot! 90°. And it’s like his hotness just magically doubled. Seriously, how many aspects does this guy consist of? What lengths? Cause you’ve seen insane contrasts in the short time he’s given you.

‘Just imagine loving someone just looking at them.’ Yeah, yeah, he’s that kind! Easy!

Though he finally puts you in suspense with his aggressive, compelling eyebrows & deep voice in confession, as he turns, 

“Someone I cared about… Yes.”

Lingering traces of burn perhaps, in the use of past tense… So, it’s the first time you truly, really pause and not only to think of something nice this time, but also to try to understand the stance of his words.

‘Taking in more poison,’ taking time, you tap the cigarette off ash,

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but—

“If you carry things on you that are someone’s or… serve a reminder, it’s— It’s likely they—they’re still very much a part of you. It’s simple sense, no?” 

Taken off, whether by your loud choice to be so direct this early into knowing him, or liking the fact, his brows lift and his mouth falls open, his tongue reaching his farthest tooth…

His reaction to you is so clear that you instantly gnaw your teeth into your lower lip and grow your eyes wide with a silently innocent ‘I’m sorry.’ However, that doesn’t stop you from being a further jerk… Silent nod to being a flirty one at that, thus your inability to control your smile…

“Yeah, sorry to be the one telling you this but—you also seem as if you’re still under their wraps, like... like, completely.”

“Ummmmm,” he’s reduced to his bobbing again; his lips pushed together as if he were trying to understand, or-or had already done so… 

A very much- intricate line… Stretched time of a tender ‘hum-wave’ in which you find yourself all… all fuzzy, and—and then… 

then a little bit nervous… of the depth his ocean carries, and… and then the—

the washed-off, unvoiced question before your feet of whether you’re a swimmer, and if so, if good enough because…

The currents… 

Yes, the currents!!

He takes in a deep look at you, making sure your eyes are on a deeper, different network than the one they were on before, as he asks, “How can you tell?”

With a frail sigh, your shoulders drop; perhaps you dove in an inappropriately private place(?) Taking another moment, you inhale another drag, snuff the cig off the concrete, and hug your legs.

Truth is, he’s already soaked you in his voice; might as well let yourself drown in advance. 

As it was really you! It was you who flirted with his shoreline… dipping your toes… messing up the sand… here… and then there… then going in... So, the sweeping tide—is what this is now.

“I don’t know, I just— I can.”

Right… You’ve been—hell, still are—where he’s now... so of course you can. You recognize it. And it isn’t a pretty place. 

“Woah…” he scoffs, his tongue turning roughly around as if he can’t believe the candid burn. & more than is a question for you, he murmurs to himself, “Really?” Then he looks back at you, “Do I look that miserable?”

Crazy, right? Really, impossible! How can he be miserable!?? And where on earth did that ‘choice-word’ just come from? 

‘Miserable…’ 

It just—It just seems so out of essence for someone like him. It doesn’t make sense. It-It just doesn’t... It just doesn’t happen for people like him!

But, hell, if it did, how does that word function in its meaning? How does that work? How does a badness like him end up miserable!?

If it’s to you, he exists at a level above whatever that word is. He isn’t coming in touch, even. That word... its close synonyms... and all its implications aren’t allowed to meet him! He’s the case’s antonym because… Because being miserable is a state saved for someone like you and the rest of ya buncha losers.

The most attractive man you’ve ever met—what the hell—even seen!!—and that’s on: far from being an overstatement!

All this time, all you’ve been doing is... so badly denying his badness—you’re so very much well aware of—space! You weren’t making room for his dangerously shaped lips, his lazy blinks, or his overall reserved charm to take root. Because—because all you’ve been trying to do is be patient. Be respectful, more like. Be civil, maybe just- be playful a touch; that’s really all. You’ve been—

...you’ve been robbing your eyes of him. Really, just devouring a few glances, when all he’s made about is… be looked at!

As he’s now… 

…as you’re doing it right now… because he wants you to. Because he’s allowing you. The heck, he may even insist and demand your pair of eyes not be torn apart from his. 

…And it’s when he lets them take full effect—when he’s had the surrounding world go extinct, and he’s taken you to a place where you and he are alone like a dream, and he’s made the silence speak—it’s then that they render you weak against your will. You just know your chest and neck are sort of burning, and there’s this choke you want to break-

but also don’t want to. 

And now that he’s given you the podium, you act accordingly. Or... fairer to say, rather, it’s all your poorly managed—sorta—deprived sensations proving their stupid. But genuinely, you’d go far to defend any babe clawing for a piece of him even in ‘this kinda situation.’ What the hell, sure! Because he... 

He’s a physical materialization of what has, so far, been a fragmented image in your mind. One you haven’t ‘entirely’ imagined since you lacked details. That is, until he now—a tangible specimen of what perfect means for you, and you’re just… you’re becoming hypnotized by his desirability.

But not to forget, the ‘top note’ on all this is him being wound up, and, maybe, a high reach here, but— also heartbroken. Though, then, why’s there no guilt acting as even sort of a base note of conscience!? 

You’re taking him in the way you’d exactly take someone your hormones would normally be flushed about, when perhaps the weight of his hurt is what you should be connecting to at this moment… Perhaps sympathize with his pain a little, huh? 

Uh, you’d whine it all-aloud if you could right now, but swear, it’s him! It’s all of him that gets in the way of all that!!! His flashy, blond mullet he’s placed a little effort in, and has clearly tried to get in place, but there’s that… that one strand that just recklessly won’t cooperate for-for no other reason but the sake of it!

His-his fine fingers he messed with most of the time, toying with that lighter.

His silver ring…

His smooth figure, most judged from those long legs, given the sitting position and-

and that leather jacket.

His looks so dern fine, you pick he’s a model for fun for narrative, and unarguably cover-worthy eye candy. He just lacks the tongue to his canine and a borderline implicit, quirky wink. But-but that’s how it is right now… you don’t doubt the idea, though; the range is there… That ‘made-up poster,’ you already see it in your head.

As for the time being, you break what felt like tearjerker eye contact by denying his eyes once again. Like something flipped the switch to insecure; likely it’s that the stare grew more intimate by the second. Or maybe you just became vulnerable to the conditions? Thankfully went sensitive and-and finally considered his ‘potential’ emotional state? But really, you—

you never intended to pursue anything when you made a move on him, and you—

And—and are only further nervous if your eyes might reveal something about you that you don’t even know what—FUCK, if they haven’t already, but—yeah, whatever that is… When his—

…when his have been everything transparent and listening—with that piece of hair in the way, making him, uh- just as sweet- as sultry. He’d narrow in and soften in habit depending on the pace of the convo and the things he could offer as a response, but other than that, for you—for you his eyes have been everything intimidating.

—

“Miserable?” You get back finally and after all those emotions inside of you have subliminally ‘described’ themselves in your fog of mind…

“No! No!” You follow up with a defense built on a fragile smile, brows up, and eyes that speak in a pout. “You just...”

His giggle comes out loud and endearing. An actual smile; and it’s one of those that you want to obsess over, but it’s not like he didn’t just catch you losing points when you were the one who teased first. Though it’s possible that your clumsy just reeled him in, as his eyes slowly travel down to your lips and... and they wait there.

They wait for your response as he repeats your last words like a hot reminder that you’ve fallen into a brief trance but- must still continue. 

He lets on, “I? …Just?” 

Uh, you hate that! You hate losing! You don’t like what he’s doing, either. It bothers you, where his eyes are at! And the giddy feeling they awake… Except you adore it. You—You don’t, though. Yet you

God, it’s just—it’s just

Whatever! Gulping all of that, you try stay on game. “You do look miserable!”

He smiles and his distracting teeth ease into his bottom lip

and you feel like he’s finally relaxed, and delved into a new world where he…

He knows he’s welcomed.

You don’t know how you know, or what reveals the truth, you just know that you know, and are simply happy to be that place for him. Though it’s gotta be something to do with the air and the way his warm energy winds all around you. Like he’s unafraid to let on that he likes your presence. Like when someone who accepts you as a friend and is easy to understand. 

Much to his ‘miserableness,’ he arches a brow, teasing your change in sentiment, “Suddenly?” 

You hug your knees tighter, assuming the felt sensation down your spine is done on behalf of the wind waltzing.

“Umm... I don’t know... I don’t know... Even if I don’t suppose it’s possible someone like you to end up here... being hurt I mean, but— And-and I’ve no clue the kind of relationship it is, but—but you do have this aura about you, as if you think about her all the time.” You pause on further reflection, then correct yourself. “I’m sorry! Them.”

“Her…” he corrects you in return. “I shouldn’t, though.”

You don’t know if the confession runs through you like a balm or a burn. On one hand he’s admitting he’s a yearner; on the other—you’re a dumb act to feel like this- this quickly but—but needy of that! You’re envying that he has feelings for someone else and wish they were for you instead. Total nutcase nonsense, but it’s where you find yourself being thrown at the moment, in the flux of all these emotions… You’d never have imagined yourself here but—Ah, guess what?

His fingers dig into his hair again and he frowns as he considers it more.

“Why’d you think that someone like me never gets hurt? …Or has it bad?”

“Mhmm…” you think to the sky, “You got me... I’d probably assume, ‘This pretty blondie ‘ss too pretty to be depressed.’ Or at least, that’s the gist of it, for the most part.”

“Mhmmm,” he echoes your song back. “You think I’m—”

You see his question, of course you do! That’s why-

that’s why you rush ahead even before P in ‘pretty’ is pronounced. You can’t get in more shit! Yes, he’s beautiful, but there’s likely a proper time and place for when he’s eventually receiving it for a compliment. 

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to bother you... At all! Or poke my nose in a sensitive spot. I just—I was merely saying how I felt. And-and whether you should or shouldn’t think of her, that’s-that’s something you decide for you… As well the details of her, I—I don’t—

I don’t need to know anything.”

“It’s okay, we’re just talking,” he assures you, letting his adorbs dimple curve like a gentle comma as if demanding you to pause & absorb the cavity it does in his cheek instead. 

And you do, you pause... Ughh, as if you’d want do something else… 

You’d even go as far as to reach & fill ‘it’ in, but again, it remains not your moment.

You suppose it will disappear as swiftly as it’s arrived as if it were a warning to ‘Please, don’t poke my dimple ‘till I’m yours!’ And well... When he’s not, at all!! You two barely scratch surface, so why—WHY are you even feeling this way!!?

Still, he remains here, doesn’t he? He’s equally kept the chat alive and shown no signs of disinterest, so? 

No, why is it hard to believe that maybe he—

“Then, what’s your story?” he asks finally, as if he can sense the group of doubts that suddenly launch a shootout on your lively spirit he was initially introduced to. “I suppose we’re comfortable enough now... Now that—that we know I’m screwed, if I asked and ‘assumed’ something about you too?” Giving off a playful “It’s only fair,” he rubs his chin.

Mmmh-yeah... That’d be just! Only he doesn’t know you got it just as bad... You’re just as fucked! And are just as tragic as he, having an exact tragic night! The only thing about this is you get to be pathetic together; that’s really all there is to it…

“Why are you here?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff at the question; the ugly reaction precedes the achieved warm atmosphere, and the cynic smirk you share is, too, full of something, something not nice either. It’s tinged dark, like dire disbelief mostly aimed at yourself... Hurt has a cascading effect, and your dominoes are all in line, waiting for the first to fall- but

...you’ll pull them back if necessary! Can’t have this moment be defined by your inability to handle past wounds, because—Because this moment belongs to him! Gosh, it belongs to you too! For what’s worth, you deserve it! You deserve some–

Sighing, you ease off the burden as you look up at the sky. “Isn’t it obvious?” And sure, it has its edge again, but it’s also a blade u twist inwards.

“Very… You love to smoke, and you want to do it alone... Out and away from your friends... Isolating... Being one with the elements.”

You turn, “Is that what you’d assume?” & catch that fuckass outline of his side profile as he too seems to have tuned in on the sky.

“Well…” he hesitates, keeping search on the absent stars. “Mostly.” 

As he considers it more, an audible slurp is made by him rolling his lip between his teeth; then he decides, “Yeah, I guess, that’s what I’d assume.”

“Aaand,” you test, “what if I’m not here with friends?”

Oh, wo—The question completely freezes him out as if in a skit, then he shoots you the rapid glance like the antics of the skit’s wackiest hero. His uncomfy smile... his doe eyes…

that exaggerated expression of a scene-stealing shock hitting him as he figures your implication, make you want to reach out and hold him in like a plushie!!!

“I—” he struggles, “I’ll feel uncomfortable if—”

“If I say I’m with a man?” You cut straight, sparing him the thinking. 

It’s YUM... seeing his thick brows knit in a naive: ‘I don’t know... I don’t want to be the person th—’ take on the trip of his corrupt thoughts...

His whiskers turning confident, & his calculated blinks as he’s realizing he holds the advantage?? Then- in with the switch to humor? OH,

“Ah,” he shrugs, “then I got to spend more time with his girlfriend than he is.” 

Yikes! It goes the first pang; your heart flowers. He throws in a silly “I’m sorry” after he—

After he’s teased! And oh, whoa, surprise, it gets no shit done!

You smile, but crap, you’re nervous!

And suddenly, you’ve got your index curled, and your teeth graze the knuckle, and you… You’re inside it: “You’re cute.” 

It takes a heartbeat to set in before you—you realize you called him both pretty and cute in the span of a few lines... How-

how embarrassing... What a—What a—Yeah!  YEAH, you take no second but use the same hand to shy away of what you said, covering your lips. 

“But—uh- Though I’m with friends,” you start, and in mistake! 

Plus recalling ‘the reason’ makes your ‘spirit chip,’ just as it did just moments ago. “Honestly… I couldn’t spend another minute inside, so I got out.”

“Too loud?”

Guiding your fingers to the back of your neck, you try soothe the tension away and begin to ‘put names’ to the motives at hand. 

“Anything, really. Suffocating… Overwhelming… Too Reflective. Toxic even.”

“Oh, wow,” he cuts in, “Too much for you(?)”

Being neither on the line of question nor statement, but sure, it’s a fact, so you force another sad smirk and reason, “Does it show I’m also miserable?”

“A little,” he giggles.

“Mmmmh...” the soft hum smiles of your lips as you nod while your fingers continue on&around your cords, caressing off that extra strain.

“And the cigarettes are your escape?”

“Look, I know many say this, but—I’m really not a regular smoker. I only do it when I’m super nervous... Anxious, or whatever you want to call it. But— That’s something you’d know already, right? That lighter on you proves me you’ve either smoked in the past, or… As you said… It’s been given to you… meaning she smoked. Either way, you’re familiar with the philosophy of smoking, and the types of smokers one way or another.”

He moves his jaw around; perhaps the attitude was once more too blunt(?) And clearly chooses to -totally- overlook the latter part of your comment, which would clearly tie him to his whatever-can-be-called ex girlfriend, he asks, “Why’d you smoke at the moment?”  

“You really want to know?”

He breathes, & it creates a fragile line between his brows. There’s something so… so dangerously real in the way he deeply, “I do.” 

It’s like a love you’ve waited lifetimes for. Like—Like it wants to touch every crooked fold in your being and imprint a sliver of his light on your darkness. Like he’s ripping off the bandage you’ve placed over your heart so…so carefully…

Oh, but you were promised love before, and it’s all a lie. That prospect is a lie! That war is over! Now— Now you rarely believe in stars connecting souls, or-or that a red thread brings strangers together. But—

But

You sigh, “Okay!”

But again,

it bursts in on itself! It-it just keeps feeding on what remains of-of that empty void your past person carved out in your chest with the blade of betrayal. So…

So you have to—you’ve to always give yourself a moment to disentangle ‘their’ memory from your answers…

“I’m… I’m not in the greatest mind space either... And now, the club and everything.”

“Becausee… of someone?”

Uh, you notice the lazy detail in his voice… It’s like he’s giving you all the space you need, that he’s cozy enough to wait until you decide you want to say something again. And it lights you, again, the thought of how long he would if that were the case. 

“Because of someone,” you smile, lazying your way in your response too, “... Yes.”

And for a heartbeat… his-

his smile and eyes tango with yours. And you wish he were closer when he,

“Him?” Then in, slowly and entirely, his eyes move to your lips. “Them?”

Fuck… the distance... Fuck it!

You brain practically shrinks as he lingers down there, on your lips, insensitive; that your bottom one adopts its own heartbeat! You’d pull a smoke, but it’s no time for cigarettes... And he’s figuratively doing nothing. Figuratively doing nothing! He’s breathing. Waiting. But you can’t help but fall victim to that oh,

“Mmmh,” you murmur. “Him.”

“Soo…” he draws conclusion, “We are mutually miserable on this fine night(?)”

A giggle precedes you, “You call this a fine night!??” 

“What’s wrong with it? Other it was supposed to rain, then it didn’t. Then—the temperature just dropped, then— And we… We can’t stop thinking about the people who hurt us! See, it’s all fin—” 

A steal show; 

the sky flashes as anger swallows the ‘dark,’ & the thunderous strike ‘chops’ his ‘fine’ in half. Stroke of electric death or stroke of life, it honestly boils to what you want it to be. Still, in the stillness that follows, you bear the weight, shaken slightly of the cruel breeze that sweeps the entirety of the narrow alley.

“Um, Sorry, what a—” he rises abruptly. “Want to have my jacket?”

“No need to,” you wave your hand. “Thank you, I’m fi—”

OR! duration in which he’s already removed it, stepped in, and is now draping it over your shoulders. The offer—NO, not even being a question of choice apparently, as he’s made it his mission!

You go frantic, just like a deer in the middle of the road, though he’s already made it to your shoulders. The warmth that accompanies his dimpled smile spreads across your face as you look him up…

Pulsating throbs of your heart as ‘your’ two frictions force reaction—his gentle hand taking careful time brushing your bare shoulder. His touch alone is birthing so-many-more goosebumps than the night is; you’re only left hoping he thinks it’s only the temperature.

When-

when he’s letting you know you two are at a temperature of comfort and capability!!!

“—Fine,” you finish. Taking in a gulp, snugging it better, your hair stays caught beneath the leather. & it’s instantly felt… the embrace. Not only from the jacket but from the kindness he’s so far shown you. 

“Thank you,” you do so gently,

because no more is needed… 

...because he’s sat way closer to you than he’s before, and now…

even only whispering will do!

Now…

You’re sat so close, you can catch the roots in the blonde suggest a natural hue that’s perhaps been bleached in a ‘riot’ or a ‘change’ and a ‘move on.’ Though there’s something more out of place, like—

Like the visible manifestation of his, too, perhaps, shyness.

It tones... It colors the porcelain corners of his ears so openly. Involuntary, just as stimuli… Another prospect, you gather; the fact he’s palpably soft-skinned... Likely sensitive in parts of his body that haven’t been ‘lovingly’ ‘rubbed raw by real touch.’ Or…

or a further ‘foretaste’ really, of those times and those things possible when he’s not shy... Of-

of the extent this blush could go… if

Fuck! For what else could exert such dilation but the fact he’s touched you? 

Either he’s blushing because his heart doesn’t have an ego or… Or because he likes you, even if a tiny bit. In any case, this ‘blushing miscommunication’ buys into your heartspace without payment. And you’d shoo him out of there but- 

your excitement escapes the undersurface as you smile to yourself. 

And—

It. doesn’t. go. by. him!! Reaching for ‘what’ you just gatekept, he,

“What?”

Those succulent dimples… 

Denying him your insane thoughts, all… ALL of which involve him, you close your eyes, wave your head and shrug your shoulders underneath the funny, kissing feeling of his jacket. 

“Nothing.” 

And quite the nocturne of buildout, the way the lightning isn’t only in the sky but in the corner of your eye too. Flickering, followed by the roll of another thunder, it crashes boldly, as above, so inside. 

‘This texture’ of his engulfs you, and perhaps you’re here, and nothing else matters, & nothing more needs to be said… or asked, but 

…as some have said, 

‘the arrow endures the bowstring’s tension so that in the release it can become more than itself.’

And curiosity, deeper engagement… energy, all beg to be released…

The minute silence is so still it’s violent;

The right, prolonged stare you both share, taps in the same frequency; your words coming in synchrony:

“What did he do to you?”

“What did she do to yo—”

—

The tides turn a bit; his voice dips a chord darker, a bit provoked but still in appetite, 

“You said you weren’t interested.”

“I know I did, but—” you look to your feet, subdued. His masculine push intertwines with your guilt to tighten your belly, and you have to actually swallow the feel that comes with having a change of heart before you give your voice a gut. 

“...Maybe now I am.”

“What changed?”

You shrug, but you know your reason. Yes, you wanted to know why he’s hurting at any point; it’s just that you want to know now more than you did before.

“Either way,” he reasons, “I asked you first.”

You dwell on it, stuck on the metal manhole right in the middle of the alley road, and it’s like… the more you think over the right words, the more you sense from the edge of your eye like he’s struggling to slim his smile into a serious thinking pout, but- like- like he’s going to be there, and he’s going to smile, no matter what you’ll say.

“I loved him too much,” you ultimately admit, “it scared him away.”

“So… A coward?”

“I mean…” you scoff, “It’s alright... I just had to accept it as it is… It’s fine not to be so equally in love with somebody,” 

somebody being you, 

“and then, actually have the guts to tell them. It’s better that way, I suppose.”

He tilts in a bit- to get you to stop looking at the ground and at him! 

“Was he that way?” 

You come silent. Actually! on second thought, not only did ‘he’ tell you he didn’t love you, but he went on and did the worst thing possible… Taking in ‘his’ shame, which you shouldn’t, you barely mumble, “No, I guess...”

“You guess!?” he reacts impulsively. “So, he cheated on you?”

Again, his plainness goes to where it shouldn’t and you shoot him an irate look before... 

before you take a breath and- 

“Yes.”

“That’s not only a coward, but a jerk.”

Your irate look?? Likely just sharpens. 

You know it does, cause your frown lines etch themselves deeper into your skin, and you’re gritting your teeth.

“Sorry, I—I don’t mean t—I didn’t,” he stutters, “I—um, hurt you, I mean.” 

These, these ‘Why are you frowning at me?’ eyes of his, this-this ‘What did I do?’ 

“I don’t want to make you remember something you—”

“You’re not!” You interrupt… then-then close your eyes and hold your nose.

Temper... temper... Don’t lose your temper! This isn’t exactly fight or flight, and he’s exactly the one to be angry at! It’s- just— talking. Sigh... And rage isn’t exactly evil; it’s grief with nowhere to go… It’s love that’s been… That’s been left in the cold.

And the gap he leaves isn’t loud; it’s just that he.. is… careful. again.

He draws his legs in and rests his elbows on his knees. It’s like he weaves his words in a perceptive, quiet guise before he even-

he even lets them into the air. He is—he’s that considerate… 

“I am… I’m getting to you… or at least some part of you that loved him, or still does.”

[Pang!]

You gulp.

Your heart blushes at the first declare; actually, TF?? ‘I’m getting to you.’ 

!??What-WHAT is that even?

It certainly scratches a part of your brain, as you repeat it. Though you know what he means by it; that he’s probably upsetting you the more he’s reaching, but—

‘Yes! Yes! You’re getting to me!!’

AAAaaa!! and a frown can only last so long till it becomes a smile!!! And biting it again, you wave your head, but uh

Boyish, warm, curious, “What?” 

A slow reprise. You watch him. He watches you. 

“...Nothing.”

It’s everything!

Lovestruck and silly.

A silly game… 

and you’re playing it,

with him.

You’re clenching your fists into the lapels of his jacket, and every skin on your arms prickles. The warmth in your face hasn’t left in over a hot minute… ‘Is this safe?’

His flirtatious quiet and shy, yet toothy smile, makes all feel love. 

So, how—How could that not ensnare you in an awful trap of trying to dissect him and determine what he’s made of and what fuels him!???

“And her?” 

“Her!?” He squints as if trying his memory of the last page you two were on, then, 

“She was—

She was too much. She…

She was everything but mine… Everything else. And— gradually she was starting to shape me into something I’m not. And I simply couldn’t pretend to be the perfect person she wanted me to be, I’m not the type... It began to feel manipulative… the whole thing. Although I only started to realize that— and her intentions… way too late. Because I was too blind falling in love with her.”

You—YOU JUST DON’T SEE IT! So your senses storm: ‘Motherfucker, you’re perfect! What else—What else could she—’  

yet instead,

“Ouch,” you act, placing a hand over your heart to simulate the pain. “Your storys kinda awful too.”

“Kinda,” he hums; his charm melting off his lips like ice cream on a hot summer day right off the cone as he teases in the question, “See why I’m miserable?”

“I can totally see,” you give your ‘honest’ and bring to toy your thumb to cut over your bottom lip as if in deep thought. “She sucked the life out of you... Like—

like you’re desperate! …You’re full of yearning.”

He chuckles, bobbing softly. “Should never forgive her for that.”

“You learn fast.”

He hesitates a bit, flirting and keeping you on the edge, “... I don’t.”

OOOF!

He shouldn’t be there! This blond, chocolate-eye shouldn’t have the authority to wind up in your stomach, but he did just that!! With his fucking voice… And his fucking face… With his fucking

He’s got you to smile for him soo bad! He’s-He’s gotten you so much—

OH, HE’S sending your chemicals outta wack!! Giirl, get up!!

You feel like falling in love with him off of it... his smile. But—his interest is still so irreconcilable!! True, he urged you into a constant giddy chat, and a steady eye contact, but once the silence returns, so does reality… It-it just feels too intimate, too demanding, too—

—

You try pulling from that dream again, getting cozy, hugging your legs more to your chest and resting your chin on your knees.

Wondering if the hot crush would just glide off like everything love-like has glided off on you in the past, you start & ‘try’ shapes on the asphalt.

You set yourself for a little challenge, that’s to ignore him! Just forget he’s there till he decides he’s had it with you, or—or till your friends are finished inside & are ready to go. Just place him out of this scene; pretend he’s invisible; pretend you don’t wish to—

Ah, not only he’s right there with you, he sifts closer, to where your bodies touch, to where

The amber light of the street lamp so delicately falls onto the stream of hot veins along his hand as he reaches down for the ground too… 

However, what his ‘exploration of the shared ground-space’ means is ‘a way to another justified contact.’ This phoney, ‘unaware’ ‘skin meeting skin,’ as his hand occasionally brushes off of yours...

But what’s guilty though, are the risks in the intimacy of imagining his hand on yours… or comparing it to yours... 

Of your palms pressed together. Of his hand on your skin. Of his hand on more of you… And then? 

His hands as plural! 

Of his irradiated touch, and how it melts your mind… 

Really, all cycling back to the thought and the ache for, the time and the place when he’s not—

…when every motion of his fingers perfectly crafts a sin.

And—yeah, yeah—that’s an unfair way to view him right now, but- you’ve also had your two drinks, and he’s been—

It’s so unfair!! because you can’t work more through tonight’s pain with someone like him; it makes you feel bad since he’s hurting too. It’s beyond simply finding comfort in someone’s warmth & serenity, & asking for more emotional depth would be just baseless, because-because

It’s hard to accept, but- 

...you’re just lonely, and he’s the first to touch your loneliness… That doesn’t mean you get to expect things from him, however; you lack that right! He’s merely someone who-

who let you light your cigarette, & the rest is—

NO! It’s really unfair- to think of him in this way- but you SWEAR it’s something in his rude vanilla hair and its uncertain length. Something in that chaotic strand that curves over his forehead forming him a heart shape… In the way his ends flirt with his nape, playing for your pull... Something in his multi-core voice, and the way its notes slip across your skin and sink into your pores.

His collapsing cheekbones…

His vibrating giggles. 

His bruising ears.

The way his eyes would not move from you.

The way he’s kept the spell, locked.

His blueness he’s shared with you. 

His ‘honeyed self’ that’s gotten you more and more ‘stuck’ every time he’s spoken or done something, so now—

You swear all these combine and grind hard!! to give him romance! He could just decide now to stroke a finger down the land of your inner arm, sketching roses, and it’d be just another typical aspect of the

Abruptly,

he peels your hand off of the concrete & gently lays the back of it inside his palm.

His eyes search yours as if to bring your focus on what he’s about to do in advance of his fingertip slowly starting to trace letters on the tender surface of your love line, life line, and fate line in

‘C A N   I   K  I S S   U ?’

The drag is endless…

…then he lifts his puppy eyes to look at you, and the magic felt is telling you so much. 

Caught between being the sweetest angel and the sweet fear of having just made himself vulnerable, you feel like exhaling dandelions each time he blinks, dreading your answer. How come this one wounded creature could be so astonishingly cute!?

This—This stranger whose name you don’t even know and whom you seem to have loved before you met... This-this man of your fantasies, whom you waited for, and now that he has your hand in his—YOU JUST WANT TO YANK HIM IN and embrace eternally. You can stay locked in his dreamy, passionate arms and absorb his artful and phenomenal ways!

Save, you also can be a lil cheeky too! You want him to play the goof a tiny bit more, so you make him wait! 

You make him wait, & the seconds play off of his uncertainty so messily. He’s so fluffy- as you act all confused like you didn’t catch what he just wrote… 

“What!?”

He gnaws on his cheek; he knows you’re about the fun; he lets you. His lips flatten, keeping the giddy, and his fingers curl over your knuckles and intertwine with your hand from behind. 

Charmed, your fingers press over his. With no real distance, ‘you can taste his breath as much as you can feel it…’

His tone drips like a smooth, smoky drink, all whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

You wished it; still, you glance away. You inhale. You take a moment before facing h—

What the hell, “Sure.” 

What could go wrong? You’re probably never going to see him again, so, 

“Why not(?)”

He smirks thru his hot bite and motions forward to kill the gap; the anticipation, however, naturally makes you close your eyes. And it’s what you can only describe as suspense; you just feel him moving, changing the air to a minty breath as you ‘imagine’ his lips open a touch.

You get the complete tingle, and then there’s the complete contact... His nosetip presses against yours in what you assume is ‘last chance permission,’ forcing your eyes open, so you just then find yourself with only one path in sight, one you can’t come back from, one that is his lips, his lips, his thick bottom lip!

And, the only ‘wait’ now, is only him, etching ‘this,’ ‘near his heart,’ and yours too. 

This moment… this bit in the universe… you. Someone new and unfamiliar. 

Because just now, neither of you knows how the other tastes… or the way you’ll individually sigh after you touch each other to your bones.

And, 

he’s not clustering any courage to have a deep feel anymore; his moist lips rest on yours; he knows he’s separated you from anything that doesn’t connect you solely to him.

“What kind of kiss…” he slides his fucked smile over your lips, “do you want it to be?” 

The rush, from your brain- to your throat- to your tongue- to your lips???

Is this looooong wait going to be worth it!??

Yes, a kiss is a sentence.

It’s art... It’s an exploration to discover more than what’s already there. An exploration for something more than this.

…And he’s silly, and the push of your dominoes will be his exact boyish nature.

You shrug, digging your nails into your fist to make sure it’s all real.

“You don’t know?” he teases.

“Just a kiss,” you breathe, “A simple kiss. That’s all I-” 

The rest of your words are lost ag— His lips curl to yours as he enclose over your mouth like a puzzle piece fitting in place and closes slightly to interlock.

The slow, lingering first kiss, right? The one it helps you understand something about the other person, right?

Well, with his honesty and melancholy, that’s the type of kiss he can offer you tonight, to your preference or not. And it’d be your own doing, your own foolishness for falling for such a stranger, mysterious and hurt, thinking he needs to prove something to himself…

—

You don’t need to tell him what you want in a kiss,

your lips take in each other in a fragile way, and they know! The tone is nothing fierce, but soft and uncomplicated. Side these unnerving sounds of breathy sighs and lip-smacking you both carefully lay in each other’s mouths... on purpose. 

Then it’s all about pace;

the angle at which he tilts his head;

the first time he slides down your chin, and you let his upper lip in;

the moment your tongues touch;

his first moan.

And only then, what starts in hesitation swells with possession. 

The untamed of human nature... The notion of being the first, even if you aren’t the first, is... intoxicating. Wanting to show you if not everything he knows how… everything that’s—

...next, he’ll be taking you boldly and without warning close to him.

His fingers trace the edge of your jaw, and you can feel the galaxies ripple beneath his touch. “Do I“ he breathes, his fuller lip dragging across yours, “Do I press harder?”

OR, ‘lips that have built the design, will now tear it!!’

At worst, the lightning goes equally in the sky as the question & you whimper even before you have a chance to react differently! Humiliating, your sensitive boils over,

“Yeahh,” you plead. 

His wet, “Yeah?”

Very…

His teeth serve the introduction, sinking into your bottom lip, and then he slides his hand in, his fingertips dig at the soft skin just behind your ear and his palm locks your cheek. What it really does is, easy coerce you into giving in—helps him pry your mouth open so obscenely so his tongue can reach deeper.

Your ears perk as a hard moan escapes you from someplace disgustingly forgotten, a sound that should drive wild anyone with working hormones...

He’s pure heaven to touch tongues with!

Ensnaring you... softly but aggressively, as the sweetness of lustful saliva lubricates. Likely some of your cig breath catches onto his lungs, as his minty taste contrasts with your ‘occasional’ habit. Or a sensational exchange that feels very used to; you’ve both been here before; felt it; done it, yet not entirely like this, because he—

…kissing a complete stranger—

…exactly kissing him—

He’s got your hot face in his palm, and the frequency, is the rate…

Of having a matching heartbeat, and each heartbeat’s a thunderclap.

Of slutty rising noises as your lips start to feel baked, catching smoke in the fire of his lips. It’s like he’s on a mission to find every weak spot that makes you gasp in his mouth just a little bit harder... a little bit louder, and a little bit more needier… 

And he’s swallowing every sound, believe… Just as his moans escape him in time for your kiss to catch them. The anchor’s getting dripped, chain link after chain link, after- plummeting deep.

The kiss turns hard, like every flash in the sky rages from your arc. Like, fuck, his own need for destruction those couple of months is perhaps now being taken out on you! But you don’t want him—

‘Stop... Oh my god, don’t stop!!’

Bloods races the pleasure center, & your brains beyond dissolved; otherwise, it’d take you a moment to understand your next action…

…The pads of your fingers taking on the cutting of his jaw…

…your nails digging into his face... 

Think-think, trashing a canvas! How dar—

Actually, it’s what tosses you over ecstasy’s edge, the fact you’re touching him where you shouldn—

“Pleease!!”

“Please what?” he smirks against your lips, his voice muffled in deprived hue! JUST unneeded!!

“I don’-don’t know!” You whine, frustrated, stimulated.

Yesss... yes, Do you want it worse? ’cause you got his face tight, and everything slipping out of control could easily get a whole lotta hotter. But-but

you aren’t his, and he-

he isn’t yours, and—

It cuts! Whatever that was, it gets cut. 

Your temple rests against his, and you’ve got your eyes closed, waiting for the embarrassed strain of really, whatever that was, really, to ease before you can face him again. Though-

though you continue to hold his face, even after your eyes meet his again in the dim light. 

...His face structure,

...his face structure, his face structure—and your hand as the measuring tool!

His sleek lips puffed from all the rub, painted in your lip product, looking miserably—

His rosy, now not only ears, but fucking cheeks.

It’s like he’s been through a war; he’s unaware, & you want to giggle, but you bite down. again!

Your thumb and index, however, disappear into something as you hold him. On each side, they sink into the most tender skin, the most tender tender you’ve ever touched, ever known, ever—

The gift-the 

stops your heart…

You-

He chuckles softly at your reaction… infuriating, confusing you-you

“Did you feel something?” 

You-

you take the question for a pause! pulling away for air and waiting for whatevers heavy on your throat to drop... He’s disarranged you! with his mouth; with what he’s crammed and left of him in there, in you; with his dimples, with his—

but you still tug on the corner of your lip and lie. “No?”

Tsk tsk… You play too much... 

Not that it’s a lie, either. It’ll take time to rip ‘either of them’ entirely from your hearts and lives. And the kiss just tested on that; on whether the two of you are still emotionally led by these abusers of your love. People you loved but turned out careless with your hearts. While one didn’t know how to handle so much of it, the other wanted something different entirely, so much they didn’t know what they wanted in the end.

His mouth forms that delectable shape it does, “No?”

You slowly shake your head… Whether you’re lying or not… He—

“Then,” he looks down, his brow lifts rather critically as he spins the ring on his finger, “...that must mean we’re still bound to them.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mmmmh,” lingers intentionally as he gives the ring another allusive turn and rubs the space near the knuckle. Then slow and deliberate with his words, he tries again; his lashes lazily flick up from the ring at you, following the question’s tempo, “Wanna try again?” 

But damn, if anything, you see his lowered stare as an attack! His submission is almost insulting;

‘We can always try again’ shines over his eyes, like a mirror glaze on a chocolate cake. He’s starved you with his eyes! like you’d never be free of that stare or him ever again.

And your dragging out a simple answer has him stilling inappropriately so close! His breath, everything invasive, harasses your face, persuading your body in ways you can’t escape.

And it all comes to a pinnacle,

as lightning knocks the whole fucking sky out! Forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, and there’s no going back; you feel it; you know it! Your eyes on him, his on yours... Breathing... Watching... Tired of waiting.

No hesitation; no doubt stands in between. The thunder supervenes, demanding you not to veer away, and his hand slides through your hair again, his fingertips digging in at the back of your head like 5 needles so u’d feel the intensity of his claim as he pulls you

You—

you don’t need to answer!

His lips crash against yours, sore, way softer. His tongue slavers, unashamed, pressing eagerly into every nook. A sorta kiss it pulls your breath from your soul. So much lip friction; so much touch; your mouths merge into a dance so slick—slipping and sliding in perfect sync. 

His other arm seamlessly circles you, wrapping around you just below your ribcage and gathers you against him. So much your body overfills with every emotion possible, you start to ball your fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against you as he groans softly, low in his throat. 

So much desperation, as if there is no time for kissing, but he wants you to know that in the future, there will be… A kiss in so much loneliness, like a hand pulling you up out of the water, scooping you up from a place of drowning and into the reckless abundance of air. He—

He’s got your past ‘distresses’ of weeks and weeks disappear!

And your next guttural moan consumes you in shame of itself as his teeth all suddenly fall into the soft skin of your burning neck. Then all quick, replaced by his tongue stabbing over… suckling hard… yet biting again. 

Pain equals pleasure; pleasure is pain; the feeling is…

absolute.

And the idea... of him indulging you there... where all your most vital veins are, one of the tenderest areas, the passage between your head and your heart—taking in your weak skin between his teeth but- ‘enough-precise’ not to leave a bruise, for there’s likely a time and a—

dragging his nose along the slope; licking the perfume across ur collarbone; just making you ache for more, making you need the dampness; making you—

Unmaking you. 

And as he comes up again, ‘shying’ in your hair, nibbling at your earlobe, you’re in much of a hold of a deeeep breath, not able to let it out for shit! All‘s just... CAUGHT! A long ‘fuuuuck,’ would explain you somehow, but you realize you’re still in public, and he’s still a man out of a dream who-

who just appeared from nowhere!

Worse, as it’s like all your fuckass restraint spurs him on!!

“You.. Are…” he leads on, his smile tickling your ear with the worst goosebumps. And it’s just that, a cuntass lead-on! His breath hot in your ear… His dark hue of a voice rubbing your ears- like without worry of kink... when—

“It’s insane… to me… I still haven’t got your name... You make me fight so much for it.”

Or, making your eyes shut-close as something ‘Baby’ convulses across you, and down! He’s not finished with it, but his dirty smirk has!!

OH, fucking, RIGHT! HIS NAME!!! …Your name!

It hits you! And you squeeze your eyes shut harder at the whirlwind of all the sorts ecstatic.

And they stay closed! They stay closed until you feel him tuck some of your hair behind your ear, and you-you jerk at the motion. Really, jerk at the motion!

The no-consent action, even if the most subtle, after all the indelicate you two just did, feels… yeah, you don’t know but— inexplicably… big. Immense. A pause on itself. Like all the anticipation and nerves are finally coming to their end, or maybe… their start(?)

With the ‘stormy’ foreplay, standing at its peak… 

With the breeze fading away, it immediately becomes… warm.

With the lightning and thunder fighting each other out in the darling desert sky… 

And in comes the calm… With the rain,

as small silvery raindrops start to fall on him… on you… on everything all around. 

Your eyes start to blink at the sight of him as the droplets begin to form pace. Looking at his attractive cheeks, now a wreck, and his fuller lips—just evidence of how hot things become… Of what they help create... Of

...Of the rude foreshow, just out of reach... of the times and the places when he’s not—

Right!! Your name!

…Which then he matches with that delectable shape of his mouth you noticed he loves to do,

“Jaehyun.” 

It enkindles your flirty lipbite, easily! And you go and do the same he’s done you—

smoothing his ruffled blond hair and tucking it behind his ear like a cutie!

A timeless beauty... SURE! You see how he could be a muse and how someone would want to write about him unconditionally.

You smile at the thought... then try his name & tune in to the way it sounds when you say it.

“Jae-hyun.” 

Mmm, definitely giving him a pace he can work with… being the bobbing returns. Along his soft hum, along that deep blink... But in the next moment, it’s—

it’s like in the next moment you surprise him. Only it’s just the rain’s fault for getting harder, as you peel his jacket off your shoulders and hand it back as you rise to your feet,

and it’s like he sees no alternative and goes and does the same. 

You get over ‘the hand back’ with the feeling like his fingers scrape past yours in the hopes of gaining more; like so much is communicated only through your eyes and a touch. Yet, you two are at a way-apart distance, like at the beginning when he rose to light your cigarette, and the gap just helps you put into perspective just how bodily-close you were actually to him all this time, just seconds ago.

This sculpt of a man…

that’s getting gradually more drenched… 

And who barely takes half-a-step to be inside your space. again.

By literally pulling you in in a new, unexplored way—his hand grabbing your waist and,

and intentionally or not, driving your top up for a real-skin performance as his fingers roughly meld into you.

Corrupt, is the word. 

So much, it makes you wonder who’s more firm—JUST who’s more insistent, him or the rain.

And at worst, it’s a killer transition—him slightly looming over you; really, Jaehyun’s ‘just-ripped’ cockiness, LOOMING over you. 

He just stares, and smiles, and holds your waist tighter... So much! it makes you wonder what’s going to happen next. 

So much the rain starts to feel heavy on his hair, and as a droplet drips from one of its ends onto your forehead, your lashes flutter in an whole obnoxious bodyshiver...

It trickles down your face-It trickles down your face and it ripples something basic, something primal... But so much, it sends you spiralling faster as his eyes dare down to you.

The sensuality ruins your layers; strokes your tummy, and makes your fingers curl in stress of whether you should reach for him and touch or not.

So much it unnerves you, but it’s the kinda unnerve where is beautiful.

Where now,

is he,

who gets to sit with his thoughts in his little boy grin, and your only fret is, ‘What’s wro—

A reprise, of a sweet reprise, of a—

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles, lowering himself down to you; his rain lips hovering in front of your rain lips, “I was just wondering how much I’ll have to fight for something more.”

“Like?”

He smirks, tongue in cheek, “You.”

The whole of you!?

“...A lot.”

“MHHMMM…”

“You like that?” you mess a bit more, in a deep low. 

“Do, you,” he assures you, planting a playful kiss an inch away from your mouth,

cruel on the fact he’s sending your sensations for a run on another mile.

“...Don’t hold back.”

Then pulls just a bit, just as silly rolling his eyes,

“Okay… maybe as long as nothings done behind my back.”

—

Whatever, baby, sure! Let’s make fun on our wounds. Fuck around and find out. Touch, and figure it out.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[s0urw00lf]

I don’t wanna live forever

Part two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Y/n is having a hard time coming to terms with her feelings for the guy she’s supposed to feel nothing more than a friendship with, so instead of confronting those feelings she runs away, which proves to be a mistake for her and him.

Warning: angst, heartbreak, fluff, sad angry Dean because he’s a warning in itself

An: this is my first Dean Winchester fic so i hope it lives up to your expectations. Also this is gonna be a two part series because i got carried away with setting up the plot for this. If you like this flick and the way i write i am taking requests for Sam, dean and cas so feel free to make some. Anywho love ya and i hope you enjoy.

Dean Winchester is the epitome of a girls dream guy. He’s smart, tall, and strong. Not to mention those pretty green eyes that scream ‘walking sex god’ or that cheeky ass smirk he wears when he knows he’s got a girl in his clutch. But thats not what made you fall for him, not the only reason at least. Dean Winchester has been your best friend since you both could walk. Being left to take care of Sammy while your mom and john were out hunting all through your childhood up really sealed your fate, you saw all of his most vulnerable moments and you knew those moments he needed you to break down those walls so he wouldn’t self destruct. But also you saw how much he loved, and how he fought for the people he loved, but he wouldn’t let anyone give that back to him. And thats why you loved him. Because you knew that just like him you’d do anything for him at any moments notice. You’d kill, you’d torture , you’d die If he needed.

So as you sat at a bar sipping on your martini watching dean flirt with the pretty curly headed bartender with a short skirt, your heart felt heavy within your chest and your stomach completely empty despite the large bowl of fries you were sharing with Sam. The feelings that surged through your body weren’t anger, or hatred. It was sadness and longing, knowing that even though you loved everything about that man, even though you knew him better than anyone else. Better than himself. He’d wouldn’t see you how you saw him, and no matter how much you hated it, you couldn’t hate him. Not one bit.

“Y’know if you sulk any harder people are gonna mistake you for a grounded teenager” an amused voice spoke from beside you. Your gaze broke from dean and turned to his brother, “shut up Sam” you said nudging his shoulder softly. A smile crossed the younger winchesters face, “he’s just looking for a distraction” he muttered to you, diverting his gaze over to his brother letting a frown overtake his features. Sam knew how utterly in love you and his brother were with each other, i mean anyone could see it. Except for some reason you two.

“Yeah well sleeping with a random person isn’t exactly what id call ‘a distraction’” you said bitterly, immediately feeling bad even though dean was nowhere around to hear. Sam shook his head at just how blind you were, “ i just don’t understand why he wont open up to us.” You said trying to keep your voice steady, stirring your drink around with your straw “He knows that we know how much loosing john is affecting him. Hell he’s not the only one fucking dealing. We all lost” she said trying not to let the tears forming in her eyes fall. Sam sighed “thats just how he is. It’s how he’s always been. The strong one” he said looking at his friend solemnly.

“Well it’s bullshit and he knows it” you said slamming your hands down on the table as you stood up. “Im going back to the motel” you muttered grabbing you coat from the back of your chair and trying to keep your tears at bay. Sam grabbed your wrist stopping you. “You want me to walk you?” He offered softly. “No it’s fine, i’m fine. I just need some time alone if thats okay” you said. Sam nodded letting go of your wrist, you gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead, a habit you’d formed when he was only two years old. And with that you exited the bar, not sparing a look in deans direction. You couldn’t stomach it. What you missed was the longing and worried look dean sent you as he weakly excused himself, and made his way over to Sam and began his interrogation.

While you walked your brain was racked with all of these intense emotions. But the most prominent thought was how much it was killing you. Given you’d known that Dean wasn’t the relationship type, i mean the ratio of his hookups to relationships says enough in itself. But you’d grown up together, you knew how much dean craved to be held and loved by a woman, and you were hoping by chance he’d let it be you. But as the months turned into years and years turned into a decade, you were tired. Tired of loving someone who only thought of you as a friend. Tired of loving someone who would shamelessly flirt with other women in front of you, no matter how deeply in love you showed him you were.

By time you reached the motel you’d had your mind made up, you’d apologize to the boys later but you had to go. And you knew that if you told them in person Sam’s puppy dog eyes that always worked and deans broken expression would’ve coaxed you back in. So there you are packing your bags (not that you had much to pack) and hopping into a car you’d managed to break into and Hotwire and began your way to Bobby’s.

When you arrived at Bobby’s he was shocked to see you but ultimately let you in. “Y’look like shit” he greeted looking you up in down taking in your puffy eyes. You laughed “good to see you too”. Bobby looked behind you, curiosity etched into his face “where are the other two idjits?” He asked. Your once happy expression dropped, replaced by a guilty look and you avoided his eyes as best you could. Bobby took a step forward, now concerned “peanut where are the boys” he asked a little more demanding this time. Tears pooled your eyes for what felt like the 100th time that day. “I- i left them in Wyoming” your voice broke as tears began to cascade down your face. “I didn’t tell them, they would’ve convinced me not to go” you explained. Bobby stared at the girl not sure what to do about the girl he saw as a daughter crying so freely in front of him. “Why’d ya leave? Somethin’ happen?” He asked leading you to the couch and taking a seat himself.

You shook your head “no… no nothing happened. I just couldn’t watch it anymore.” You muttered playing with your fingers in your lap trying to put your feelings into words. Bobby watched intently, and he swore he could almost see the cloud of thoughts above your head. It took about five seconds for it to click. Dean. “S’this ‘bout dean?” He leaned forward. You hesitated, finally looking up to meet them and eyes before you nodded. “It was okay before, i mean I’ve had feelings for him since we were 14 so i learned to tune it out mostly. But as we get older its just go hard, i mean I’m 26 now and I’ve seen him during relationships and hookups and its not effected me until now.” You explained, Bobby didn’t say anything, knowing that if he said the wrong thing you’d probably run up to your designated room and act like the conversation never happened.

“i think because i realized just how far id go for him, and with the way things are heating up that flame seems to grow more and more every hunt. But he doesn’t see it, he doesn’t see the raw and utter devotion i hold for him. He doesn’t see how i run off every guy because i know they wont be like him. He doesn’t see how much it hurts me to see him happy with someone else, even if it’s just for a night. And it hurts Bobby, it hurts like hell to love someone who only sees you as his best friend that much” you finished. By that point the tears were streaming down your face and he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Bobby stood up trying to keep his own tears at bay as he watched the young girl break down in front of him, he grabbed you by your wrist pulling you into a bone crushing hug as you sobbed into his shirt. The two of you stood like that until your sobs subsided, leaving you with sniffles every few seconds.

Bobby pulled away and grabbed your face “you are a smart, strong, beautiful young lady. And after all you’ve been through you deserve all the love in the world, and if dean can’t see that then he’s more of an idjit than i thought” he joked. A small laugh passed your lips and suddenly the need for sleep hit you like a ton of bricks. Bobby seemed to take notice because he sent you on your way upstairs to your room and you made no effort to fight sleep any longer.

just downstairs Bobby pulled out his phone that saw tht he had 14 missed callers from Sam and 27 from dean. He calculated how angry you’d be at him for making the decision he was about to but he’d deal with your anger over heartbreak any day. So he pressed the call back button and listened to the dial tone until deans voice replaced the noise

“Is she with you” he asked urgently, Bobby noted the sound of deans engine in the background as well as Sam asking if it was Bobby that called.

“Yeah she’s here, and you’d better have a damn good excuse for her showing up the way she did” Bobby said in an authoritative tone.

“I’m not 100% sure but i have a theory” dean replied with a distracted tone. “I don’t care what you do or don’t have. You get here and you fix it you understand boy?” “Yes sir” dean answered. Bobby then hung up, dean knew he was in deep shit if he couldn’t make things right with you