#im going to try to post a picture every time i feel shitty to think about what makes me happy

[x22817]

🌙Hekate🌙

[unicyclehippo]

reminder to self: finish the dang wash prompt

[have read it too many times & now my brain is fried so that’s it!! im done!! for @possibilistfanfiction​ the ray fic as promised, i hope u enjoy it!! for everyone else, if you think you’ve read this before, that’s because the start is functionally identical to the thing i posted a few weeks back for the “wash” prompt]

//

you should have listened to your brother. 

the thought makes you shudder and you ignore it valiantly as you start your morning, because at the heart of it, that’s what you do: you’re a runaway. 

hop out of bed; don’t think about it. make breakfast in your tiny kitchen, the overhead light a little dim but bright enough against blue pre-dawn morning; don’t think about it. get ready for work, check the to-do list note in your phone twice to make sure you’ve got everything you need; don’t think about it. not thinking about it works just fine until, asshole that he is, he calls you as you’re climbing into the car. 

you think about ignoring him but as much as he ticks you off—and you know that the first or maybe last words out of his mouth are gonna be, when are you coming home, ray—it’s been three weeks since the last time you spoke and you miss him. plus, it’s not as if he’s wrong (ugh). it is lonely here, sometimes, and you have friends closeby but no family, and your stomach hurt all last winter because no one wanted to learn to surf when the water was fuck-off cold and the jobs you got to cover those in-between months didn’t ever last long enough, and he’s right about all of that but he’s wrong about it not being worth it. he’s wrong about you needing to come home, because there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here and maybe, yeah, maybe that makes you selfish or reckless or any of the other things he’d called you in anger, regretted quickly, but the smell of seasalt and smog clings to you and you feel good, healthy, when you swing into the drivers seat of your car and excitement swells up inside of you—like always, every morning without fail—because this was never about running away, not really, it was always about this. about running to something, about having a different home, about making a place where you feel right in yourself, braver and better too. maybe when you explain that to him this time, for what feels like the hundredth time, he’ll get it. 

you put the phone in its clip, up on the dash, and answer his call. 

‘hey,’ he says, voice gravelly with the early hour and the crackle of your shitty reception. ‘didn’t think you were gonna pick up. figured you were still ignoring my calls.’

god, you miss him. but he’s your brother so you won’t ever say that except under pain of torture, maybe. Instead, you say, tone clipped,

‘thought about it.’ it’s not helpful to be short with him but hell, you answered, didn’t you? It doesn’t fall on you to fix all of this. 

he sits with that for a second, then clears his throat. you can picture him clear as day: he’ll be leaning back against the counter of his kitchen, arms folded, face folded up as he listens hard to every word. there’ll be coffee brewing in a pot, and all the stuff for the kids lunches laid out ready for the assembly line. 

he tries again. you love him for this, you admire him for this—not that you’ll ever admit it to him. he never stops trying. 

‘you off to work?’

‘yeah.’

‘how’s that going?’

for a second, there’s another short answer on your lips. something terse, something not quite unkind but not welcoming or inviting. but then you think about him standing in the kitchen pre-dawn making your sandwiches, day after day, and glance to the passenger seat to your bag where you tossed the sandwich you’d made this morning in your tiny kitchen—exactly the way he used to make it, and makes now for his son and daughter—and instead you say, 

‘i have a new student.’

‘oh? kid or adult class?’

‘adult.’ 

there’s a smile in his tone, just exactly as teasing as when you were fourteen and admitted to having a crush on sophie perez (a year older than you and so much cooler), when he says, ‘is she pretty?’

‘oh, come on marco.’

‘what! i’m just asking.’

‘you’re just being nosy is what you are.’

‘sorry, sorry,’ he laughs. ‘but that’s totally a yes, by the way.’

you roll your eyes. there’s not really a word for what beatrice is. pretty, yes, absolutely. but it’s sneaky, the ways in which she’s really stunning, and even after three sessions teaching her how to surf you still feel kinda knocked around by her, not quite able to find your feet. she’s so composed, always, that it makes you feel awkward. listens so intently to your instructions and advice that under that close attention you feel singular, like the only person in the world. and, you don’t tell him, cannot tell your brother without seeming like the world’s biggest weirdo, you’ve seen her smile two and a half times. the half had been an accident; you’d turned to her at just the right moment to witness it—she’d been looking at nothing in particular, an empty spot on the beach, eyes gone wistful—but it wasn’t for you, and it wasn’t exactly happy, so it doesn’t seem right to count it as a full third. each time she smiles, it makes you want to see another with a fierceness that startles you. you are no stranger to want, nor attraction, and you know that makes up part of your fascination with beatrice but, if that were not enough, there is even more to her. 

all the rest, your brother could wheedle out of you eventually, but this is something you keep locked tightly away, something you have not ever spoken to him about. 

you should, eventually. you will (you might). 

the first time you met beatrice, spoke with her after wading up and out of the hissing surf, with her lingering on the outskirts of your lessons to “inquire how to take part”—she’d taken the sheet you’d handed her and filled it out right there and then in careful script, beatrice, she/her, twenty four, england, never surfed before, email, phone number, emergency contact, the last of which had made her pause for a long time—something in you had recognised something in her. grief, still painful, had welled up in your chest, nailed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, stung in your eyes powerfully that you’d had to turn away and run your fingers through your hair, dig your heels into the sand, step back into the wet sand and the water pooling around your ankles. the ocean takes away everything you’re not ready to feel; while you are out there, it holds you up, weightless. two minutes into talking with beatrice, you know that she wants the same thing. 

none of which you particularly want to tell your brother, so you say, ‘yeah, she’s pretty.’

‘single?’

‘i haven’t asked.’

‘you should.’

‘should i?’ 

pulling neatly into the park by the boardwalk—your favourite, for no particular reason other than this was the same one you always take, the same one you took the first day you came here, ended up here—you turn off the car but don’t make any move to get out. the engine quietens, then goes silent. marco fills the silence. saying things like how long has it been since you went on a date and you never know unless you try. you pull the keys from the ignition, toss them into the little waterproof bag you’ll take down to the sand with you. sunscreen, food, first aid kit. 

‘what happened to, it’s time to come home?’ you interrupt his teasing. 

he sighs. the line crackles, weirdly high-pitched, as the kettle begins to make noise on his end. 

‘listen, ray. i miss you. i’m not gonna pretend that’s not true, or that i don’t worry about you all the time. and with all the shit that’s been going on lately… i want you nearby. but asim said, and i guess he might be right, that i’m being overprotective. and an ass.’

you’ve thought similar things about him before. twice, just this morning. but hearing him say it, voice warm and tired and a little ashamed, makes you want to take the first plane home and hug him until all the weird, unsettled, lonely parts of you find their place. like all it’ll take to fix everything is a hug from your big brother. but you know that isn’t true. knowing it makes you feel a little old and sad. resolute too, because you’re good here, better than you were. you made this place for yourself and you’re filling it with good, important things. 

that’s far too many feelings for four a.m. so you say, ‘say asim was right again,’ and marco laughs. and then, because he was open first, and that makes it easier to follow, to admit to your own missteps, mistakes, you say, ‘i think about it all the time. coming home, i mean. i love you guys, and i do miss you guys, and you’re right. it’s hard out here. but…i love it. my life, the beach.’ he laughs again at that, which is fair. you could have said one or the other; the beach is your life, after all. ‘hey marco, i gotta go. before the waves get tired.’

‘yeah. yeah, i get it. hey - talk later?’

‘yeah. anytime.’ 

‘love you. be safe out there.’

‘always am. love you too.’

//

beatrice is waiting on the sand when you finally get down there; she’s not looking for you, just watching the sun rise, and you’re going to call out to her when something changes—maybe some ephemeral thing, little more than a change in the quality of the light when you take a step closer; maybe the way she’s holding herself, one hand folded over her wrist where you’ve seen the black ink in the divot of her wrist, delicate letters small enough that you haven’t been able to read it when you’ve snuck a peek or two before. whatever it is, you decide to give her a second on her own. 

the sand is hot on the surface and cooler beneath. you shift your weight, dig your feet down until the sand covers the tops of your feet, just to give yourself something to do. and then you stare out over the ocean and breathe. 

it’s beautiful. it’s so fucking beautiful. you’ve known this was where you were gonna end up since you were eight years old and your cousin gabriel had pinned a photo of it to your wall—no one will ever consider it a masterwork of photography, that old blurred snapshot of sand and water and the sun, and just a tiny bit of his fingertip, no one but you because it had been his and he gave it to you, because he’d stood on the beach—maybe this beach, maybe right where you are now—and loved it so much he’d taken a photo of it and you’ve got the proof of it (proof of him, always) tucked into a book on your bedside. 

‘good morning.’

you drag your eyes away from the sunrise—super gorgeous, thin wispy clouds like cotton-candy, pink in the sunlight, striped across the distant horizon, and everything shimmering in what, logically, you know is the smog haze but for a second it can just be beautiful too—to find that beatrice has wandered up to join you. she’s watching you with the attentive curiosity you’ve come to expect—warmer than polite, cooler than inviting. 

‘hey, morning. sorry i’m late—got caught up talking to my brother.’

she nods her understanding. it has a thoughtful tilt to it, or maybe questioning. ‘does he live elsewhere in the world?’

‘excuse me?’

‘it’s early for a call. is he in another timezone?’

you don’t think she’s interrogating you, or she doesn’t mean to interrogate you. you actually think she’s trying to be nice and show interest, so you say, ‘well, he’s home—mexico—so… i think it’s an hour later for him. something like that. but he’s a get-up-and-go kinda guy—has been, ever since i took up surfing. he used to drive me to the water when i was a kid.’

‘older brother, then.’

‘only by a couple of years.’ you roll your eyes, ‘that’s all he needs to get up in my business.’

‘that’s what brothers are for. so i hear.’

‘true.’ you think about saying something more, because all you want to do right now is keep talking to her as long as possible, preferably forever, but that urge seems like a you problem, and something that’ll get washed away the second you dunk your head in the water. ‘okay! hey - mind taking this board and i’ll run back for the other one?’

when you return with your board, hauled down off the roof of your car, beatrice has set her sandals neatly beside her tote a few meters up from the tideline where it’ll all stay dry. you dump your bag right beside hers and jog to join her, check her out with a quick look. of the wetsuit, that is, that you had advised her to buy if surfing was something she wanted to keep doing. 

she crouches, wets her hands, and secures the leash of her board carefully around her ankle. 

‘good job!’ you compliment, because it’s four-something in the morning and, yeah, it’s your choice to get up this early but that doesn’t mean you’re firing on all cylinders yet. you want to say something impressive and kind and get her eyes on you because she’s pretty and interesting but, here’s the thing, most of the time you’re teaching children so the compliment comes out the way you would say it to little jayla (eight years old and nervous about everything and therefore, in your opinion, the bravest little soul in the world for keeping at it). 

beatrice looks over at you, amused, and you earn your third full smile from her. 

she’s laughing at you, definitely, which you don’t mind, have never minded when it comes to girls; years of report cards scrunched at the bottom of your bag, with comments amounting to smart enough but needs to spend more time listening and less time clowning around for the girls will back you up in that regard. your mami despaired of your grades and your attention (or lack of it) and she had chided you then, sat you down at the kitchen table opposite her as you made dinner together for the whole family, splitting the excess. she scolded—and pressed a ripped piece of bolillo into your hand to tide you over to dinner—she lamented—and passed over a bowl, diced tomatoes, crisp and red—and she talked to you about hard work and the importance of school and respect for your teachers and you know now that it was all love, that loud bright kitchen and how she made you handle it all together, space and work and life; you didn’t have the words to explain then—though you remember trying, loudly—that you knew, or thought, you were only really any good at two things, that most of the time you feel like you’re sleepwalking through your life and it’s only when you’re out there in the water, or making your friends laugh, that you feel totally real and vital and incredible. 

here, today, beatrice’s eyes are on you and you’ve made her smile (laugh, even). you feel invincible.

you laugh at yourself. run a hand through your hair. ‘you wouldn’t believe how many people put their wetsuits on backwards, or don’t bother with the leg rope, so. really, you’re doing great.’

she shrugs very slightly, cheeks gone a little pink under the compliment, or the sunrise, or maybe—a girl can dream—your singular attention. ‘thank you, then.’

‘sure,’ you say, and, ‘i can get your zip for you, if that’s okay? it’s not quite all the way up.’

‘thank you, yes.’ 

she turns away from you so you can fix it and you do, immediately and without lingering. she has freckles across her shoulders; the teeth of the zipper tug closed, swallow up the sight of them. you think, briefly, about kissing her there on the back of her neck, her shoulders, of taking a zip between your fingers and pulling it down. 

‘how does it feel? i know the wetsuits can be weird at first.’

‘it’s fine. i’ve worn stranger.’

you desperately want to ask for details but, aside from her first name, you don’t know anything much about her except that she wants to learn surfing, and probably the first time you ask for more information shouldn’t be about what she’s worn, even though your brain is filled with all kinds of theories. so instead you swallow back a flirty comment—also she is paying you to teach her, you remember abruptly, and maybe you should wait until after the lesson to flirt with her—and nod to the water. 

‘let’s hit it, then.’

the sand is golden, and the ocean is starting to turn gold under the sunlight, and you feel a bit golden too. you think idly, self-indulgent, you want heaven to be like this. a golden beach, with everyone you’ve ever loved on it with you. you take it in—a great start to the morning—and, smiling, run forward into the water.

/

she’s lighter, after surfing. 

in your first few lessons, you weren’t sure whether it would be like that for her. it’s not the physical part—she’s obviously fit and athletic enough to be good at surfing (you’ve noticed); there’s this…relaxation isn’t the right word, meditative is close but too dramatic for your tastes.

it’s like this. you paddle out to the calm, past the small waves that break close to the shoreline, and sit on your board and wait, legs dangling in the water, fingers drifting over the surface of it. maybe you sit in silence, maybe you chat with your buddy. and then you pick out a wave and then there’s this feeling when the wave swells and you catch it just right—you’re a little outside of yourself, entirely out of your head, and you experience it totally, trusting the wave to carry you and your body to move the way you’ve taught it to. you thought, when you first met her, that beatrice was too contained for that, every movement so precise, so controlled, intentional and intelligent and totally present, always watched, always watching herself. if there’s anyone who needs to get out of their head, you thought then and think now, it’s beatrice. 

and now. it’s only been four lessons, four days of knowing her split up over a couple weeks. you’re sitting on your board, legs in the water, cold spray in your face. august and siti—a couple of the regulars, friendly, you talk sometimes enough to say hello at the least, and lent august your sunscreen last week when they forgot to pack some even though it is not cheap—are a decent way further out. you see a good wave start to roll in and before you can say anything to beatrice, she’s already spotted it and moving. you stay where you are, watching as she catches it alone so you can check her form and you see it happen. she pops up smooth and rides it all the way in. a second later, you’re searching for a wave you can catch and wave at her to stay; you tumble off in the shallows, not your most graceful wave ever, and rush up to her. beatrice is smiling (four and a half, you think, totally brainless), big and so pleased, and you can’t help but grin back at her. 

‘you felt it!’ you call out—accuse, almost—when you’re close and she laughs. slicks her hair back off her face with a trembling hand. 

‘i - i think - yes, i did, yes.’ she’s breathing hard, from excitement you think—she’s caught waves before, bigger ones even, but this is different and you can tell. it’s entirely confirmed when she reaches out, clasps your wrist, and smiles—all for you. (five and a half.) ‘thank you, thank you.’

‘yes,’ you say, a little brainless, a little helpless. ‘of course.’

(fourteen years old, madly in love with sophie perez and madly heart-broken when you spotted her hand-in-hand with some scruffy-haired unfunny boy, your cousin gabriel had driven far across town to pick you up and, ignoring the impressive sulk you’d sunken into, packed you into his car and took you to the beach. he hadn’t spoken to you at all while you cried into his shoulder, his arm thin and strong around you, holding you tight, a tether, and when you roughly scrubbed the tears off your shame-hot face, he’d smacked your hands away and pulled a pack of tissues from his bag, cleaned you up carefully. nodded when he was done, approving. and then he stood and walked knee-deep into the water, not seeming to care that he was in jeans or that you’d have to get back into his car in wet clothes. 

love is like the ocean, he’d said. 

you remember rolling your sore eyes because at fourteen years old you already knew that love wasn’t the ocean. love was enjoying all the same music and turning up early to class to get the seat across from hers and the way your heart sped up when you passed her in the hall and staying up way too late dreaming of ways to make her laugh in class the next day. but gabriel was your favourite so you listened carefully, and you’re thankful for that now because you can remember so much. his dark curls, the smudge of his eyeshadow, how cold the water had been on your skin, how warm his arm had been around your shoulders.

not everyone loves her the same way. some people stay for a day and then head back to the mountains. he’d paused. mountains are, i dunno, a loveless marriage in this metaphor. you’d laughed at him. some people paint it, or make movies, but they never swim in it. some people sail out in their nice boats and go fishing. take what they want from her and head back to dry land. but for people like us? gabriel wore rings on his fingers and a shirt, tight, in a dusky kind of orange. love for us is like the ocean. we could drown in it and it wouldn’t be enough. he had a boyfriend in the city, and was beautiful and proud and kind, and you’d looked out over the calm sea and thought the world must be really different for him, vibrant and strange and wonderful. you felt special, nestled into his side. 

people like us, he’d said, and you remember because you remember everything about that afternoon, that in amongst his kindness, he’d sounded sad.)

you’re not fourteen anymore. you love the ocean more than you love anything else. when beatrice smiles at you, your heart swells, crashes, drags you under. you love her, too.

/

‘i love surfing,’ you tell her later, pleasantly tired. 

you trudge up toward the car park, stumble a little at the tide-mark where wet sand turns dry and gives way under your weight. you swear under your breath; every spare moment of your life has been spent at one beach or another, and you’d think that would earn some kind of loyalty perk, like, never tripping over your feet in front of cute girls, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. but beatrice only laughs, kindly, and puts a hand out to steady you and you don’t need it but you take it, of course. beatrice is slimmer than you, and a little taller, and far more graceful; you wonder if she’s ever tripped over anything in her life. her hand is cool from the water and calloused and scarred, which you didn’t entirely expect but makes a kind of sense in the collage you’re putting together in your head of what little scraps of information she’s given you.

beatrice takes her hand back; you keep your observations to yourself. 

‘you love surfing,’ she prompts. and then, ‘i’m starting to love it too, i think.’

‘it’s okay if you don’t, i won’t think less of you,’ you say, only lying a little bit, which you think she knows because she arches an eyebrow in your direction. you grin back. ‘of course i hope you do. but if you’re only coming to lessons for my many charms, i completely understand.’

‘is it hard? surfing, with such a large head?’ she snarks, unimpressed but eyes bright.

‘god never gives us more than we can handle,’ you say, absolutely facetious, absolutely cocky. she looks away. you put “doesn’t like jokes about god” in the collage of beatrice and move on. ‘you thanked me. earlier. you don’t need to. you’re paying me, first of all,’ you tease, ‘but. i love surfing for what it is, for myself, out there alone. i love every bit of it. but the teaching part… i didn’t expect to love that. it’s turned out to be so cool. getting to know all kinds of people, introduce them to surfing. and the water, too, sometimes. watching them fall in love with…’ 

you stop at the rocks and look behind you. the strip of sand, the greedy suck of the tide crawling higher up the beach, the shimmering green-glass sea.

‘with all of that.’

you think about being embarrassed about your tone—way too sincere, way too holy—but when you meet her eyes you see she understand this, too: that holy can be found outside the cathedral, that hymns can be the raucous gull shriek and wave crash and breath. 

‘getting to partake, and teach, and do what i love every day? honestly my genuine pleasure.’

the words bring something complicated to her face. sad? wistful? a little angry, definitely. her eyes return to the view; you stay looking at her, not keen to lose whatever she might say to the crash and hiss of the waves. 

‘i wish…’ she holds herself still. she’s lost the lightness surfing brought her; you don’t know if it’s your fault, you hope it isn’t, or if it was never going to last very long for her. ‘i wish i had that.’

if you were thinking about it properly, you don’t know beatrice or her situation well enough to give advice. but you like her, and you want to be able to help, and you get the impossibly strong (if slightly uncertain) vibe of queerness absolutely radiating off her and that you understand. plus, surfing makes you brave—a little stupid in that invincible way, like nothing can hurt you, like nothing can truly go wrong, like anything that does go wrong can be fixed—so, picking up your board again, you head off toward your car once more and she follows. 

as you walk, you say, ‘i think you can have it. i think you can make it. joy, passions, a life you want to live… that doesn’t fall out of the sky, you know?’ she flinches at that but you keep going, since you already dove in. ‘most of the time, you have to work for it. all of the time, it’s about making decisions and figuring out what’s important. figuring out who you are—how you feel, how you want to exist, what you want to do. and then you have to find your way there.’ scraping your fingers through your hair, pushing it back out of your eyes, you take a second to think. ‘once you know the life you want to have, you can go out and get it. a little at a time.’

she stops where the sand hits concrete, which you get. the beach feels worlds away from reality, sometimes, and you get wanting to stay there as long as possible. everything seems smaller, compared to the ocean. more manageable. you stand there with her.

‘what if what i want is impossible?’

‘…damn. great question. i don’t know. set yourself an easier goal?’ that startles her, and for a moment you think it would have been better to be gentle or sincere but then she laughs, louder than before. god, you think, thank you for letting me meet her. thank you for letting me make her laugh. ‘i don’t always turn into a life coach and give unasked for advice after surfing, i swear. it costs ten bucks more for that package, if you want to spring for that next time, but hey, first one for free.’

‘perhaps i will. you seem to have all the answers.’

‘maybe not all of them but yeah, i know some stuff.’ you let sincerity bleed through, here, because you joke around but there’s something serious and seriously healing about being with other people, being able to be open and honest with them, and you can be that for beatrice, if she wants. 

‘what about you?’

‘what about me?’

‘you made the decision to come here,’ beatrice says, with that faintly accusing, faintly interrogative tone she gets. ‘why?’ 

ah. here is what your invincibility gets you—the sting of salt in your eyes; a heavy pressure against your head, your ears, like you’ve dunked you head beneath the waves and all you can hear is the slam of your pulse; and that feeling—one that doesn’t hit so often anymore—that you are just one little creature treading water at the top of the vast ocean, alone, with no one around to help you out. 

it only lasts for a few seconds. 

you’ve talked to people, on and off, for a few years. and you know how to ground yourself in the here and now—the heat of the sand, the sun on your shoulders, your hair drying into careless waves and curling a little around your ears, tickling your jaw, the taste of salt and lip balm when you lick your lips, the click of your wrist when you flex it. 

you step off the sand and into the parking lot, toward your car. for a minute, you work in silence getting your board up onto the rack; the work helps but the collar of your wetsuit is soaked and heavy, tight around your throat. when you turn back to help beatrice with her board, you grab for the zipper and tug it down an inch, let it slacken so you can breathe better. 

it has been a long enough delay in answering her that she’s starting to make assumptions, observations of her own. she also has the faintly horrified look of someone who has stepped in something gross—dog shit, or, in this case, brought up a more deeply personal conversation than she was prepared for—and looks like she’s searching desperately for a way to change the subject. but it was a direct question, an honest one and not unfair, not one you’re unhappy answering, so you say, 

‘when i say you make decisions, choices…things happen to us in life and we can’t control that shit. but you get to decide what to do after that. something… something kinda rough happened in my life.’ you look at her, and think of a grief so profound that you have to wear it on your skin. you flex your hands, and look down at the tattoo on her wrist that you still haven’t taken the time to examine, not visible under the sleeve of her wetsuit. ‘my cousin died,’ you tell her. ‘he was really important to me. and after that, i chose to come here. left my hometown, my family, and started again. i’d wanted to do it for ages and i guess i realised this was the only life i was gonna get. so here i am. and that,’ you say, tone much lighter, ‘is all you’re getting out of me this morning. you know how it goes—just a little of a great thing at a time. can’t risk you getting sick of me, can i?’ 

beatrice looks at you for a long moment, fingers resting on her wrist. eventually, she shakes her head, passes over her board. ‘i’m not sick of you.’’

‘oh yeah?’ you hoist up the board and fix it in place. when you look back over your shoulder, you mean to say something teasing but lose your head because she’s looking at you—your back, your arms. you flex a little more than you need to and her eyes dart to your muscles, your wrists, and linger on your tattooed hands. 

she turns away with pink cheeks you’re certain isn’t the sun’s fault. clasps her hands behind her back. 

‘thank you,’ she says, sincerely. ‘for sharing that with me.’

‘sure, of course.’ it’s not really an of course. you can count on two hands the number of people you would talk to about gabriel. but it’s an of course for her. you don’t think too hard about it. 

‘and for the lessons.’

that makes you laugh. ‘the ones you are paying for? you’re welcome.’  it’s kind of obvious at this point that she’s just looking for things to say, to hang out a little longer, and you take pity on her. and also, you want to spend more time with her too so, hey, works out perfectly. ‘if you’re not busy, if you don’t have to run off, maybe we can talk some more? i don’t have to be anywhere for a while and there’s this place down the road—a few minutes that way, walking distance, easy. decent coffee, great view. we could get coffee. breakfast, even.’

beatrice turns super slowly and stiffly to look in the direction you point. it’s a long, long moment before she looks at you.

‘as a date?’

‘hopefully, yeah.’

‘oh.’ her eyes dart around the mostly empty parking lot—it can’t be later than six, if that—and suddenly contained seems a little more like hidden. ‘I’m—that’s kind of you—’ she swallows. sets her shoulders, her jaw, and meets your eyes. ‘i have a partner.’

‘that makes sense.’ you wonder, briefly, what her partner is like. you hope they’re stoic and serious as beatrice is, because if they’re hot and funny like you it’ll be vaguely devastating. maybe you’ll get to meet them. ‘as friends, then.’ beatrice hesitates. ‘would your partner be cool with that?’

beatrice smiles again, one of those not-for-you smiles. you think again, more fervently, that you’d like to meet her partner—they must be something seriously special to have captured beatrice’s attention, first of all, but to get her to smile like that… 

‘she’d be delighted, actually.’ she touches her wrist and nods. ‘yes. thank you. i - we - can do that. get coffee.’

she makes it sound revolutionary, like she’s never had coffee before, which you know is not the case because you’d mentioned, offhand, that if one more goddamn politician or bank twitter account advised people to save money and make coffee at home you were gonna lose it, and she’d agreed that she preferred homemade tea and store-bought coffee, and mentioned an article she’d read on how coffee was produced and how it worked, which she though was “quite interesting” and when she forwarded it to your e-mail it wasn’t a think piece like you’d been expecting but rather a fourteen page research article, peer-reviewed, on the social aspects of caffeine consumption, or something like that. there’s genuine nerves in her rigid posture, and you think of how revolutionary, world-changing, bold, fucking terrifying and a little bloody it’s been to get here, where you’re standing now. 

‘cool. if you’ve got time after, there’s this surf shop—it’s a bit of a hike but,’ you flick your eyes to the cloudless blue sky overhead. ‘nice day for it. we can look at a couple of boards for you. i’m happy to go with you, help you find something good. borrowing a board is fine while you’re learning but it’ll be easier and feel better when you’ve got one that’s properly suited to you.’

she nods seriously, the way she always does when you talk about surfing, student to teacher. ‘i - would like that.’ 

‘yeah? awesome, alright!’ 

//

the cafe is a decent size and decently popular, which normally makes it hard to get a seat sometimes but today is a day of miracles and a couple is clearing out right as you get in, freeing up a table in the laneway. it’s in a good spot, shaded by one of the wide umbrellas and not in the way of the servers, so you sit sideways in your chair and happily stretch out your legs, pluck off your sunglasses and hang them off the collar of your t-shirt. opposite, beatrice tucks herself into her seat prim and proper, no surprises there; what does surprise you is how still she sits and how, even though you know that she agreed—wants—to be here, it’s like she’s trying to go invisible. 

the server who brings out your drinks is young and harried, doesn’t even pause when you thank him. you’d ordered an espresso, and beatrice had asked for the same, but now she’s staring down at it doubtfully.

‘did you want something else?’

she shakes her head no. ‘i’d like to try it. this is your preferred coffee?’

‘my abuelo makes the meanest espresso you’ve ever had. this is water in comparison.’

‘oh.’

‘but it’s a nice place and i like the beans they use here. i really should ask what their blend is one of these days but,’ you shrug. ‘i don’t have a machine at home so what’s the point, right?’

she nods. picks up the little cup and sips at it. immediately, her nose wrinkles and her lips twist and her perfect posture breaks for a second as she bodily fights the urge to say, presumably, judging by her grimace, ‘yuck!’ she lowers it but doesn’t set it down, like it would be impolite to abandon it immediately, and watches with the tiniest grimace as you drink it happily. 

‘not for you?’

‘at risk of sounding like a stereotype, i am more of a tea drinker. this is…rather a powerful taste.’ she looks a little guilty setting it back down. ‘do you mind if i order something else?’

‘no, course not. but i might judge you on what you get,’ you tease, grinning, and she just rolls her eyes, nods. you split your attention between enjoying the morning and watching the line creep forward until she’s at the register, shake your head when she folds another note into the tip jar. 

she comes back to the table with another coffee—an oatmilk latte, with lavender of all things—and, as promised, you tease her gently about it.

‘really settling in, aren’t you? very LA of you,’ you say, and pretend to gag. ‘lavender. gross.’

beatrice smiles over the lip of her cup, shakes her head. ‘your favourite drink tastes like battery acid, i don’t think your opinion counts.’

‘ouch.’ 

‘you mentioned your abuelo,’ she says. ‘do you have much family?’

talking about family is easy, even if beatrice does make it a little of an interrogation—she gets everyone’s names and ages, nodding with this intense look in her eyes like she’s filing it away somewhere in her brain, like if you never spoke again and ran into each other in ten years she would still remember. you don’t have anything to hide, happy to tell her: yes, you’ve been here a while, a little over five years; surfing has always been your favourite thing to do; no, it’s not your only job, you have a very boring desk job but the boring bits are compensated by the fact that you get to work from home and your boss is kind of amazing about letting you take your afternoon run down to the beach and back; yes, you’re queer, you’ve known forever and so has your family, and yes they’re fine with it, very supportive, and they love you the same as they always did after you came out. 

‘barely needed to, really. my mami said she knew since i was like ten, eleven, maybe. all because i followed my tennis coach around like a duckling, which makes sense because i can’t think of why else i would play tennis, it fucking sucks.’ beatrice sips guardedly at her coffee, looking away, and it’s so carefully inoffensive that you have to laugh. ‘tell me you don’t love tennis, beatrice, please.’

she shrugs carefully. ‘i’ve enjoyed it in the past. both playing and spectating.’

you groan. ‘no, beatrice! christ.’

‘it’s an olympic sport—‘

‘it’s dead boring,’ you insist.

beatrice frowns at you, considering. ‘you’re bad at it,’ she announces after a moment, very confident. ‘if you were better at it, perhaps you’d enjoy it more.’ you laugh, shrug a little, because she’s hit the nail on the head. she continues, ‘to its credit, tennis has serena williams, the most incredible athlete—‘

‘messi.’

‘team sport,’ she counters, and you cede the point with a nod.

‘certainly she’s the greatest tennis player of all time—‘

‘oh undoubtedly.’

‘—and it’s also one of the only sports that pays men and women equal prize money, and has mixed competitions.’

‘great points,’ you allow. ‘and yet, somehow it’s still fucking boring.’ beatrice fully scowls, shaking her head, and you have to ask, ‘are you rethinking being friends with me?’ 

she relents after a moment. sets down her drink with a sigh. ‘we can be friends,’ she tells you after a moment. ‘so long as we’re on the same page regarding serena williams.’

‘i’d love to regard serena williams.’

‘you should watch tennis, then,’ beatrice tells you bluntly, and smiles, pleased, when you laugh hard at that.

‘okay. you know everything about me now so what about you?’

‘what about me?’

you push a hand through your hair, ruffle it; her eyes follow the movement, your hands, and then she stares down at her coffee. ‘how long have you been in LA?’ 

‘a month. perhaps a little less.’

‘and you came here because…?’ when she hesitates, you say, ‘wait, wait, let me guess—you’re going to be in movies, right?’ she laughs like that’s ridiculous—even if one in five people you meet here is an aspiring actor, and none of them as compelling or, honestly, attractive as beatrice is—and relaxes. ‘ok, not movies. tv?’

‘no, i’m not here to act. i’m here to…’ she picks up a knife off the table, turns the cutlery smoothly between her fingers. ‘settle, i suppose. i’ve been travelling for some time.’

‘oh yeah? where to?’ 

it takes a little nudging for her to get going but when she does, she speaks very sincerely of the world, of its people and religions, of sights natural and man-made. she’s light on details but you can tell that the travel was important and life-changing, which you sort of understand. you haven’t been many places but every town away from where you grew up felt like a whole new world, like freedom, and you can only imagine that beatrice’s travelling was like that but no doubt on a far grander scale. 

‘and your partner? what are they like?’ you ask, and immediately know that you’ve fucked up, because beatrice looks abruptly striken. ‘sorry, i -‘

‘no. it’s fine. she - ‘ a little of the horror in her fades the moment she says she, like even the thought of her partner is enough to soothe, but most of it stays. she picks up one of the paper napkins, twists it harshly between her fingers. ‘she’s sick.’

sick, she says, voice thick, unsteady. it occurs to you that she’s lying, trying to soften the blow or maybe deny it to herself again, but beatrice doesn’t seem like a liar. you choose to believe her. this is what it was, you realise. the source of that grief you’d felt, seen, ever since you first met her. you recognise the grief in her eyes—loss, fear, confusion too, like she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself. you remember that. the fog, the ache, when he was gone like an organ removed and your life having to close and heal around the lack. trying to find something that filled in that empty space, or fit enough that it didn’t hurt so much. 

love for us is like the ocean. that’s true for you, then and now. you don’t think it’s the same for beatrice. 

there’s love in every part of her—the joy and the waiting, the grief and the hurting—and there’s a cross around her neck that drags low, heavy, and there are words on her wrist that stand out stark against her skin and you think for beatrice love is like religion, holy, dedicated, faithful. you’re terrified that she’s waiting for a miracle that will never come; you hope, of course you hope and will pray for it tonight, that she gets it.

it’s also far too much to consider on a weekday before coffee, and you’ve already planned to keep her in your life in whatever capacity you can, so. you can talk about it later. 

‘oh. that’s -’ beatrice looks like if you say another word she’s gonna bolt; if she does, you’re not sure that she’ll come to her next lesson, even if she has already paid for it. instead of condolences or well wishes, you say, ‘do you wanna hear about the time i hopped a fence and ripped my pants? right in the butt.’

she wasn’t expecting that in the slightest, obviously. a small smile curls her lips upwards and she resettles, looking dramatically less like she’s going to flee. ‘yes. that sounds very amusing.’

‘it’s funny now, sure, but back then? first of all, i got teased a lot. and second, it fucking stung,’ you bemoan, grinning when she looks a little unsure of whether this was, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. she relaxes a little more and you thank god and your parents and brother that you get to be the person you are, someone who can make other people laugh. that’s not a bad life–surfing at the beach, a boring job, and making your friends laugh? not bad at all. 

‘sounds like a pain in the ass.’ beatrice says, looking very pleased with her joke when it makes you groan, which is a lot better than her looking devastated. ‘what happened?’

‘usual idiot kid stuff. playing footy with my brother, kicked the ball over the neighbours fence. i thought i could jump it, get it back for us, and i did. mostly,’ you add after a tiny pause. then, slyly, you say, ‘the only reason i didn’t rip my boxers and my pants is because i was going commando.’

‘no.’ 

‘better a cut up my ass than ruining my good boxers,’ you wink, and beatrice laughs.

it’s just as easy as that to turn the conversation to lighter topics. she knows what you’re doing—you can tell, because her smile is occasionally too grateful than is deserved for just a chat over coffee—but she allows you to do it, and all too soon it’s been an hour and she’s buying you a second coffee, takeaway this time, and tipping, like, two hundred per cent with the most pristine notes you’ve ever seen tucked away in this slim handsome wallet, and you’re walking lazily, slowly back the way you’d come toward the beach. it’s not really a surprise that she declines the offer of heading to the surf shop—she still seems a bit unsteady after the mention of her partner—and you’re a little worried that she’ll disappear from your life now so you slow your pace when you see your car, twirl your keys around your finger. 

‘what is it, ray?’ she asks, a touch cautious but mostly good-natured, curious. 

‘busted. i was just thinking… you have a partner—major bummer, by the way,’ you tease, which is a fucking risk, but she manages a tiny smile. ‘mostly for you, because i was gonna ask you out and it would’ve been a good time, i know all the coolest places in LA.’ her cheeks go a little pink but she’s still smiling, so, ‘so despite being heart-broken, i’m going to this party tomorrow night. just a small thing, house party with a bunch of folks i go surfing with. you’ll probably meet most of them, if you keep up the dawn patrol, but it might be nice to get to know them out of the water. y’know, wearing clothes.’ much more seriously, much more sincerely, you tell her, ‘it’s absolutely cool if you want to be with your partner, or if you’re not going out much, but i wanted to invite you anyway. i think you’d enjoy it. very casual scene—music, some beers, a disproportionate amount of queer folk. plus, i’ll be there looking hot, that’s always a plus. you can be my wingwoman!’

beatrice frowns, considering her words carefully. ‘my partner is… she’s in a speciality hospital so i don’t get to visit her. i - promised her i would have some fun,’ she tells you, fingers brushing against her wrist. in this life, you’ve managed to read now, sitting opposite her for an hour in the morning sunlight, drinking coffee that almost tastes like home, sitting in a body and a life that entirely feels at home, and you look across at beatrice and see someone who is almost there. almost certain, almost sure, almost happy. ‘yes,’ she says, after taking a bolstering breath. brave, you think, with sudden fondness, protective. it comes to you, a splinter of a memory, being afraid of the ocean; gabriel plunging in ahead of you with such joy that you forgot. ‘yes,’ she says again, ‘i’d love to come to the party.’

‘amazing!’ 

‘and, while i find it difficult to imagine you would have a problem finding people to go on dates with you, yes, i will be your…wingwoman, if you require it. what is the dress code?’

‘too hot for leather, unfortunately,’ you tease, and have the extreme delight of watching beatrice stumble over literally nothing, ears going pink. so, so valiantly you manage to not comment on it. instead, you say, ‘wear whatever makes you feel good and happy. hot, if you want to feel hot. that’s always the rule.’

‘you get to decide what you do.’ it takes you a second to place her words—they’re your words, from this morning, which makes you smile because she’s quoting you, very seriously and kindly like that actually helped her, maybe. ‘i do best with rules, or a guideline,’ she mutters, but sets her shoulders and nods, decisive. ‘i’ll find something to wear. you have my number.’

‘from your form, i do, yeah. it’s cool if i text you?’

‘yes.’

‘alright. awesome, i’ll pin the address for you.’

‘good.’ 

beatrice walks you all the way to your car, shakes your hand like you’ve just concluded a job interview, and then continues on quickly. she’s got a white-knuckle grip on the handle of her tote bag and walks away with this quick, neat stride that makes you feel self-conscious about your own walk, like maybe you’ve been doing it wrong for your whole life. more importantly, there’s about a thirty per cent change that beatrice will actually turn up at this party but you’ve hoped for things with worse odds that were way less important to you than this, so you easily, recklessly hope that she’ll turn up. 

//

the likelihood of beatrice actually showing up is still low, you remind yourself, even though she had texted this morning to accept and had thanked you very sincerely - and formally - for the invitation. the uber drops you off on the corner where you had agreed to meet and you hop out, saying a cheerful goodbye to your driver, rajeev, who had taken one look at you and nodded and switched his playlist to something titled GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS which…accurate. he totally earned his five stars and you’re clicking through to leave a quick review—clean car, GREAT music—when beatrice calls your name. 

‘hey! you came!’

beatrice strides up the street to join you. the timing of her arrival three seconds after yours is odd enough that, for a second, you wonder if she’s been waiting and for how long. then, you get distracted by beatrice in her gay ass outfit—lightwash jeans, loose, that fall to her ankles; a soft-looking crewneck, blue; and birkenstocks that are either brand new or excruciatingly well-cared for, with not a speck of dirt on the white sandals—and realise you’ve made a huge mistake. there’s no way beatrice can be your wingwoman. every queer woman in this house will flock to her and her damn british accent and her freckles and her polite, comfortable, slightly masculine air, and the way she looks at everyone like they’re important. god. beatrice is devastating at four in the morning in a wetsuit, hair slicked back with ocean water; she’s devastating now, with the sleeves of her crew folded just once, precisely, enough to show off the dip of her wrists, and her hair pinned up in a pristine bun. 

she stops mid-step, looks you up and down, and you stop calling yourself an idiot long enough to preen. with beatrice coming tonight, you felt like getting a little dressy and picked everything with slightly more care, ending up in a satin-type top you’ve tucked into high-waisted pants. it drapes open rather handsomely almost to your belly button—you’ve only done up half the buttons tonight, because you believe sincerely in being god’s gift to women and it’s your duty to parade around with a little skin showing, enough to tantalize. maybe a little slutty, just for fun. you’ve got a few chains hanging around your neck, and some rings on your fingers. 

‘oh, i am gay,’ beatrice mutters when she gets a good look at you. ‘sorry - that’s,’

you wave off her apology or whatever she’s going to say, because a compliment is a compliment and that is a damn good compliment, especially coming from her. 

‘delighted to be of service, honestly. any time you need reminding.’ you stroll over to greet her properly—not a hug, but an obvious once over, so she can see how much you approve of her look too, and then a tap to her elbow in hello—and she examines you a second time, looking marginally less embarrassed to get caught. this time, her eyes linger on your necklaces; no, your cross. 

‘catholic?’ 

‘born and raised. you?’ 

she only nods, lips pursed. glancing around, she says, ‘the party is around here?’

‘yeah. oh, yeah, it’s on this street. one minute walk, maybe two.’ she looks a little confused and you admit, ‘i wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to come. i wanted to meet up with you first, make sure you were comfortable.’

rather than being offended, beatrice relaxes. ‘that’s kind of you.’

‘well, i want you to have fun. it will be fun,’ you insist, and start in the direction of luis’s place. ‘i’ll take care of you tonight, i promise—you can drink, if you want, or smoke. no pressure. i’ll stay sober anyway. but what i really want is to introduce you to my friends, i really think you’ll like them.’

‘because we’re all queer?’ beatrice guesses, a note of something odd in her tone. it’s not suspicion, but something akin to it. 

‘yeah, sure. i know what it’s like moving to a new place and not knowing anyone, it’s rough. especially for us,’ you say, light on the emphasis but apparent enough that beatrice looks at you again, and nods to herself. ‘but aside from being queer, i just really think you’ll like them. luis is the one hosting tonight. they’re super smart, they’re finishing a phd in anthropology, movement in borderlands—oh, and they will offer you weed every half hour but that’s not you, and you don’t have to accept, it’s just their idea of hospitality.’ beatrice nods very solemnly. you can practically hear the information being locked away in her brain and the image makes you smile. ‘it’s this one, up ahead.’

as promised, the party is pretty chill—low lights, not too packed, good music. it’s a really nice night and there are a few folk standing around on the porch, drinks in hand; when you get in, you’ll probably find most of the guests have spilled out into the back yard. plus, you’re only a few streets back from the beach—based on the last few parties luis has hosted, the beach is where you’ll end up in a few hours. 

beatrice stops outside the house, stares in through the open door. she touches two fingers to her wrist. you stand with her, beside her, and part of you aches because you know that there is someone else who should be here, who she wants very badly to be here, and it seems terribly unfair that something this simple - a party, new friends, the distant sound of the ocean - isn't simple at all.

‘all good?’

‘thank you,’ she says, softly. ‘for inviting me. and don’t say you need a wingwoman because i sincerely doubt that.’

you grin. run a hand through your hair in a way that makes you look particularly douchey, according to your ex. ‘thanks. i appreciate that. and no, i don’t need a wingwoman but it can’t hurt... except if the girls hear that accent, actually,’ you say with a thoughtful frown, like it’s only occurring to you now that beatrice is hot. you step in front of her like you’re blocking her way to the house, even as you back up toward the house, the party. ‘this is bad, i’ve made a huge mistake, you gotta go,' you insist, teasingly.

beatrice laughs and follows you in.

[liesmyth]

Do you have any tips/resources on writing smut? I've never really written it, but I need to include a little in a fic I'm writing rn and yours is very good.

Anon! Thank you so much, this is Extremely flattering ❤️ Honestly, my #1 rule to Writing Smut is that actually anything can be hot if a scene is written to be arousing. It's all about the setup.

Some things that work for me:

EMOTIONS. ime, smut scenes should cause some level of emotional response in the reader. It can be the POV character experiencing strong feelings and that coming through in the narration; it can be a taboo or hard kink that’s enough to guarantee some kind of reaction; it can be an emotionally cathartic scene or character study through sex. It doesn’t have to be a lot! But there has to be Something that makes the reader invested, a takeaway that you couldn’t get from a purely objective description or looking at a picture.

FLOW. You’re either trying to make the reader horny and/or you’re trying to make them interested in what the characters are doing and feeling. Lean into that when crafting a scene! I find that varying the length of sentences in a paragraph helps (building up to a crescendo) and so does the deliberate use of terminology to set up a specific mood (more descriptive euphemisms vs. crude slang as the POV gets more overwhelmed, alternating lush prose and crass descriptors to create some contrast.)

CHARACTER-APPROPIATE VERBIAGE. This is a big one! There are NO forbidden smut words, actually. I have read super hot smut that hinged on the repeated use of some deeply unsexy terms. It’s ALL about the narrative voice. Try to construct a scene that’s immersive, with a narrative voice that suits the characters and the story, and the type of vocabulary that suits the POV and setting. Ime, anything and everything can be sexy if the mood is right. Yes, even the word “penis.” YES even funky euphemisms.

PURPOSE AND PACING. Why is the scene there? Try to strike a good balance between descriptions, feelings, and words. If the characters stop mid-sex to talk, it’d be harder to get back into a sexy mood (why I’ve been stuck on this one WIP for months. RIP) On the other hand, sometimes it’s fine to skip moments / descriptions, or even end the scene mid-sex.

(This is especially important in chaptered fics, in my experience. Sometimes there’s a long elaborate build-up to a get together and then all the emotions fizzle out during The Sex Chapter, or a plot-heavy story, and then the story slows down to fit in 3 orgasms per character. It’s fine, often better, to just stick to one orgasm, make it extra hot, and skim over the others)

WRITE DRUNK EDIT SOBER or any variant thereof. Write in comic sans and edit in times new roman. Write horny edits in public. It’s really easy to overthink smut and in my opinion, it Really helps to fully commit to a shitty first draft—no quibbling over word choices or positions; just don’t look at the screen and bang out 500 words. (Ah-ah, bang.) Write on your phone if you want! Put it away for a while then edit.

SMUT IS NOT SEX ED. Realism matters less than feelings do. I don't need to know every detail unless it's relevant to the development of the scene. Unless it’s something glaring like someone is suddenly naked or used soap as lube, no one is going to nitpick how realistic it is to hold X position for Y minutes or how many spankings a human being can endure. The scene works narratively >>> the scene can be recreated by random non-athletes having sex. It’s fic! If someone is taking it as a Guide To Sex that’s not on you.

Other resources: This is a good essay directly from 2005 era livejournal. Some posts about vocabulary: on kissing, smut thesaurus, more words! (use with caution, don't take anything as a hard rule etc.)

Also I just think I'm funny:

GOOD LUCK WRITING IT LMK HOW IT GOES

[theoneandonlyneonleon]

Stealing Fizzy's post bc I can do WHATEVER I WANT

@fizzywashere87 @erm-ackshally

~Pros and cons of dating yours truly~

Pros:

im super fucking loyal (unless you're a massive piece of shit, I will NOT leave you)

Im really affectionate (I will let you know how much I love/care about you at least 7 times a day. Occasionally, you may receive a paragraph of everything I love to about you and how happy you make me)

I'll send you memes/things that remind me of you/things you like

If you ever show me a picture of you, you better believe I'm hyping you the fuck up telling you how pretty/handsome you are (personal hype man 😎)

Good morning/goodnight texts

I love giving/making you little gifts (bracelets, pretty rocks and buttons, charms, etc.)

Random picture of two cats captioned 'Us?' Almost every day

I will absolutely 100% respect your boundaries. No question. You don't like me doing something? I will never do it again. (you better respect mine though)

Double Edged Sword:

I will make sure you've eaten/drunken water/slept enough (although I won't take my own advice on the subject)

Im funny as fuck (although the jokes are a coping mechanism and I often times won't take things seriously)

I will recommend/show you pieces of media I like (but I will be incredibly crushed if you don't like it/will pester you until you view said media)

Cons:

Im absolutely dogshit at consoling people, so I'm not much help if youre looking for comfort (ill definitely try though)

I am massively insecure and will definitely think you'll end up hating me

Its insanely hard to get me to open up and talk seriously about my issues/problems

I am terrible at communicating (you will almost always have to initiate conversation)

I will sometimes refuse to/just not take care if myself (eating, drinking water, showering, etc.)

If I don't know what to say in a conversation, you will get memes instead. Even if its supposed to be a serious conversation.

I can be extremely arrogant/cocky/stuck up at times

Im always right.

If I don't feel like talking, I wont. (I might ghost you for a day and a half with no explanation)

I have horrible anxiety so I'm always thinking that you hate me/are going to leave me

I will make shitty jokes about serious issues of mine (iykyk)

You have to incessantly bug me to get me to tell you how I'm actually feeling

Smal things like not receiving a goodnight back will absolutely make me think youre mad at me

Constantly seeking praise/validation

Jokingly (genuinely) self deprecating

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Secrets in everything: Letters, neighbors, and things only walls will tell you"

Hello everyone! I'm so sorry that i haven't posted a fic in a while! it seems like i only post one every two to four weeks at this point ughhhh anyways ive written this fic for a friend but also for yall as well so i hope yall like it! after this fic im gonna work on an ask then so ill hopefully have that up soon for the person who sent it in! A little picture collage will be coming VERY soon lmao i didn't have time to make one yet. This fic all started when i was having some Minghao brain rot and stumbled upon this prompt about wifi names: "apt 203 is loud as fuck" "apt ??? say it to my face bitch" strangers to lovers and shit ya know? i cannot express how sorry i am that this is late! I put it in my que and since it didn't post when i wanted it to, i tried posting it on my own and it wouldn't let me. in summery: never using que again

anyways here are the warnings/info: cursing, smut, Very heavy on the smut, speaking of sex like it's something you need and not just want if you squint, slightly hinted at romance between hao and reader i guess idk, but you could just as easily read it as friendly affection, Minghao gets drunk and is a wee bit stupid, reader is on top, reader is referred to using they/them pns but has a vagina and tits, and a very nice ass that minghao likes to grab throughout this fic lmao, Minghao is thirsty for reader, reader is thirty for Minghao, Minghao keeps how he made the wifi name a secret from reader but it eventually comes out at the end, mutual masterbation.... through a wall if that makes sense, oral sex (f. receiving) hand job, protected sex (be safe, ya'll), shitty ending lol, friends to friends with benefits, writing out sex dreams? Minghao says something while drunk and can’t undo it although he wants to

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper”. This is in no way is meant to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone~

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Thoughts lead to desires, desires lead to actions. Thats what kept replaying itself in Minghaos head the second he hit enter on his phone to change his wifi name. He'd heard it when he was a kid. Somewhere he couldn't quite remember. But now, suddenly, it was burning so fresh in his mind he couldn't get it out. He sighed to himself as he put down his cup. Looking down at his phone screen with and various other wifi names popping up bellow the words he cannot believe he just wrote. "apt303isloudasfuck"

He really shouldn't be doing this. This is why he shouldn't drink, he thinks to himself. Especially since whenever he saw you rushing out to work or school, or wherever you carried yourself to each morning. He swears his heart does a flipping routine.

And this? If you found out it was him telling everyone in the radius of your apartments that you're loud? It could ruin whatever you two don't already have. He thinks that maybe he'll just try his best not to be seen by you. Like, ever again. The problem with that though is how you both need to leave at about the same time to get to wherever you're going. And besides, maybe he did kinda want to mess around with you a little bit. Maybe that'll teach you to keep it down. If it wasn't loud music then it was some... other noises. Sounds of you, moaning and groaning. Making a mess of yourself behind his wall. Or, maybe somebody was the one making your words incorrect and moans fall from your lips.

or maybe the latter was your roommate. Cause as much as he didn't want to admit it, he didn't want to believe it was you who was getting pleasured by other people. Cause damn, he really wanted to be the one making you moan like that. He didn't even know you, so who's making you cum shouldn't be any of his concern. And it wasn't! Much. He wants to be the one making you feel good, bringing you to orgasm with his tongue. And he didn't like to think about the fact that other men were making you feel the way he wanted to.

But, none the less, whenever he did hear you, with only the thin sheetrock wall between each of your headboard. Thin enough to where he could hear you so clearly as if you were right there in front of him. He sure did enjoy the verbal show you put him through; fisting his cock until his tears made him bleary eyed and he couldn't take it anymore- his hand drenched with own cum from orgasming a million times along with you but still never feeling relived. So he always kept going until the pain of overstimulation was too much to bare. For you, all for you.

That was when one night he realized he didn't hear anyone else moaning along side you. Come to think of it he never really did. Sure, sometimes but not every night. that meant you were pleasuring yourself? The sounds started so suddenly he didn't have time to react. The thought of your fingers pleasuring yourself, pumping them in and out of you, covered with your slick and rubbing your clit? It drove him crazy, It was music to his ears. He could listen to your beautiful sounds forever.

He didn't even have the time to pause the show he was watching on his phone, taking his other headphone out of his ear so quickly that it landed off the surface of the bed. Where his headphones ended up wasn't really a concern for him. Cause in that moment all he could think about was you. He could always rewind it later. That is, if he ever could stop pleasuring himself to the echoes of your voice, even after you stopped. Cause for him, once he started he could never stop with you. You were too addictive for him. The way to talked, the way you'd always leave a little note with the bundle of mail you'd drop off at his door when ya'lls would get mixed up. Whenever he'd come home to see it he couldn’t have been more glad for apartment numbers to get mixed up and a mail person who did their job a little too quickly at your building sometimes. Albeit he was a little sad he didn't catch you; but he liked the look of your handwriting-- it was cute, he thought.

but fast forward a little later and he’s starting to write back. And not just when you mail gets mixed up, either. Just little sticky notes he taps on your door ending with smiley faces and exclamation points. You start writing him back, too. And before you two know it you’re sharing notes ripped out of full notebooks with arrows pointing to the back because you still have more to say but never enough room. He seems so easy and just oh so caring through this words the more you two find yourselves awaiting the pages you’d put in the others mail boxes. Finding yourselves excited more and more for the familiar hand writing inked on clean white paper. You two talk about anything and everything. But don’t be fooled, cause minghao spends the better half of his dinner time making sure each and every letter in his letters to you are legible. He feels like a little schoolboy trying to impress you with his neat handwritten and well detailed sentences. But he can’t help it; he just wants you to think he’s somebody. Somebody worth spending your time with and talking to. He doesn’t know why but he feels like, especially with the more he’s talking to you, he wants you to view him as someone cool. Great, he thinks. Now he definitely sounds like a little kid.

would you mind? He asks himself. Would you mind that he’s a little desperate for you? So desperate that he lays in bed and stays awake a little longer now because he wants to hear your sweet voice react as you pleasure yourself again for the hundredth time? He hopes not. But, just like that new Wi-Fi name he’s chosen for his router, that’ll stay between him and his apartment’s ceiling. The thing he looks up at in both instances. Sometimes when he gets reminded of what you’d think of him if you if it ever got out that he wrote the “apt303isloudasfuck” and how he doesn’t understand why he still has it up. And the other time he looks up at the ceiling is with his mouth agape, his lips wet from his tongue running over them with each torturing stroke of his hand over his bulge in his pants. The fabric constricting him to were it was painful every time. But not wanting to stop touching himself for long enough to slip down his pants. (The response on the Wi-Fi thing only comes after they talk o each other face to face. “…and when he checked his phone again, looking down at the bright alumina red screen with tires eyes, there was another name quite similar to the one he put down as his one. ‘Apt???sayittomyfacebitch’

he slammed down his phone onto the nearest surface (which just happened to be his lap. Yeah… not the best idea) but believe it or not he wasn’t really thinking about that right now. You responded?? Well, he doesn’t know who would call “apt???sayittomyfacebitch” a real response like oh, I don’t know, “yeah, my day’s going great.” But you noticed? Well then again it would be pretty hard to disregard when your apartment is getting dragged through the mud with a wifi name. But this made him even more worried. This means you’ve definitely seen it. And based on what you said…. You were probably looking for the person who wrote that. What if you found out it was him? Is this why you were taking an interest in him all of a sudden? No, he believed in his ability to conceal it from you enough to know you’d never find out. That’s when, with this new information clouding his good judgment he just had to grab the neatly folded paper from his bedroom desk and walk out his door. A little potted plant was the only thing separating yours and his places of residence from each other. One put up and watered every Saturday morning. He patted down the backside of his hair as he made sure not to ruin the paper he so neatly folded for you. Realizing he forgot tape to stick it to your door, he was About to go and get some when he heard movement behind the heavy door that lead into your apartment. rustling of footsteps and cloths. And before he knew it your face had appeared in front of him, door swung into your foyer. He couldn’t just leave now. You had seen him. So he tried his best to put on a not awkward smile as your eyes lit up the dim outside hallway he was standing in. Your presence seemed to replace the light bulb that had been missing the fast few days in the overhead lights. “Hey, Minghao. Nice to see you.”

you remembered his name?? His name? The person who let everyone know how loud your apt was? Of course you did. What else? You’d started off almost each and every letter to him with his name in one way or another. Oh great, now he was thinking about all of your letters to him. Everything you had shared with each other from the depths of both of your hearts. How the fucking hell was he supposed to look you in the eyes when you knew how, when he was in high school, he had fallen on his actual face trying to reach his pencil when it had fallen underneath his desk. Leaned too far out of his chair and then boom! Face planted. How was any human being supposed to look someone they considered a friend in the eye when all you two did was trade letters to each other because of your busy schedules? Not to mention how he’d been stupid enough to let it slip that he can barely open a bag of chips without it busting out the bottom too. But, he remembers, it did make you laugh. So maybe he could do this. He’d made you laugh and carried quite deep and just plain old nice conversations with you over letters for months. What was so hard about doing them with you face to face?

He gave you a smile as you slid to the side. “Hi. I was just dropping your note off.” He says. How could you be so cool calm and collected, he wondered. Meanwhile, you were asking yourself the same thing about your neighbor. The neighbor you couldn’t stop thinking about. The way he talked to freely with you, how you two just seemed to click after the first note; bouncing off of each others jokes and becoming friends. You’d considered giving him your number but you kind of liked getting to know him off paper through his best hand writing. You’d never tell him, but you secretly had a pile of folded papers in the top drawer of your desk you’d written out of him. Never sent. And probably, considering the contents of those letters, never will be. He shows you the folded note, this time on different paper, you notice. You take it out of his hands as you gesture for him to come inside. “Are you sure?” He gulps. You looked at him like he was crazy, shrinking back a little. “Dude, get inside.” You chuckled. He wasn’t usually like this. You think back to all the letters he’s sent you. And come up with not much to make you think he’d be like this around you. You certainly didn’t want him to be like that. after all you’ve talked about with each other you’ve come to know someone, even if it is only over paper… someone who you consider a friend. That’s another reason why you could never send him those letters. They had… things in there that two friends wouldn’t never think of the other. Or at least admit them out loud to them. But, with the way he handled himself now, which wasn’t that much different from his letters. But more uptight now that was standing by your coat hangers by the door and bending down to take off his shoes. You didn’t know what, but something was off with him. He was jittery, lol he had just snorted a two cups of sugar on the way out his door. His eyes darted around like he was in an awkward setting. So, you tried you best to make him as comfortable as possible.

you lead him through your apartment and into the living room. He took a deep breath. He wants to tell you that he’s not always like how he is now: palms sweating, and unable to talk much. You just overwhelm him to the point where his mind is clouded and his actions seem off. It shouldn’t be a problem for him though, you talk to each other multiple times a day. Like, full on conversations. But now it all feels just a little too real with you hovering over him as he sits down on your sofa, trying to remember that you’re both friends. He comes back to earth with you weave you hand in his face. You laugh nervously at his distraction. “You didn’t hear a thing I just said, did you?” Shit shit shit. This really isn’t a good look for him. “No,” he hangs his head low for a second, “im sorry I didn’t.” You lean back and seem to relax a little bit. It almost looks like you’re just as in need to relax as he is.

Just didn’t have have the horrible talent of not being able to hide it well. It wasn’t his fault. He was already trying his best not to get hard. Having to not act nervous and flustered over seeing your pretty faces too? That was a lot to ask of Minghao. That’s why he sat down. And why he was crossing his legs in hopes of trying to distract himself from the yearning for you inside him. For him to have all of you. For him to make you sound just like you do when he hears you in your room. God, all he ever dreamed of now was you writhing is pleasure above him as he tongued your clit. Or you wrapped some tightly around his cock he felt like you were trying to choke him and make him cum. “I said my roommate isn’t home.” Oh, so you did have one, “and asked if you wanted something to drink.” It made him feel strangely comforted though, that you also were feeling the same as him.

He agreed readily. Finding it easy to make room to spend more time with you. You came back not a couple minutes later and ploped down next to him, your chin in your palm. You didn’t want to admit it, but fuck he looked so beautiful in person. It made you wanna curl up on your sofa and immerse yourself in him all day. You’d be content with just staying here and doing just that, making up for All the missed times where you could’ve been already. But no, you kept yourselves mostly behind the pen and paper. Scribbles and commas became your only form of sight into what the other looked like. You didn’t even realize how long you’d been carrying out your plan to stare at him until he shifted a little farther back into the cushion. “Is it just me or is that way more awkward than it should be?” He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. And then getting a sickly little whispering reminder of how he was now: drink in hand, phone in reach— was not that unlike the situation where the secret he has to keep from you now came about. But no, he can’t think of that right now. He’s trying to keep his mind free of anything that could jeopardize your friendship. And thinking of the one thing he’ll never be able to tell you might do the trick if he doesn’t stop. But strangely, the idea of you finding out— the idea of you strongly telling him to take the fucking thing down doesn’t do anything but make him want you more inside. You telling him-- no, ordering him to take it down.He didn't know what or why, but it made him reach all new kinds of levals of excitement. Anticipation of what you could do to him. How you’d moan for him and writhe under his touch. The possibility we’re endless and he couldn’t stop thinking up new ones.

There’s an un spoken rule between the two of you… both of you made noise. Noise that neither of you really minded because it brought you so much pleasure. But in all your writings to each other, you’d never talk about it. That was the rule: don’t bring up what happens at night. A Thought Leeds to a desire, and a desire Leeds to an action. So you tried not to talk about it, no you even theirs noting to think about it, was there?

All you needed to do was get through this night. As... friends. Because that was what you two were-- friends. Noting more, noting less. Didn't matter than you imagined him every night you were alone and needed relief. Him and that cute smile of his. Him reaching up to fix the light in your little corner of hallway on your floor of your apartment. The way his shirt rode up, exposing his waist. God, you'd do just about anything to have his skin under your fingers. Feeling the softness of his tummy.

"So you said there's some shows you never got to watch because you dont have the streaming service?" You shook your mind out of its dangerous thoughts. providing an easier environment not to pounce on him; less... tempting when you were thinking of watching tv with him and not being on top of him. His shirt on the floor. He nods, leaning impossibly closer to your already heavy breathing form. Didn't he realize the effect he had on you? You gulped, hopefully not loud enough to hear. You didn't need this to go anywhere that wasn't what normal friends do. "My roommate pays for one of the places that show you were talking about plays on." You look him dead in the eyes as you reach for the remote.

You had planned on just doing so as a question to him weather he wanted to watch anything. But it turned into the most arousing staring contest youd ever been a part of. You looked into his eyes, forgetting to blink. You felt that if you did you might miss commenting about the way they flickered and shone. There was something else in them, though. His pupils were blown wide. somehow making his eyes even darker. You wondered what he could be thinking about. But that didn't really matter, did it? Because what you should've been focusing on was how to move away from him

You were so close you could feel his body heat like a radiator. How was he not sweating? You felt like the sun was right in front of you. Meanwhile, Minghao was wondering the same thing. The ac kicked on at just the right time because he didn't know how much longer he could keep himself from visibly overheating. That was the last thing he needed right now. You got up on your knees to reach for your glass. Why did you have to do things that drove him wild? Did you know deep down that you were torturing him with every move? It was stupid and desperate for him to have to control himself so much after the little you were giving him. It wasn't much, but it was teasing him. It all made him crave more. It was childish and desperate of him to be like this with you. But he didn't really care anymore. After knowing you-- even if it was only from swapping letters, he couldn't get enough of you. If you ever stopped taping letters to his door then he'd beg on his knees for you to continue. He didn't care that it seemed desperate because it was. He was. Desperate for more of you. Just like he was now. So much so that when you leaned forward again to pick up the remote to turn the volume up of a show that he'd been wanting to watch for months, but somehow with you it sounded like background noise. He couldn't pay full attention to it for the life of him because You were Right There. Next to him. Smiling and chuckling and genuinely enjoying what you were watching with him. The smile he hoped beyond compare that youd have when reading his letters. He'd only seen it a few times in person, but, a feeling bubbled up into his chest. The same one he feels every time reading your writings to him.

He felt and aching in his groin. If his eyes weren't as wide as saucers before, then they definitely were now. He didn't even need to look down. More afraid to than anything. If he took his eyes of either you or the tv-- things that he wanted to be real, things that were real... Well, he doesn't know what that'll do but he doesn't want to acknowledge it thats for sure. He really doesn't want it to be real. This cannot be happening. Not here, not right now. but How could he not be half hard when you could lean over and kiss him right now if you wanted and hed let you? How could he not be half hard right now with you looking so god damn otherworldly? When all these plush sofa cushions made him want to do was to bring you on top of him and rub you on his thighs and cock until you made a mess on his sweats? It was impossible. He searched whatever space was left in his near thought cleared, empty and short circuiting brain, using what he thought where his last few brain cells that weren't occupied with you to think of what to do about his problem. His eyes landed on a pillow on the back of your sofa, likely moved out of the way for more room. Quickly as to avoid suspicion, he glided it down from its perch and on top of his growing erection.

Little did he know that you had turned the tv up to drown out your own thoughts. Thoughts you didn't need of him. Never doing you any good other than frustrating you further. Making you desire him more. Nearly an hour later and you two had sunken further into the sofa... and each other. Thoughts lead to desire, and desires lead to action. That was what you had to keep repeating to yourself over and over until youd hopefully get the point to stop thinking of those beautiful, soft looking lips. Didn't help that his tongue was fucking darting out to wet them every two seconds. You couldn't help but stare at them. It wouldn't hurt if you just leaned a little closer, would it? Friends cuddle on their sofas while watching the tv all the time.

And your ac was running a little high. But instead of getting up to turn it down like you usually would have to, I don't know, not waste your money. You stayed just like how you were, grateful for the excuse you could readily have available to you if he asked. But to your surprise he didn't. Although he did press the pillow more firmly into his lap. If you didn't know better you would've thought the pillow was made of gold or something. Like it was his teddy bear or something. You couldn't even think of anything else besides how badly you wanted to push both the pillow and preferably also his shirt off of him and shove him down into the sofa.

This was pathetic, you thought. A new low for you, even. This was your first time spending more than a couple minutes with the guy face to face and... not like it was awkward. No, not at all. You had been friends for six months or so over letters. But being with him. No, being so fucking close to him on this damn sofa was making you desire him even more.

That was it, now! Great, you'd already crossed one line of thinking about what youd like to do to him. Now you were starting to desire it, too. Not much longer and you feared you'd take action on those thoughts and desires. You really needed to make your self think of anything anything that would save you from this self induced peril.

"Did you see that weird ass wifi name?" Your words almost made minghao jump out of his seat. Steadying his pillow over his lap (his stupid fucking boner still hadn't gone away) And clearing his throat, he finally responded. "Oh? That? No, I haven't. What is it?" He tried sounding airy, nonchalant, free as a bird. "You know, that wifi name that had popped up what, about six months ago?" You seemed to ask yourself the question, pausing for a minute before continuing, "Around the same time you and I started talking. It says-- actually, lemme pull it up right now. Its fuckin hilarious." You whip out your phone before he could say another word and before he could even take another calming deep breath you were reaching over him, check pressed up against his upper arm, showing him the wifi name he made but couldn't tell you about. Why does he keep it on there anyways? He doesn't really want to even admit the only to reason he's come up with to himself. One was that yeah, your apartment was loud and it felt nice to have this. Even if you could one day find out and ruin whatever this thing he had with you was. Number two was that maybe it did make him painfully hard to think about what youd do to him if you found out. Use his cock for your own pleasure for hours until he was crying from overstimulation? Tell him not to cum until you tell him to, touching him in ways that'll make him let out embarrassingly loud noises for you, telling him that if he came without permission youd punish him cause he was a bad boy? Everything that could happen? He couldn't get them out of his head

"That's weird." He chuckled, scratching behind his neck, "Never saw it." He seemed nervous. But you were kind of liking his blushing face and puppy dog eyes. But Really? You thought. For some reason, your shitty building interfered with even the best of wifi providers. So most people had to reconnect their devices to their wifis every once and a while. Maybe he was on a part of the building where it wasn't as bad? Or maybe he paid extra for better wifi? It didn't really matter.

A little later at you had gotten up to refill both of your drinks. Little did you know Minghao had followed right behind you. He didn't really know what that said about him, all he knew was that he didn't want to be separated from you just yet. Even if it only was for a few minutes. He hadn't had his fill of you. Though, he doesn't think he ever will. You could feel him behind you. His presence, just like every other time he talked to you, was heavy as lead in the air. You could smell his cologne, too. And you didn't mind that the smell would linger in your apartment and stick to your sofa for longer than he'd be here.

You didn't, however, really pay much mind to how close he was. Nor did he, honestly. Neither of you really could care or complain, though. As when you turned around you came face to face oh so closely with your houseguest. The gap between you was small enough to where the cups in your hands pressed neatly against his chest, making your knuckles dig into his skin enough to feel his body heat. Also close enough were you could feel how much he really enjoyed being so close to you. You backs away, not nearly as fast as someone caught in this situation would usually be like.

Although missing your presence so close to him, he knows he needs to pull away from you. You were probably grossed out because of him now. And yes, maybe one day he would've told you how he feels, this was not the way he wanted it to go at all! He can't believe he just did this-- not remember the thing he's been trying so hard to hide? He wishes he could go back in time and slap himself in the face for even thinking that getting up without something to cover his crotch was a good idea. To his surprise though, you smile at him knowingly. And before either of you has a chance to think about what you're doing, you pull him closer to you. Just like you had been before. Expect now theres no barriers of fear between the two of you.

His hands fall limp at his sides. Yours slide up his torso. Both of you wanted this; to move closer. But it seemed like just as before, neither were going to make the first move. But you liked him this close. And even if noting was going to come of what you had just done besides nervous laughs and turning heads in the future, you would be glad to have his body this close to yours in your memory. His hands ghost your hips. A shiver runs its way up your spine at the phantom touch. "Was that a good sigh?" He asks. Lost in the throw of everything about him, you hadn't even realized you had let one out. "Of course it is." You say, trying to bring him even closer. You see him swallow hard before bringing his lips closer to yours.

It takes all of your willpower-- a source that was already dramatically dwindling once he got here. To not yank him in and smash you lips to his. Something you've been wanting to do for a while. But with his hands planted so wonderfully on your hips: firm but still delicate enough to never crush a flower. You're not sure how much longer you can hold out. He takes the next step: leaning a little closer to you. By now your faces are mere inches apart. "This is bad..." He whispers, his fingers now hooked in your belt loops. Because, he knows that if he gives in now, he'll neve able able to stop. Wrapped around your finger. "Maybe," you whisper, tongue darting out to lick your lips, an act his eyes followed with concentration. You loved the look-- wide eyed and begging, it looked beautiful on him. You wanted more. "But this is the good kind of bad, hm?" You suggest. He nods slightly, still focused on your lips. Not like you aren't with his. As you close whatever gap was remaining between the two of you. Prohibiting you from being as close to him as you wanted. As you desired.

This felt so good, so natural. A blissful feeling you adored with all your heart. Even only a few seconds in. Minghao really wanted to take this slow, take his time with you. But the aching in his pants were starting to become painful. A glorious moment of feeling his lips on yours later and he's pushing you against your kitchen counter. His kisses becoming as urgent at yours. You never really tried to be gentle. After the first kiss-- the first second or two of him kissing you? You would be dumb to hold back.

He pressed himself into you even more. His knee slotting between your legs. His mouth was hot. Same as the growing feeling in the pit of your stomach. He parts his pretty lips-- the same ones youve had dream after dream of wrapped around your clit. You moaned into his mouth when he stopped gasping your belt loops like they were life support and griped your hips with newfound vigor. You deepen the kiss even more, something you weren't sure was possible.

His weight on top of you was driving you crazy. He pulled away from air, breathing heavy into your mouth. Your name on the tip of his lips. You couldn't stand not having them on you again. You felt his body tense when you pull him back to you. But this time your lips only ghosted his, fluttering over them. Only making him want you more. Before moving to the soft skin of his neck, leaving a trail of kisses there that made his body go slack against yours.

Your fingers prickled and tingled as you slid your hands up his bare back, his shirt already halfway untucked. His tongue explored your mouth with vigor. At a time like this you were grateful for the counter to support your weakening legs. Not like you were really thinking of that anyway now, though. All this time you only had one thing in your mind: to make him want you, to be on top of him making him moan for you without let up. But now you weren't too sure if you were going to be the only one doing so. You couldn't hold back anymore. You needed to feel some sort of friction. By now your underwear was soaked ; you could feel the fabric cling to your wet pussy. All you wanted was for him to take them off of you. Pulling them to the side to finger would be just as good. You didn't care, you just need something form him. Anything.

"Fuck--" You inhaled sharply, grinding your hips against his thigh. Your apartment was getting colder no doubt . But even with his back exposed neither of you were shivering. Both too lost in how you made each other feel. You couldn't seem to get enough of him. Even if you've been reading his letters every day. Your fingers made their way to his beautiful, soft hair-- hair only and angel would have. So pretty and otherworldly it seemed unreal under your fingertips. As he moved down to your next. Though his lips never seemed to want to leave yours. He spent a while on your jawline, kissing in the spot where your neck met your face until it was beautifully numb. The good kind of numb that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The spot would no doubt the tinder later on in the day. But you felt oddly pleased to have a reminder of him on your skin for as long as you could. Even after going a little further down to lick and gently press his pretty lips to the front of your throat, he still chased your lips like a man deprived of your kisses as if he didn't have them a moment ago. But once he fully focusses on his task he is unstoppable.

Every drag of his tongue on your felt like a delicious mix between torture and heaven. The feeling he was making erupt inside you was like no other you'd ever felt. And you never wanted him to stop. Of course, with the first coherent though in your brain for him to never stop, he did. This time his eyes finding yours, having a question in them. You nod. and with that he goes even lower. Your color bone becoming wet and sticky with his saliva. You pull his hair down to keep him there. You're still moving on his thigh. But it isn't enough. Not like it ever was. God, what you'd do in that moment to have his mouth on your pussy. He emerged back up to your face, looking at your with needy eyes. A second later and his lips are on yours. He melts into you, begging looks never forgotten as you flip him around so that now he was flush with the counter. He makes a sound of agreement as you start working on his neck desperately, just like he had done with you. With the thought of his fingers, his thigh was long forgotten by the both of you. Now you didn't think that it could ever do justice when all you could think about is his slender fingers and how they were gliding up your sides right now.

He tilts his neck back to give your more access as he bucks his hips into you. Both things you wish you had thought of sooner. "I-I-" He mumbles, not really knowing what he was going to say anyways. Even with just your lips on his neck, words dying in his mouth, all he can think about is them as you make your way up and down his skin there. All he can think about is ho soft they are. All he can think about is how they'd feel wrapped around his aching cock that was now pressed up against you. And now that all hes thinking about is having more of you he can't help put let out a strangled moan, as it rips from his throat he realizes that it's probably too loud for something as little as you sucking on his neck. But at this point he doesn't really care. He just wants to you to know how good you're already making him feel.

As soon as you pull his shirt over his head was as soon as his expression changed. His eyes seem to focus on reality now, breathing starting to steady. The look of need and pure fucking lust for you stays the same though. You plan on making it stay that way again and again. Even if you don't get to do anything more than kissing with grinded with him. Just to see the look in your eyes would be enough to bring you to your high on your own. "I dont wanna do this here. bed?" he asks with puppy dog eyes. How could you refuse him?

he grips your ass and kneads it-- strong grip, but with a kind of softness you can't deny, as you lead him to your bedroom. More like stumble into it, your lips never leaving each other. Locked with the key thrown away. To involved in the kiss he nearly bumps into the door frame of your bedroom. You jerk him away, finding it endearing when he chases the plush of your pretty lips. He realizes the you’d just saved him a bump on the head. “Well, guess that’s on walking backwards. Maybe—“ no time to think. You grab his hands with a primal, animalistic strangled sound. You needed him. Now. You grind into his lap, trying to find some sort of relief in the fabric of his pants and the flesh of his thigh. “Ah— don’t stop” he whines out, head thrown back like this was the best thing in the world he’s ever felt. At your hands. you almost stop in surprise. But his words have such an effect on you that you don’t think you can. Now you have to keep feeling him.

He doesn't know why or what came over him, but in a flash his hand his wrapped around your wrist and bringing it to his crotch, helping you feel how hard he is through his pants. "Shit— baby. See what you do to me?" Where this sudden courage came from, he doesn't know. But you have to know how crazy he is about you. you have to. He needs you to know. You shiver at the feeling of him beneath your hand. You nod at him, barely trusting your own words. You continued to rock into him, clenching your teeth. He reaches down between the two of you, watching his fingers as they snake right were you need him. Even if still covered in the confines of your pants. (Neither of you thought you could ever hate clothes as much as you did in that moment. They weren't doing you any good.) the wonderful feeling of him on your clothed pussy felt like no other. Now that you had a taste of his fingers, just as before with his thigh and just like a second ago with his hard length, you could never go back to something smaller. It just kept getting better and better. Now that you felt his fingers, noting else could compare. The desire for them was about to lead into action. But you couldn't care less. "I-Is this ok?" He asks. And youre taken aback. Him? Asking if you liked it when you couldn't even think straight enough to keep sucking on his neck like before, resorting to pressing a few kisses there in the meantime.

"You're doing great." You say, trying to keep any shakiness out of your voice. You dont want him to know how much of a n effect he has on you. He searches for your clit in a way that only made you want him more. Was he teasing you or was this real? You couldn't take it anymore: you unbutton your jeans and slide them down a bit, taking his hand and shoving it down to feel your wetness. He audibly gulps. Hard. You doesn't think he could ever move from this position: with his hand warm and damp with your arousal. When he doesn't do anything, his hand just idly underneath you, you say, "What? Nervous baby?" You laugh. Almost condescendingly. He gets the point a second later, shaking himself out of his daze. He wonders what this all says about him-- that he can't function the minute his hand is on your pussy. You grind yourself on his hand, his palm brushing against your clit every time your rock yourself on him. The fucking sounds in the air. Minghao doesn't think he'll be able to last very long with the obscene, almost pornographic squelching and panting he hears ringing in his ears. He finally takes his fingers into your ruined underwear, other hand that was feeling up your ass goes to your face, bringing you in for a hard and passionate kiss when he glides them inside of you.

At this point the kiss doesn't surprise you, you've come to have an inkling that he likes them. Or maybe, he just likes having them with you. It was bad, you knew that, but you didn't really care either way. Too lost in how his fingers curled inside of you just right. You were so warm, so wet and tight. He could just imagine what youd feel like on his cock. Meanwhile you? You didn't think you ever felt something so easily good. Just in an instant, he made you feel like he had everything you wanted and then some. Things you couldn't imagine just beyond your reach. You reel your head back and squeeze your eyes shut tight, trying to focus on not cumming so fast. He bucks his hips up onto your wet heat when he saw your face.

How was he making you feel this good? To the point were you were sighing and groaning and looking so fucking good? If his fingers weren't knuckle deep into your pussy, and his other hand wasn't pressed flat on the skin of your back, he'd pinch himself. Was this real? It sure didn't feel like it. Your hand his still on his wrist, holding him just were you need him. Forcing him to stay there. It wasn't like he'd ever want to leave you thought. He can't think of a single better feeling right now than your warm and tight pussy. He doesn't think the feeling could ever leave his mind if he could ever peel himself away from your bed once this is all said and done. But secretly, there's two things he doesn't know if he should admit yet. One: that he wants you to ask him to stay. He knows its only three in the afternoon... or at least it was when he got here.

(Thats another thing, ever since he go there all sense of time seemed to leave his brain. vanish along with his sanity into thin air.) He doesn't want to have to think about "when this is all said and done" and he has to tredge his way next door to his own bed. His own bed where all he'll have are the memories of you writhing and panting for him. Because of him. The ghost of your around his fingers, dripping onto his palm. And number two: is that your iron grip on his wrist did noting but turn him on more for you. Which, Minghao didn't even think was possible until now. But something about you making him stay right there where you needed him, helping him make you feel good... Something about that made his brain cloud and fog up enough to almost slow his pace inside of you. He guessed he just liked it when you took charge of him. Even in small ways like these. "Mmhm," You sound pleased, your hand never leaving his wrist and the other never leaving his bare torso, almost silently asking him to stay down, "Just like that." And at that moment he doesn't think he could ever feel better than how he does with that look on your face. You needed more. It was stupid, really. To just keep taking and taking and taking. But it looked like he was enjoying himself just as much as you were. "Please--" his beg meets your ears as you look down at him. His smooth skin under your hand, his pretty waist and nipples, everything,

"Eyes open..." For a second he seems lost for words, now desperate in his movements against you "I need to see you." Your lids snap open at his request. You couldn't see any reason to deny him. And it wasn't like you didn't want to take a moment to let his body sink into your mind. You run your hands up and down his torso, feeling every inch of him. Minghao shivers at the contact just like you did him but he doesnt make one move to turn away. How was he so god damn sensitive? And just from you feeling him up, too? But you wanted to remember what he felt like. The dip of his hips to his pronounced collarbone. The way his hair fanned over your pillow like a halo. He really was an angel.

But you felt like he was teasing. Giving your just enough to keep you begging for more. You got the feeling he wasn't doing it intentionally though. No... he seemed too nice for that. But no matter if he wanted to or not it was getting frustrating to have him playing with you like this. No outcome to his torturous actions. "Angel..." You call out to the man with the plush kiss blown lips that made you wanna devour them and then kiss away softly the harshness youve ensued on them. He breathes hard at the nickname, wishing to hear it fall from your lips like a prayer anytime youd have him all to yourself. Just. Like. This. He nods, your eyes never leaving his lips as his tongue darts out the wet them. He's been doing that all day. He had to have known what he was doing. He had confessed in one of his pretty written letters that he always brought chapstick with him. You weren't sure if you were glad he forgot it or mad at him because of how much you wanted to cum. "Don't tease." What was opposed to be heard as a light instruction, came out more like begging. But, to be honest. It wasn't like you were doing anything different in your heart. You wanted noting more than to cum around his fingers. So, just as before, the desires of the heart seep though your carefully tapped up cracks.

Minghao slows his movements, no doubt making you even more mad at him. But whats in his mind now could top anything hes done with you. It's been in his mind for a while now. And, in the end, he was never that strong willed when it came to matters of you. He told your just what he was thinking. though, it terms of trying to keep this friendship a strict friendship he was doing a horrible job at it. But, just as previously stated, a thought becomes a desire, and a desire will soon become an action. But now, he remembers something else from that saying: "it will then become sin." But the thought of you on his face, your thighs suffocating him and nose buried deep in your wetness sounds like heaven to him. The exact opposite. He'd been thinking about it for too long, then for a while he'd been desiring your like that, now he was finally asking. It seemed like it took forever to get out of his mouth. Hopefully like the taste of you on his tongue, refreshing when he licks his teeth. "I need you on my face." His words left you dazed. He finally stops his movements, his fingers still deep inside of you. "Angel, what--" "I need you on my nose." He nods his head once, beckoning you higher up on him. You slide a little further up on him, his fingers coming out of you with a sound he doesn’t think he can ever forget. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. He fucking needs you on his tongue. Lapping up whatever you give him. Its not like you don't want to. No, it's something you've dreamed about for months. But as you start to get in your head about it, your thoughts turning from excited to worry. A comforting hand runs up your back, effectively letting you know he's right there with you. For you. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to. At all," He assures you. You nod, taking a breath. "Of course i fucking want to." You slide up onto his chest a little more. Shit, he can feel you dripping onto his stomach. How the fuck can he not cum right now? How could anyone not cum when you're on them like this? "Please, I just wanna make you feel good." He whispers.

And how could you ever deny him of his request? With his voice horse like he’d been screaming and his eyes pleading. You bring yourself to his face. His arms hand limp by his sides as if he wasn’t playing with your bra strap two seconds ago. “It’s ok.” You reassure him. He nods. His hands going up to grip your hips, slowly lowering you down onto his face. His tongue already hanging out and read for you. Just like his hard dick still in the painfully tight confines of his pants. He’s so fucking warm and wet. You can barely take the sensation. He starts moving the muscle a second later, giving you no time to adjust for damn great it felt to have him on you. You’ve waited too long for this. Having to control yourself around him and his fucking beautiful face. Him and his stupid body that was so nice all you wanted to do was sit atop it and stay there. His hands and voice that always brought you back to your bed at night. Your roommate was almost never home before you so that gave you the perfect opportunity to get yourself to relax. And also at the same time make him feel just how much of a effect he had on you. You always knew he walks had to have been thin— you could practically hear every other thing the man did on the other side. You always thought that had to be a bad thing. Now you see that it could be just as good.

Even better with how beautifully he responded. Giving you a taste of how he’d sound in person. How he’d be. A melody to your ears and quite the sight to see. In fact, that was exactly what you were thinking as you leaned back, his tongue still working wonders on you just by its slow and steady small mow vents. You could tell Minghao was still just testing the waters. And you’d never dreams of rushing him. No matter how much it felt like he was everywhere you didn’t need him. First on your outer pussy lips. You crying out at his tongue slid up and down your pussy-- rubbing just hard enough in a way he learned that made you clench your fists in pleasure. Then he was dipping the muscle in your needy and clenching hole. You didn’t want to admit it but you didn’t think you ever wanted anything more than to take him in at that moment. You let your hands roam freely on his chest behind your back, stretching your muscles as you felt his soft silky skin run along your finger tips. His tongue runs up and down your folds. It was sloppy, and somehow needy like his kisses. But it still felt like heaven.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, you can't feel his skin under your palms anymore because of how mind clouding the sensation was. Did he know was he was doing to you? His eyes were watching your face intently, searching for signs you liked whatever he was doing. He grips your hips even harder, but you didn't care about finger nail marks or bruises when he brought you even closer to his face. Now flush against him, his nose bumping your clit in a way that made your head reel. He gets to work on making your cum. It seems as if his only goal he's ever had now is to bring your to your high. It's all he can think about. Sure, his bare torso was shivering under the coolness of your ac but now it was hot as fire under your touch. He dips his tongue into your gaping hole again, liking the reaction your give him more than anything.

"Stick your tongue out?” A mix of a question and a demand, he happily obliges. You rock yourself onto him. His mouth, his lips, and his tongue. Trying to bring yourself to orgasm even faster. Your thighs locking around his head and cutting off most of his hearing. But he didn't mind. Now that he got a taste of you, he'd let you do anything to let him get it again. But why was he thinking of if he'd ever get to have his tongue buried inside your perfect pussy again when he was just getting started? hes going so fast wit you. too fast. he wants to take it slow (as if having oral sex the first time youre together for more than thirty minutes in person is slow) He wants to take it down a notch. So it doesn't end so fast. He needs you so, so fucking much. But he'll be damned if he can't take his sweet time with someone like you.

He takes charge again, running his tongue in circles around your clit. You tug in his hair to bring him closer as his warm palms slide up your back, playing with your bra strap. He brakes concentration on making little kitten licks along your clit for a second. So fucking good but torture still. He takes a brake to look into your eyes. Even fore a second. A frustrated grunt from you is what follows. "What're you doing? Keep going." You pant out. He keeps going, but no faster than before. Kitten licks turn into leisurely tasting your arousal in his mouth. Not stopping until every inch of him is coated in your slick. His lips and chin must be wet by now; he can feel your slick dripping down from his chin to his neck. it might've just been from all the teasing, but you were dripping this much for him? All for him. He thought. Running that sentence in his head no short of a hundred times and almost tasting it in his mouth. Because, wow. he was finally finally here. With you in your bed. Making you moan. He was finally the one who drew those sweet noises out of you. In the same place where he hears you almost every night. But this time it was him making you loose control of yourself and penetrating the walls with your noises. He could finally see you… and hear you in person. He was in heaven. Seeing what your face looked like when you pussy was getting played with.

Another one of your pretty moans spurred him on, quickening his pace because he thinks he'll die if he doesn't get to hear more of you right now. His tongue slides up and down your folds before getting to your clit again, making you let out a sigh of relief when the wet muscle mets your there. He can barely breath with his nose and mouth pressed so tightly up against you like this. But the wet and perfectly soft but stiff enough to make you go crazy. His fingers ghost up your legs, almost tickleing them, making your spread them wider for him. Fuck, he thought, a few mintutes in and he has already in love with your pussy. You scent, your taste. Everything. Not too far off from what he felt around you anwways. Noting new on his part. But this-- him brining you heat closer to his face so he can better lick and suck at you, that was new. But the good kind of new. A type of new that he wanted to always remain. Not something to try out once then never use again. The specail type of new that only makes you burn for more. Thats all he wanted with you-- more more more. Whateve more you were willing to give him he'd happily take.

The tip of his tongue dips inside your hole again, gaining the same reaction as last time he did so: you moaning his name out like a prayer. "Mmh," You pant, "right fucking there" Your hand that was preciously travailing down to undo the buckle on his pants stop abruptly, you, unable to move with his nose rubbing at your clit just right. He licks a long stripe up from your dripping hole, gathering all of your arousal he can on his tongue, to your clit. "You taste--" he bucks his hips up into the air when your warm fingers reach his hips, wanting noting more than to keep going. He knows he looks desperate, but in all truth he is. He really is. He just can't help himself. "Fuck, ah! You're perfect, so fucking perfect baby." He takes a break from eating your pussy so beautifully to look up at you. His dark eyes glossy and hooded, something primal and needy behind them just waiting to burst. And on other times, you would've shoved his face right back into you to get back to work. But this time all you seemed to want to do was to take in his handsome face. Just take a breath and marvel at it for a second or two. He licks his lips. His fucking perfect lips that are wet and messy and blown wider and have plumped up from all the kissing. And from how hard he had bee practically making out with your cunt a second ago.

Your juices are running down his chin but neither of you dare wipe it off. A reminder of how much he wants you, and how much you want him. You wonder how he's this worked up already. You hadn't even touched his dick. But god, did it make you feel powerful. You almost break into a laugh as he pants, one of the things, along with his heartbeat, that are in sync with yours. You don't really remember how it happened, but it did. And you for sure ain't complaining about it. You can almost hear his thoughts asking you what you're laughing about in his eyes. Then, before you can even say another word, he realizes. And in a spur of the moment decision, an act of bravery on his part, he takes your hand that was rubbing comforting circles on the back of your neck into his, making you bring your hand sliding down to his crotch up with it for comfort, he doesn't complain. "You really don't know how fucking good you taste?" He sounds surprised. Nearly addicted.

You've tasted yourself before, everyone has, right? It was definitely a distinct, flavor, but not really anything good or bad. It wasn't disgusting, wasn't delicious. You couldn't really fathom anyone loving it until Minghao. You had an inkling he had a bit of a oral fixation, you'll keep that in mind for next time, you thought. You shook your head no, and without another moments of hesitation, almost as if the world would collapse if he waited another second, he crashes his lips into yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth. He made your taste yourself on him. It still wasn't the best flavor, but something about the whole thing made you wanna cum on the spot. His tongue explored your mouth, coating you with your arousal still on his tongue. He needed you to understand how worked up you got him. How much he loved you taste. He needed it. He brakes the kiss with a whine, leaving you to chase his lips.

But still, more than anything you want him on your heated core. You want to cum. You snake your hands down to the waistband of his pants once more. "God, you're so good." He mumbles against you, the vibrations of his words that really, neither of you really knew what they meant, because, words like that could mean a millions things but also none, but damn did they sound fucking beautiful in his mouth. The vibrations that rattled your core felt so good that your had to stop yourself from sinking into him. You lean forward, your hands now planted where they were on his chest.

Your compose your self, finally, spitting into your palm a couple times. And he’s bucking into noting by the time you slide your hands down the front of his pants. He shivers when you touch his dick. He's so fucking sensitive from behind in the tight confines of his pants he thinks he'll blow any second. You start to pump him, though torturously slow. He groans again, and you pull him deeper into your pussy by his hair. Somehow it looking messed up like this makes him look even more attractive. And at the moment, you're more than done with the notion that you can't think of him like this.

"D-don't tease." He stutters out, barely being able to fucus now that you're touching him like this. He presses out another sound that makes your head reel. How, even though being as distracted as he seems, he's still able to keep a steady pace on licking you to your orgasm you don't know. The feeling of the weight of him in your hands is unmatched by any other you've felt before. By now, no more spit is needed, he's leaking out of the tip of this cock so much (the same one that you're rubbing your thumb over) to the point where he's making his own lubricant. His pre cum seeping in between your fingers and running down your hand as you pump him slowly. You could tell form the beginning that he didn't need much to cum, that he was trying not to for a while now. But you couldn't just have this time with him and not doing something of the sort, right? You'd be a fool not to take the chance and run with it. If Minghao were standing his knees would've already given out a log time ago. A muffled, "don't stop." comes in a plea from his mouth underneath you. "Wouldn't dream of it, angel." You assure him as you pump him faster. He gives a wet kiss to your clit, making your cunt even wetter and messier than before. He rubs his tongue all over your wanting slit.

You grind into his face again, chasing your orgasm. And he whimpers. A sound so delicate you wish you could bottle it up for youserlf and keep it forever. He's leaking like crazy in between your fingers, and groaning into you. His heart is racing like he'd just run for an hour. The sounds that are coming from him tonguing you are driving both of you mad. It's all just so wet and messy. But neither of you would change that for the world, liking it that way. He doesn't care that his pants are sticky and messy and that if he'd pull them back up all he'd be met with is a sopping wet patch on his on the front side of them And you don't care that your sheets are probably going to be ruined after you're done with him. At this moment in time all you two want to focus on is getting the other off. That's it. Plain and simple. His cock twitches in his pants with the next sound of ecstasy you make for him.

And he can't hold it in anymore. He squirms in your grasp, trying to keep himself focused. Senescing he was on the brink of cumming, you pump your palm around him faster, wishing your other hand could help you touch what you could not reach. You're fast and calculated, running your fingers along the length of him just right. The feeling of your hand, smooth as silk on him, is all too much to bare anymore. He shakes and quivers under your touch as he spilled into your hand. Gripping your waist so hard it feels like fire. He's sorry, he really is. Bu the needs something to hold onto while you're making him feel like it was dead and now being brought back to life. He groans into your cunt, never stopping his licking, trying to taste as much of your as he can as he cums. His voice, although muffled, lets out an unmistakable keen. He tries to still himself but the sensation is too much. You squeeze the base of his cock to ease him though his high. And his hands slide up and down your thighs. If he could he'd hold your arm in perfect place where it was. But when you kept it there anyways he felt like he wanted to give you the world. "G-god, thank you baby You're so good." His head can't stop spinning inside him as he spills his seed into your palm. "I-I" He can't speak. It's warm, and messy, and so fucking wet and it's all over your hand and fingers and you're still fucking him with your hand, not bothered by the thick liquid on you. Somehow that only turns him on even more. The wet squelching sounds picked up right back after they started, this time not from him and his desperate tongue.

"Fuck" He pants, his mouth still agape when you roll on him. Much to his dismay. If it were up to him he’d have your perched like royalty on his face for as long as he could. Your pussy blocking off his air supply as before and your thighs locked so fucking right around his head he can’t hear. Just. As. Before. And just as before he’d like to cum along with you in your bed again and again. Your soft sheets already feeling like heavenly clouds to him under his bare back. He's been dreaming of this, writhing in his sleep and waking up annoyed at himself, and at the situation of you not being there when he opens his eyes. He's been dreaming about you touching his cock again and again. Ever since you started letting him hear you at night by yourself, in your bed, fingers doing what you had secretly wanted him to do all this time.

He'd been imagining your moans-- the ones that he'd hear spill from your lips like fine honeyed tea, that he was the one causing you to sound like that and imagining himself just like how he was with you here: you on his face and his sensitive throbbing cock in your palm. He'd imagined himself making you cum and you squeezing the fucking life out of him in return. Making you cum... making your express beautiful sounds because of him and making you feel good. That was another thing on his mind lately. He stopped trying to make it go away, too. Opting to excuse himself from whatever he was doing and running for the nearest bathroom before anyone could see the tent in his pants. Sometimes forgetting to lock the bathroom stall in his rush to relive the tightness in his pants. It's all he can think about. Ever. Your cum on his tongue. What face you'd make. He already heard the sounds. And oh, did he want to hear more of them. The mere thought of it filled him with a sense of renewed vigor.

He spits on your clit, making the whole thing ever slipperier. Allowing him to glide his tongue up and down you even easier. Coaxing another moan out of you. You want to cum right then and there. He's giving you all you need. Everything you ever needed. The extra pressure on you that he's applying makes you wonder if one of those letters you couldnt send got to him about what you liked. he truth was, that, somehow got throughout the haze of pre orgasm bliss you were giving him, each pump of your hand making him more and more hopeful of the pending high that was to come. And sorted through what made you make the most noise. He wants you to feel good. If he just felt that good from just your hand then whatever he's doing must not be enough. He wonders if he's being selfish for a moment, but then you throw head back as your grind into his face, barely any noise of pleasure coming out because of how good it was all feeling. How good he was for you. And he knew he was on the right track.

"Please, I need it." He groans. Sounding more like a beg than he wanted to. "You feel so god." You wonder how he can reduce you to a whisper just from his tongue alone. One things for sure, you didn't wanna stop. "I-" Your shaky voice surprises even you,, "Right there, minghao!" You grip his hair a little tighter. HE can tell that you're close. Though you sounded even better in person when you were about to cum. This time on the flat of his tongue. "Go ahead," You hear from him, "Please baby. Cum on my tongue." Your high comes when your gazes meet-- fiery and sharp with pierced lust, but also wanting and soft enough to look at and just melt. Melt away everything. Strip away anything that was hindering you from feeling this way on him. Because of him. You moan and groan on top of him, not knowing where to look as his tongue works on you still through your orgasm. Never once stopping, wanting noting more than to collect your arousal on his waiting tongue. The pleasure he's still making your feel-- even as the final shock weaves of you still runs through you. Feeling like you body was being pushed and pulled from him and his torturous tongue moving against you. Because of him and what he's done for you.

He finally stops when you literally have no more to give him. But you still feel so fucking wet, dripping, even. Granted, some of the slick was Minghaos saliva coating your folds. But, for once you're spent. Not able to even hold yourself up. You'd talked a big game before this. Before he sunk the first kiss into your neck and ran his tongue up your pussy. You hadn't known how needy you could be until you saw his torso naked and felt the weight of him in your hand. you certainly hadn't expected for him to take so much out of you. But it was a good kind of tired. Not the kind where you wish fore more to be done but you can't give any (though, in all honesty, you wouldn't mind feeling him on you like this a second time.) Not the type of tired where your muscles ached and you felt like collapsing. But all you wanted to do was to fold into him. You felt tired, but no short of satisfied. When it was just you at night. Just you and your fingers and him on the other side of the wall. You could go on for awhile. Wanting, needing him to hear you. You never wanted to stop until you feel asleep. But with him under you like this... you couldn't quite explain it, but you were satisfied with staying close to him for a moment. And you did-- giving you two a minute to recuperate. Somehow it didn't feel forced. Sure, you were at the edge of your seat to continue with him, but you felt nice. Just taking a minute with him.

He guides you down onto his chest, his hand on your back. Warmth fills you like never before. Starting at the middle of your spine where his palm rested like an anchor, and springing forth to your neck and down you legs. Your hand drags itself away from his stomach and glides up his neck to his handsome face. Your head seems to fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. His mind starts to reel with all the possibilities of what could happen next. Who could say something next. What would you say, if anything? Or would you just lead him out your door? What would he say? But most of all, he thought of how it would be if you'd ever do this again. Maybe going further the next time. He'd die a happy man tasting you, but he still yearns to feel you. How he longs to be inside you.

But, for now. He was perfectly happy with just staying like how you two were-- his arms encircling your back and yours flat on his chest. He wants to stay like this. Not just until the both of you have recovered from your orgasms, but he wants to have you like this again and again and make you let out those beautiful noises until your throat is dry and your fingers are sore from gripping onto the sheets and his hair. He sighs contently. "Don't get too sleepy. We're not done yet."

His thoughts of fucking you again had to fall away, along with the taste of you fresh on his tongue. Something he wanted more and more every day, but something he was son beginning to realize he wasn't going to get, having to settle for the memory of it instead, fisting his cock to it-- and the sounds of your fucking moans. Unlike before though, it wasn't just a far away dream that floated to him whenever he heard you on the other side of his wall. IT was something that was a reality for him. Maybe just for a moment. But it was real and it happened. And now that his desire became a reality... all he could think about was how he wanted to feel you on him once more. Now that he got a taste he doesn't know how he survived without you for so long. God, he was so stupid not to have been having you in bed sooner. It was his new favorite thing. never leaving his mind like a good song he'd never get tired of. Now that it was real inside his mind, something that actually happened instead of a hazy image in his mind for him to dream about, he spun constantly with the thought of you. Over and over, never stopping as a thread in his stream of consciousness,. When he goes next door to his apartment later that day, all giddy and closing the door behind him and sliding against it like a person in a romance movie, he thought he'd never experience a better feeling. That was until, even though, just like the sounds you made for each other remained in the others apartment and never talked about, never mentioned until behind separate closed doors, you'd hadnt ended up on top of him or him in your bed like before... that was until you had come over after one of his letters had said something about him going on a date.

He didn't want to, really. But it had been nearly a month and, to his surprise one of his co workers had asked him out and well-- the truth was he did want to turn them down. HE really did. But they were always to nice to him. And besides, you had talked about setting him up with one of your friends. And as both options felt horrible to him, he'd rather not break the news to your own personal friend that he was never going to lust, and find attractive, and want to go out with anyone but you. He'd rather your friend not have to tell you that. He wanted you to be happy with your decision to set him up, and that if you did he wanted it to work out well. And that was why it couldn’t work: even while thinking of being set up with another person he couldn’t dare think of what that person might like about him, hoping they wouldn't be disappointed by him. But he could only think of how you'd feel if something you'd been working hard to set you failed.

This one, (and very much casual sounding by the look of it) date with his co worker didn't have to mean much right? No strings attached, no commitments. He liked the coffee shop they had suggested, and half prince anything sounded good to him. But here you were, in his bedroom. The same place where he had made that dreaded wifi name. The same name that he had tried to change when he go home from your place a couple days ago, and had been trying since. But whatever he did was to to avail. He was glad beyond compare that you hadn't asked for his wifi passcode. At this point he wouldn't even know what to say to cover it up. And it wasn't like this was something containable, either. He'd heard other tenants laugh about the name, agreeing if they were on the same floor or directly bellow you. What he spread about you? He felt like it was wrong more than anything else now. No longer filled with that sense of "what the fuck am i gonna do if they find out?" But now, his worries become background noise as you stand with your back turned to him, rifling through his closet on a mission to find him some "more self respecting clothes than what You described." Or, at least thats, what you told him in the last letter you taped to his door this morning.

He can barely focus when your gorgeous back, the same one he ran his fingers up and down not many nights ago, is turned to him? And how could he focus with well, all of you standing right before him? Trying to help him. Being so lovely and wonderful. True, just like you have always been with him. At least in his eyes. And all for no good reason anyways, because in all honestly he doesn't even like the person much at all. But, given how much time as passed before youve even brough the time you've spent together up. And how the wall is still separating you, maybe this'll help him to stop hanging onto to you. Even if it doesn't go anywhere, because, he's kind of hoping it doesn.t But still, maybe getting a so called taste of someone else to will bring down his want for you. You noticed something is up with your friend when he hasn't responded for a good couple minutes. You wave your hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Hello! Welcome back to the land of the living." You elongate the ends of your first at last words, hoping to make him smile.

For you? Always. Anytime

He rubs a hand over his face then through his hair, messing it up in the process. Did he really not know how much of an effect he was having-- pulling all this shit on you? "I sure don't feel it." He groans. God, it sends a shiver up your back. 95% Percent of it because your friend is sad, the other five percent he well, you hadn't heard his groans in nearly a month and fuck, you wanted to hear them like that again. You shake the memories from you mind as you place another shirt on his dresser into the "yes" pile, coming over to him. He's splayed out on the bed. A sight to see, really. Using his arm as a pillow and a blanket thrown over half of him, at this point mostly just bunching it up and laying on it. "Whats wrong?" you say in a sign songy voice, trying to make light of the situation. He chuckles, thinking you sound way too much like a mother with your eyebrow raised for your own good right now. "Jus' thinking about about why we've already spent thirty minutes on this. I leave in an hour and a half." Because i need more time with you before you go. "NO, really, what's going on in that pretty little head?"

He shrugs, trying to stay nonchalant. It didn't work on you though. He huffs like a child, rolling his eyes like a brat, flopping into his bed. "Just scared about the date." He says, keeping it simple. And yes, he wasn't lying at all. But he definitely wasn't stressed for the reasons he wanted you to think he was. You scoot a little closer to him. God, any closer and you'd practically be sitting on his lap. No, no. He seriously needed to stop before his thoughts became out of hand. Though, he wondered if it was too late for that. He wanted you to think he was beyond excited for the date-- that, other than his outfit he'd been thinking of it for days and couldn't wait. Now, he was thinking of taking the long way and claiming that he fell asleep or forgot his phone or something. But as stressed out as he was about this, he couldn't be an ass about it. So, he was going to try and make it on time. He didn't want to make his co worker think he didn't care about them. Cause he certainly did... like youd care for a cup of coffee so as to not spill it. But you? He cared for you like his own body. Unfortunately, you didn't fall for his see though crystal lies. "Well, yeah, I knew you were scared. But are you sure you should be?" He looked at you in question, fearing he might've just blown his cover, "Shouldn't you be nervous? Maybe even stressed out. Hell I know I would be, you've shown me their picture." You chuckle, he smiles. His eyes shine with glee like they always do when he smiles. Just like his eyes shone as you lay in bed together in peace. His chin on your head made you never want to leave his arms. You playfully nudge him. "As cute as they are..." You dip your head around to meet his gaze. You're leaning down and around and its an awkward looking position but you don't care.

"Really, Minghao, what's the matter?" "I wanna go on this date; I promise--" "Nobody said anything about you not wanting to go?" You say, your eyebrows raised in expectantly as if to tell him, you're not getting away from this question this easily. The truth was, you didn't really want him to go. You'd much rather have the rest of him in bed with you. But up until now you were going to suck it up because it seemed like he was happy about it. Now it seemed he didn't want to go either. "I'm just--" He sighs, running a hand through his hair just for it to go straight back into place, "What if I'm not into them?" He thinks it best to just tell you. I mean, what's the harm? A lot of people aren't into other people. Maybe now, as much as he didn't want you to have to, maybe you could help him come up with an excuse. Maybe you'd just have to give him one. "Sorry, I can't come because my next door neighbor said they're gonna fuck me lmao catch ya later ttyl" You know, better than that. Thats what he wants. Fuck more than anything. Thats why he'd doing this--- not only because youre his friend and he needs someone to unload that heavy feeling he's got onto someone, but also to give you an opening to hand him an excuse to stay. "What if?" You repeat. In a tone that said: tsk, either you do or you don't. "You're right" He sits up as if this just hit him. "I'm not into them. Like, at all." "Isn't that how it's supposed to work when you first start to 'get to know somebody'?" You ask, head tilted like a puppy. He thinks its the cutest thigh he's ever seen. "Yeah, yeah. You go out with them because you like how they've talked to you, three times and the very vague vibe and because they're cute, then you start to be 'into them', into them." He says. "Hao," He perks up at the name, "Looks like you're not too shocked by what I said. You already knew this, or?" You let your sentence trail off for him to answer. Damn you and you being close enough with him to pick up what he was feeling. It was really barely turning out to be in his favor.

"Maybe i wanna do something different with my time." He says, voice low and sultry, looking no where but your soft lips that seemed to be begging and calling for him, inviting him in with ease. "Yeah?" You ask, your voice for once not taunting but rather as soft and whispering--- only for the two of you to hear, no wall in between, "And what might that be?" He answers you with a kiss-- soft as his lips, it is. Sucking on you bottom lips so gently you can't help but moan into his mouth. His teeth grazing it so lightly it almost feels like tickling. Soothing and calming as you press yourself closer to him, hand reaching over to rest on his hip bone. spreading warmth and rubbing where you had previously squeezed nearly a month before. The two piles are messy and unruly on his desk and you had planned on picking them up by now but right now you couldn't care less. Noting else on you mind besides his lips and how needy you felt because of them. Because of him. You pull away, just for a second, to look at him. He's beautiful. Handsome beyond belief, really.

And it doesn’t take but a minute to get him hard against you, tent in his pants pressed on you just as before. Without a second thought you push him further into the bed and he pulls his shirt over his head. You scan his body. And your core throbs with need when you see him. His mouth hangs agape as you rub his skin as sensitive nipples. He bucks up into you in search of some sort of friction. It probably wasn’t the best idea to be doing this. He has a date, for fucks sake. And here he was getting his neck kissed by you. But right now, you didn’t really want to think about that. More concerned with getting his lips on yours again. He whines as he tilts his head into the pillows, giving you more access to his neck. “God, you’re like a dog in heat.” You whisper against his skin. He chuckles and runs his hands down, down, and down until finally stopping at our ass. Resting his hands there. You start kissing down his soft body. He’s so lost in the feeling of you that he doesn’t think to control the endless stream of consciousness running out his brain like water out a open tap. “I’m sorry. I’m so so so sorry” he whisperers, words barely heard over pants and little groans he can’t help but let out. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. Couldn’t be anyone else.

“whatre you sorry for, pretty boy?”

You raise your head a little to meet his eyes, belt discarded on the floor along with this pants. He doesn’t look like he wants for answer. And you know, as hard as he is, he isn’t that close. You stop all movements of kisses and hickys on his thighs that nearly shake with want for you to go where he needs you. He tugs you up closer to his face but your shirt, the same shirt that a second later he’s pushing up so he can kiss you tummy and waistline. And as good as his lips on your hipbones feel, you can tell there’s something wrong. You move his hand away from your shirt pushed up to your bra. He looks up at you. This time with more that just lust in his eyes. And that worries you. He seems scared, begging. Not for you to touch him, though. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling—“ you cut him off. “No, but I think you’re feeling some type of way and you’re not telling me.” You start to worry that he’s having second thought about this. I mean, he was supposed be getting ready for someone else. He turns his head away. “It doesn’t really matter.” He says. You scoff. “You’re a bad liar. Now tell me.” You speak softly, thinking it may be something you did. After a second, he realizes that he needs to speak what’s on his mind. It wasn’t going to do either of you any good if he just stayed quiet about it. “Please don’t be mad…” he says quickly. You raise an eyebrow at him-- quite the funny sight if he wasn't a little scared.

you move a little bit off of him, still staying close to give him room to breath, straightening out your shirt. “But it was me.” You looked confused. God why did you have to look to cute when you’re confused. It was really messing his apology speech up. “I’m sorry but it was be who made that Wi-Fi you’re always talking about. It tried— you won’t believe how much I tired to get it off but it won’t let me.” His constant rambling turns into background noise for you. He was the one who did that? All this time he was the one who made you worried that you might get evicted because of noise complaints? “Now, I didn’t completely mean it in a bad way! It’s just, well, i-I hear you?” Why was that a question? Either he did hear you and he liked it like how you wanted, or all this time he’d been putting on headphones and canceling your noise for him out. Shit. Did this have anything to do with our nice he was to you? You felt like you were dreaming. Was the serious? He couldn't have, right? I mean, it wasn't like you were particularly hurt, contrary to popular belief because the guy was still rambling on in front of you. You had to grasp his arm tightly to get him to stop. "huh?" He wonders aloud. "Listen, I have no fucking idea why you'd do that, but I don't hate you for it." You start to laugh,

"In fact, it's even kinda funny." His eyes are questioning, inquisitive, wondering if you really mean what you say. "I was pretty drunk... Not like thats an excuse." He said, still sensing how you must've still felt a little miffed. "I think its my time to ask you whats the matter." He puts a hand on your thigh, trying and succeeding in being comforting to you, when a not so comforting silence falls over the two of you. "...None of this was for some sort of compensation, right?" You ask, feeling your stomach sink, not with the anticipation of what would come after his feverish kisses to your hot skin, but now because... what if he couldn't answer that? What if it took him a minute? That was how you'd know this whole thing wasn't a rooze-- a plan to make you think that it wasn't him. In your heart you knew he wouldn't. As little as youve known him and as much as he was a drama queen, Minghao couldn't do something like that. Not to you, not to anybody.

Y/N!" He genuinely sounded hurt by the even mere suggestion. Then, realizing that, well, he didn't have the right words at the time and that, even if he did words alone might not do much. He gets up with a rush. "Wait, here." He nearly runs out the door, almost forgetting his shirt. "Hao--" You chuckle. Why does he seem so excited ? You wonder. But, just like with everything, he was a wonder. He peeks his head back into the room, reaching for his clothes with a shy smile up at you. His whole face seems to brighten. The last thing you hear is the faint clicking of his belt as he hurries out the bedroom door. He rushes back in the same way he came. But now holding a letter. "I wanted to give you this earlier. But this seems like a better time than anything." He explained, "with the date and everything... I just figured it would look stupid." You open the letter and start to read, it looked half finished. But the paragraph inside tells you all you need to know. In synopsis: he views as someone very special in his life. He cherishes you to the ends of the earth. And with what he's written down, it only solidifies how he'd never do anything to hurt you. Your head starts to turn up before you're even done reading. "Listen I was never that concerned--" "Just like old times--" you both say at the same time. "Sorry, I've been thinking about saying that since I started writing it." He mentions. "I thought so." You said. God, how do I know you so well. He knows he's written something else, but he also know sees you haven't read it yet. He doesn;t say anything, though, preferring to leave you to find it on your own when you're ready. He gestures to you like; and you were saying? "Hao," A feel good shiver runs up his spine at the nickname, "I never was that concerned with it. Sure, it stung a little to know that someone complaining about my apartment." He starts to say something, but you cut him off.

"And I know you're sorry. And I've heard horror stories about your wifi provider before." He smiles at you, beath calming down, not sounding like he's run a race as a second ago. He looks unreal. Other worldly, even. So fucking beautiful. You can't think of another word to describe him. Every single one you've tried seems to be a little off. You werent expecting such an actual explanation. And he didnt just leave it at: "Well, I was drunk so you can't blame me." His actually made sense, too. And, from his track record, and even from today. You could tell he was telling you the truth. One look into those deep brown eyes and you knew that if he had the power to he wouldve long changed it. And if he wasn't drunk he wouldn't have made it. "But there's one thing I don't know... I knew you were drunk, but, anything you'd like to tell me that spurred this on?" You sit there, pulling his body towards yours, starting to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. It was on backwards. He shivers as your fingers graze his heaving stomach. "Yeah." HE says simply, "But not how you think!" You chuckle. "What?" You question, "You don't mind the loud music? So... is there, anything else?" You say it like there could be anything in the world that caused him to make a jab at how "loud your apartment is." "Your noise." HE looks into your eyes, referencing how you'd make yourself cum every night. So close but way to far away from him. He wanted to start rambling about how he doesn't mean tot hear it... but, it looked like, but your smirk you wanted him to. You wanted him to get riled up and desperate for hearing you in person. And thats just what he was. "I'm glad you've finally said something about that. Looks like I've accomplished what I wanted for the year." You breath out a laugh.

So he has unsent letters just like you? You think back to your drawer of your nightstand or the shoebox by your desk. There lay, dormant and gathering dust, all unsent letters. Letter deemed a little too early in the friendship to send, letters describing dreams or thoughts youve had of him where he's been gripping your hips as you rock on hid dick, him begging you for release as you chase your own orgasm, even one letter asking him a stupid question about some show you bother watched, you remembered the answer soon after and diced to start a new one on a fresh sheet on paper. But you still kept it and held onto it like it was a precious gem. Your fingers stop their teasing movements the waistline of his pants and tell him to wait there, same thing he told you. You come back with letters, you more than him. His eyes tell you he's interested. But also: "hold on, you too?" He reads them and smile each time he turns to another. Making little remarks and comments here and there. "You know, there's something else in mine as well." He says, flipping to one of the last ones-- the ones with detail after detail of your conscious when it came to him. About how you wanted to have him and what you wanted him to do to you in your bed. Or his, it didn't really matter as long as it was with you. "Fine. Read the rest of mine though." You say, wanting, no, needing him to know what you thought of him when he wasn't beside you. You eyes flicker down to the arrow to the font of the letter in your lap. You flip it around to see his number, clear as day, staring at you in your face. (With a little note that says: how come we never did this before?) and a little, delicate sketch of the first flower pressing he'd ever given to you whine you mentioned something about them neither of you can really remember. You pressed the note onto your thighs, smoothing it down.

"You know i never minded when you sent me pressings, right?" There was noting to make you think he was about to ask, but something told you it was in the back of his mind. He nods, barely listening as he read the letter about the dream you had about fucking him like both of your lives depend on it.

And with the growing need on your pants it sure felt like it did.-- You call his name a couple times but to no avail. “come back down to earth, angel. I’m not done with you yet” you climb back onto his lap

A second later his lips are on yours. "Fuck," He whines, "You really wanna do all that to me?" He doesn’t sound repulsed at all, he now craves the thought, desire pools in his stomach for him to feel you. All of you. Wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock like how you described. He leans on top of you, making you push down into his plush bed, his mouth more eager than the first two times. You didn't; think that was even possible. You pull away, him left chasing the feeling of your lips on his. It felt so god he'd be happy if he died there. "Call them to cancel?" You beam. A moment after he sends them a quick apologetic text, here he is, grinding into your thighs, trying to fuck himself on the pillowy flesh you so lovingly provide for him. “what is it angel? You wanna be inside me?” You ask him, smiling to yourself as he nods, gulping. Your lips are ghosting over his as you slide down on him. His fingers are inside of you and making you cum in an instant when you drop your pants. Curling and pumping just how you said he did so in your dream. And the instant his cock has sprung out of his pants, ready and waiting for you, you're starting to move in a way that makes you feel like heaven is in your grasp as he swallows your moans with a kiss.

“G-god I—“ his words are cut short as he bucks his hips up into you. The stretch you feel inside your cunt feels fucking amazing. Noting like ever before. lips hovering against his once more as you start slow movements on him, the force of them still making you move from his mouth to his eyes. Slower, now but deep as ever. HE runs his hand up your back, his brain too foggy to think to take off your shirt fully like his-- to match him, fully naked in his bed. It's something he's been dreaming about ever since he first heard you moaning from the wall behind him. even though the condom he can feel every inch of you. You’re so warm and wet and so fucking tight and slippery-- the way he glides in and out of you, always drawing pleasured sounds from the both of you drives him so crazy he can barely take his eyes off of his cock disappearing into your pretty pussy over and over again. fascinated by how a ring of your slick starts to form around his cock, sticky and thick. He wants noting more than to see you lick it off of him. Or for him to get a taste. You fuck yourself on him, not like he wants anything else. He rubs circles on your back, your thighs bare as he grips onto them to ground himself. Your hands fault against his chest for leverage, you seem to never tire of the delicious feeling of him. "What're you sorry for?" You ask him, leaning down to his earlobe and nibbling it. Almost as a reminder of how stupid it all is, you chuckle at his inability to speak when you squeeze his cock particularly tight.

The thought had long done turned into a desire, and you couldn’t have imagined a better action for you two to take.

End~

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[silver-wield]

Hey just wanna ask. I read a clerith claiming that the Jail scene dialogue from OG is the ultimate Clerith scene ever because Cloud chose to flirt with Tifa with aerith in front of her. Enough to put her off. Uh I'm still currently replaying OG on my 2nd run but sources stating "there's obvious mutual attraction" going on with them? Makes my stomach churn for some reason probably because I'm kind of pissed off of Soldier Cloud being this way. Why did SE gotta do Tifa like that and put them together in one jail cell only for her to get hurt like that?? Wtf?

I swear to God if they don't make up a CLOSURE on why he's supposedly "attracted" "mutual attraction" to aerith, flirting with her saying wtvr in OG (Im not thinking of what's canon, the act itself exist it shows a perspective) I'm never going to forgive SE.

Im tired of them making Tifa out to be the second choice, or an aftermath after (she's always been the first choice wtf!? Where are all these shitty "he liked A more but settled with T" coming from??). She wasn't like Aerith who openly flirted with cloud because ignorance is a bliss. She liked Cloud the most but held back the most for obvious reasons out of worry, and they be letting cloud hurt her like that?? Wtf?? Tifa doesn't deserve that! She deserves so much more.

HELL NO WAY, I'm not gonna accept that True Cloud had a tinge of romantic interest / infatuation in aerith, that thing be better related to Zack or his Soldier Persona's needs (a fantasy that needs to be reciprocated to exist).

Plus if it was so important, wtf take away that scene all together? Why make cloud like he couldn't care less about aerith after saving her in remake (Barret doesn't even say stuff about him caring so much for A unlike in OG)? Even though a part of me sees this whole charade as a red herring, it pisses me off to my core that it's hardly given closure.

Ugh if they didn't just wanted to make sure people would be saddened by her death, they wouldn't need to put Tifa in the back burner for a huge chunk of the first parts because she gonna die early then. I'm so glad they've focused more on Tifa early on and you sure as hell would count on me to pray that her date would be the only one we'd be gettin on rebirth.

PS I just want to see Tifa happy, without the feelings of inadequacy. That she's the only one True Cloud ever loved and was attracted for. Otherwise, people will think again she's some martyr when her promise and moments literally gets NTR'd by aerith who took advantage of cloud to reminisce about Zack. I swear Tifa's a saint for caring about aerith in OG when the latter treated her really awfully. Ugh, she better be the enlightened version in remake because I sure as hell don't forgive OG aerith for causing her such sadness and pain (ngl A's pretty spoiled compared to what the others have gone through, I'm kinda pissed because most of the time she doesn't even deserve it).

Also, Claudia's line where city girls might be a source of temptation and distraction made me think of Jessie and aerith. Wherein he'd be needing Tifa, the mature one to balance him out.

Sorry, got pretty pissed. the only reason I'm tolerating and trying to understand Cloud here is because I love Tifa. And because I love her, I do really want to Like him too. Damn I feel like a combination of Marle and Brian.

It's okay, they're dumb and deluded. Also, that jail cell scene doesn't exist in remake so they're clinging to something Nojima removed because it didn't fit how the characters and plot were set out.

Fun fact: Toriyama wrote all of Aerith's scenes with Cloud in Midgar, so all annoying nonsense is his fanfiction at work since Nojima literally took it all out 🤣

They bring this up every few months because they think there was flirting and they love that mistranslation they throw around because to them "peevish/complicated" means jealousy and that there's something between Cloud and some chick he literally just met when he's been pining for Tifa since he was nine.

Basically it's about Tifa's feelings of insecurity and that as much as she likes Cloud, she feels like he's out of her league. It doesn't really have anything to do with Aerith, it could be any girl making her feel inadequate, but she feels out of sorts because she considers Aerith a friend and doesn't know how to resolve these conflicting emotions.

Never mind the devs put Cloud and Tifa in the same cell together, but sure, there's totally a moment happening elsewhere. If that was true, why is he with Tifa? That's basically saying the devs are assholes who wanna make Tifa miserable for kicks.

Yeah, I doubt it. Nomura said this in '97 that Tifa's the canon route and Aerith is the extra for players who wanna. With Remake they're not even entertaining that shit and having Cloud all over Tifa like the game is M rated and they'll be banging any second 🤭

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ok, I'm finished with work, I'm here! 🤣 I did read this before my shift but was waiting to do a proper response till now. It was super early and it was thundering and lightning and raining real hard outside and it was the perfect setting for reading this chapter ⛈️

The flashbacks! The way you wrote her pain was so real. Particularly her feeling paralyzed by it, both of them shells of who she thought they were. Her describing him as home, that was gut wrenching. I was hurting reading it. And then the sugar analogy, he really is gritty but sweet. this whole paragraph was my favourite part I think. You've created such good imagery, it's fantastic.

And then they get mean. I liked that she clapped back though. I've seen mean Eddie fics before and sometimes reader is kinda meek and just takes it (no shade at all, I would 200% be like this in real life) but roadkill does not. The line 'you had no intention of entertaining a conversation with someone who never had your best interest in mind' hit hard. People need to bear this in mind more often (definitely not me 👀) it's inspiring. but he really does try and that part where they're admitting they like eachother but it's all wrong because it's too late. This was 'stick a fork in my heart and just pluck it out beat it to death' angst. Just amazing writing. It's like they're breaking up and they weren't even together.

The self fulfilling prophecy situation Eddie's created for himself was hard. He's convinced he doesn't deserve love and fucks up every good thing in his life, and he makes it so. Isn't mature enough at the time so see it doesn't have to be that way, that he could make better choices. And so the kitchen scene at the end proves it. Poor roadkill. Proves that then was not the right time for them. He needed to get to the present day point to realise that he can make better choices, and he does 🖤

And now they're trapped together! And a totally different kind of trapped than just working together. Forced proximity within forced proximity. Very clever, see what you did there! I love that he's such a rock for her in her distress. And his thoughts on if she were his, how she never would be, how he's somehow fallen even harder. Stop iiiit you're killing me 😭 although this undoubtedly confirms he's got zero going on emotionally with Steve, and he even tells her that! Fist bumping the air at that! Their whole conversion after this was amazing. He's being so honest and she's clinging onto this shitty version of him she's gotten comfortable with because she's stubborn. and seems very good at holding a grudge and I relate to this so much. You have no idea. 'Don't mess me up with your niceness when I'm not used to it, I don't like change' kinda deal. The dialogue was so good here, the direction it goes. She's laying it out how awful it was and telling him how it's affected her dating in particular all this time and his reaction is perfect, it's a great take on misogyny and how that situation would have been terrifying and he understands that now. They were barking. Gross. But they end the conversation on good terms! Not forgiveness, but a ceasefire maybe? I can just see them attempting a friendship and it getting harder for him to hide how gone he is on her 🖤

p.s. them picturing touching eachothers noses the exact same way! I'm scrrreaming 😍 they're gonna be so in love and I can't wait.

Why you were ever scared to post this absolute masterpiece of a character study I'll never know. I loved it. But I guess you can tell that by now 🫣

🖤🖤

ILY IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY TO GET YOUR ASKS AFTER EVERY CHAPTER 😭

ugh yes that is such a fitting setting like just really setting the mood right there

IM SO HAPPY YOU LOVED THE SUGAR ANALOGY THAT WAS LIKE MY FAVORITE ugh I think that may be my favorite paragraph too 🥹

Yeah I found it really important for her not to hold back or excuse any of his behavior (even tho I’m totally the opposite idk like I’m so shy I would be like ok) UGH YES it feels like a huge breakup but there was never a relationship to begin with so in a way it’s more achey :(

I LOVE forced proximity, ik it’s been done so often but that’s because it’s so good like it just makes you yearn for them so to then double it is like YES NOW YOU HAVE TO GET YOUR DEMONS OUT WITH EACH OTHER HAHA

I’m so glad the take on misogyny landed well

you have no idea how excited I am for them to stop being idiots and just kiss BUT WE ARENT THERE YET

I WAS SO PROUD OF THE NOSE TOUCHING PARALLEL like it’s so simple but it makes you feel their yearning even if they don’t quite realize it yet SO IM GLAD YOU LIKED THAT PART 🥹

thank you thank you thank you I cannot thank you enough for your support on this fic I adore all of your feedback 😭🥹💜💜💜💜

[mostlymaudlin]

Hiii I hope you’re doing well! 🤍 1, 2, 20, 21, & 26 for the ask :)

i am doing GREAT, having a lot of fun procrastinating multiple things -- i hope you are having a good day!

so, i answered 2 here!

1. where do you typically get your ideas?

mostly i just wanna put a guy in a situation hahaha. lately its a lot of "i have this belief about andrew and im gonna PROVE it to everyone." so, i guess the real answer to this is i get my ideas by thinking about characters, and then i find the appropriate way to show what their deal is!

20. What is your best piece of advice for writing smut scenes?

i made this post once, which i think is my main advice! i guess my only other thing is just that writing smut is the same as writing anything else, in that you'll have your own way of doing it. i think sometimes theres a tendency to put smut in a different category of writing skills -- and yeah, there are things that make it unique, and there is some universality to sex scenes just bc of like... human biology and anatomy hahaha. but also, it's still just your writing! so there's no need to compare yourselves to others/try to write smut the same way your fave authors do. the best sex scenes, imo, are ones that feel like the author felt comfortable writing.

21. What is your best piece of advice for writing romance scenes?

hmmmm. probably that romance looks different for everyone. romance trademarks are like, big confession scenes and passionate kisses and dates and saying "i love you." and those have their place, but maybe not for every character, and not for every story. romance is also, "i call you when im freaking out," or "i make sure you go to bed on time," or "i tell you this secret bc i trust that u won't turn it against me." these are actually examples of scenes id consider to be romantic climaxes of some of my fics haha. i kind of squeak and hide over traditional romantic stuff, and my versions of characters aren't rly that type either, so i never try to smoosh them into the archetypes.

26. How do you go about world building?

same as everything else -- i just kind of structure it to whatever makes it easiest for me to show the things im trying to show abt the characters. i mostly write in contemporary settings, so i don't have to do that much big picture work, but i try to fill the world around the characters with things that feel consistent and non-distracting. i think that setting is one of the most powerful ways to control mood, too -- like, no turning back is kinda angsty at its core, but the world includes a board game bar, which adds some whimsy to the story lmfao. and i like to think that story is kinda fun overall, because all the emotionally heavy stuff is happening in a fairly upbeat world.

in we can live forever, they're in high school, so the world is populated with things from my own experiences of being a teenager and also being a high school teacher. they have homework, they have parents who give them rules, they have shitty cars that they have to share with siblings. these things build the boundaries that remind the reader that these are stupid, besotted teens, and that's why they are being so foolish bahaha.

[tweekfilms]

i got that holiday glee

merry christmas besties. time for alexchase on christmas eve

as soon as alex opened the door, chase just hugged him tight

“hello to you too” alex laughed

“im sorry im just excited” chase sheepishly scratched his head

“no its completely fine” alex smiled

“oh by the way i got you something” chase gave him a bag

“you really got me something” alex looked at him

“of course, i mean i wanted to give you a surprise as well” chase blushed

“did i ever tell you how sweet you are” alex asked

“only like seven hundred times” chase giggled

“well im going to continue to tell you that” alex said

“and i’ll be glad to hear it” chase smiled

“in other news, your surprise is kind of interesting so its like a scavanger hunt is what you could call it so just find post its over the house and the final one should be in my room where i will be waiting for you” alex explained

“this seems so cool” chase couldn’t contain his excitement

after chase started the instructions, he wasn’t aware of how emotional it would go.

as he found each post it note, each one contained messages that were handwritten with compliments that he never had anyone tell other than his mom and his friends

most of notes were from alex but he also found some from gert, molly, nico, and karolina which he apperciated a lot

by the time he reached alex’s room, he was already a teary mess and alex just looked at him shyly

“i took this opportunity to try and write messages because i want you to feel like you matter and i wanted you to see how i view you in my eyes and how everyone else does too” alex was blushing with every word he was saying

“oh wow” chase wiped his tears

“i know mateo hurt you and your dad hurt you too but im not going to hurt you , our friends aren’t going to hurt you either. i just want you to know that im going to try and help you through everything, im not going anywhere” alex took his hand

“this is probably the sweetest thing anyone has done for me” chase wanted to cry in happiness

“and its what you deserved after this shitty year” alex shrugged

“you are amazing” chase gave him a hug

“you like it” alex asked nervously

“of course i do silly” chase pecked his lips

“im glad” alex ruffled his hair

“now its your turn” chase pointed to the bag

“oh so we’re taking turns” alex teased but got the bag and opened it

chase got him a picture book and it had pictures of them they took so far

“so i got this picture book because i wanted you to have a collection of the memories we made and the ones we’re going to make together so yeah. also nico helped a lot with the pictures” chase shyly explained

“oh wow” alex sniffled

“you’re crying” chase wanted to cry too

“of course this is the best thing anyone has done for me” alex tearfully laughed

“im going to start crying” chase warned playfully

“you’re so cute” alex pat his cheek

“wait i have one more thing. give me your phone” chase asked as alex gave him his phone

chase went on spotify and searched up the playlist he made for him

“i made a playlist of songs that remind me of you” chase blushed red

“aww you think about me while listening to music” alex teased him lightly

“yes” chase blushed

“i love this” alex gave him a reassuring kiss

“merry christmas alex” chase smiled brightly

“merry christmas chase” alex took his hand and led him to the living room to watch a movie

molly was right. this was the best christmas chase had in years

[juusasu4evagrrl]

Its later and i have thoughts on this post. So first of idk who told baby grrl that most people in fandom were children but i think they were wrong about that. When i was a young person in fandom a lot of the people i was interacting with were my peers sure but all my favorite blogs artist and authors were all way older then me.

Fandom is always gonna be a mixed bag of people and for the most part there are more pros then cons there. Seeing interpretations of my favorite media from people with all sorts of cultural backgrounds was like the coolest thing to me. So I’m not exactly sure why hearing from the older siblings in fandom bothered me so much but i have so ideas.

I was so jealous, like so jealous oh my god. When we create in fandom we draw from our own experience. So theres the obvious here right older people have more life to draw from. And then theres a personal side. I was an unusually sheltered and dumb kid and could not for the life of me fathom how these people were coming up with such cool ideas. At first really admired these people but as kept trying harder and harder to emulate them, I just felt inadequate like I would never be able to come up with cool ideas of my own. Instead see a bigger picture, I let jealousy fester and eventually ruined my own relationship with the community that I once really loved. Taking time away to evaluate my relationship to fandom after my enjoyment fizzled out, allowed me to turn that jealousy back into admiration. I still reread all my favorite fics and stalk my favorite blogs and i think engaging with the media i love in this way is just a part of me and I’m okay with that. Now its just about finding the healthiest way to do so. Im 20 now I’ve lived a little more and learned a lot more. I can write simply for the enjoyment of it now and I love what I write even when it is shitty cause its about enjoying being a fan and not competing with my faves.

And this one is more complex to me. Sex in fandoms like this just bothered me at that age. It feels so hypocritical of me to say this now though cause I was 15 writing smut in my school note books during class instead of taking notes. And they wondered why they lacked friends god that kid was so insufferable. Part of the problem was if I thought the smut was better then mine 100% of the time projected adulthood onto that author and automatically assumed their intentions were off. Looking back at though dumbass baby syndrome strikes again cause girlll a lot of ya’ll were my age huh. So heres the thing i had to learn in all this. Is grown people writing porn about naruto funny? To me, yes ma’am it always will be just off the premise yo some of its good absolutely it is I’m just saying. Is it automatically predatory in nature to write porn about Naruto cause kids that like Naruto and mights see it? Unless you are doing it specifically because you want it to be seen by a younger audience (and who is doing that like fr) No. So the other part of the problem that is a little more valid, is that it felt really weird as a kid to see people sexualizing characters that were my age. It was fun and explorative to do it myself with my peers but every once in a while you’d come across that one blog, (and if you don’t have a blog name that just popped into your head after reading that i envy you cause half my blocklist just popped into mine while writing it) that was just like way too old and way too into it. Honestly though this is a problem that I don’t know what to do with. I mean first of all it for the most part it’s a few bad apples, but that doesn’t mean its not a issue and we should just live and let these weirdos live. I feel like i can’t just block these fools anymore and personally I think in gonna start bullying but if your a kid encountering someone that makes you feel uncomfortable in that way SMASH DEMOLISH AND INCAPACITATE that block button ok <3.

Well thats all I feel like writing right now cause I gotta go make me some dinner yuhhh. I plan to write more later cause i wanna talk more about what it looks like to be a grown up in fandom. Im not set if my ways and if anything about this sounds off to you especially concerning part 2 (cause that is absolutely and rightfully a touchy topic and I wanna be as understanding about it as i possibly can) please tell me cause I wanna learn and grow, contribute and participate in these spaces in the most neutral way possible.

OH MY GOD THIS IS MY 100TH REBLOG CONGRATULATE ME RIGHT NOW!!!

Growing up online in fandoms was a wild experience. If I could go back and change it all I would in a heart beat in an instant and without hesitation.

Goodluck to the next generation of super fans, fanfiction authors, and chronically online kids. I hope your time in this space brings you what you need. Be creative, be kind, be critical. catch you later!

[emofrog69]

umm you were on a terf blocklist so. wtf. are you a fucking crypto? plus i see a lot of rbs on your blog from people who are marked red by shinigami eyes

huh? DM me and show me who im reblogging thats a terf? and what is shinigami eyes? i dont understand why people speak like this to strangers on the internet. if you genuinely want to help out trans people and nonbinary people including myself, why not reach out and say “hey, this particular person you’re reblogging from might be this or might be that” instead of making assumptions. im really sick of this on here sometimes. im not checking every fucking blog i ever see in my life scrolling thru all their shit to see every opinion they have - its just not realistic. i try! but i wont be successful 24/7. idk who this is and why you’re so obsessed with me or my blog, but i find it interesting that if you really are scrolling through my page that you somehow missed anything ive said against terf / radfem ideology. i dont get how thats possible. ive been trying not to reblog much stuff about it lately anyway bc i dont want to be subjected to anti trans bigotry that often nor do i want to subject my followers to that either. quit with the ‘holier than thou’ approach to the internet and treat others like humans behind a screen. send me a DM and actually speak instead of cowardly anons accusing me of shit with no evidence. i feel like im back in high school, lord lmao.

[xjoonchildx]

would you mind making a long post sharing your hobipalooza experience with us, starting from when you got to the venue to when you left?

im sorry for asking for this. of course you don’t have to respond to this ask if it’s too much and too bold of me to ask. i apologize in advance

anon, it's not bold at all!

okay, so. i got to the venue pretty early, just after 8:30 AM 😭

there were already long lines, apparently some people had already been camped out, but security kept shooing people back and making them stand across the street. one security guard was shook because he said he'd never seen that many people arrive that early for lolla and when he found out they were all there for the last person to perform for the night, his mind was truly blown 🤣

anyway, i say it was unnecessary for me personally to get there that early because pretty much when i was in the security line i decided that i wasn't going to try for barricade. those poor people baked in the sun for hours and had to try and limit bathroom breaks and somehow get water and food. once i decided to not worry about that, my experience became about 10,000 times better.

i was lucky to have a VIP ticket, so instead my girl S and i decided to camp out there in the shade. we actually had a chance to get massages and even got our hair done while waiting for hobi's set which was great.

cell service was next to impossible, so finding friends who were messaging about their locations became almost impossible. i was able to hook up with another friend, K, but that was almost by chance and it was WELL before hobi's set. people were passing out by mid-afternoon.

i will say that i feel the lolla staff did a good job of trying to locate people in trouble and even went into the crowd to pass out free waters in order to keep people safe. so we all hung back until charlie XCX came on and that's when we started getting closer to hobi's stage.

she was fantastic BTW -- and i know there were a lot of posts criticizing ARMYs for being there so early and blocking out other fans but i saw a lot of her fans pretty close to the stage and all the ARMYs danced and screamed and turned up for the artists who came before him.

after that was kid laroi (who was great) and same thing with him. ARMYs cheered and danced and screamed for him, too. again, more people passing out in the hot sun, but by his set it was coming down a bit so the situation was improving.

the second he got off the stage, the whole crowd started surging forward but for the most part people were respectful. all the ARMYs around us were pretty amazing -- no shitty people in our vicinity and we had a blast hanging out. the energy got a bit hushed for a minute and then chicago's mayor and the founder of lolla came out to say a few words about the festival and to kind of "introduce" hobi -- who they gave more time to, given the size of the crowd he drew.

lights went down and the place went nuts. i think y'all have seen all the video there is to see by now, but it was seriously bananas in there. every ARMY in that place shook the park cheering and singing along. it was freakin' incredible.

then hobi put on the most amazing show and the rest is history.

anyhoo --here's a polaroid we snapped in the crowd. i HATE to smile because my eyes always disappear but i did it anyway.

hope that answers your questions, anon!

PS i'm the shorty behind the tall gorgeous picture taker lmao. also i have never been so sweaty in my entire LIFE 😭 also we’re two days out and i still sound like a 🐸

[mooifyourecows]

@eccentricsugar my research process isn't anything impressive tbh

It's mostly just a lot of googling and reading. if i find some good information that i think i might need/want to use then i'll screenshot it and either put it into an album in my phone i've designated specifically for that story, or i'll put it into my notes app where i've been writing down ideas. (usually i forget it exists and it gets lost in my screenshot album though lol oops)

i might also skim through pinterest for reference pictures for either the characters (tattoos, clothing styles, etc) or other physical attributes of the story like blueprints/layouts of buildings/apartments/homes/boats/etc. And sometimes I'll get on tiktok to see if i can find some educational videos from professionals to pick up on the jargon and intimate touches that you don't really get from textbook type research (this is difficult to get any real success from though because most tiktok videos that come up from searching are super unhelpful aesthetic posts with music playing over a shitty filter)(that or just total bullshit misinformation so... you know. when you stumble upon something actually helpful, it's like finding the holy fuckin grail)

I basically just google every question i have as it comes up. if i don't find the answers im looking for, i'll table it for the time being and come back to it later. sometimes when i search, i'll find NOTHING. but then a few months later when i search, i've learned a new way of wording it or something and suddenly i've got answers out the wazoo.

the brainstorming/researching stage of writing for me is an ongoing experience, so i don't really sweat about getting it all figured out ahead of time. i leave myself open to changing things if i learn they don't make sense or fit into the story and dont run myself ragged trying to become a professional on something that i could just as easily glaze over without losing too much of value in the narrative.

my goal is to know just enough not to sound like an idiot defying the laws of physics. if it's something that im genuinely interested in, i might go a little deeper into it, but since my writing focus is typically the characters and their relationships, i don't feel the need to get too wild and crazy with the research 🤙

[hivequest]

Taking a Risk » Mallek Adalov/Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k words

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, stressed out reader, chillboy Mallek. TYping quirk only used when texting cause I could not be bothered lmao Originally posted on AO3

A/N: One of my favorite things that I’ve written, ever. I love Mallek and he’s for sure one of my favorite Friendsim characters. When I wrote this I was really feeling those Quarantine Woes

You didn't know what you were doing here. You felt out of place in the worst possible ways. It was a weird, squidgy feeling like stepping on wet grass. But not like the fun kind where you were running around in a sprinkler on a hot-as-balls summer day. No, this was the bad kind of wet grass that you stepped on without knowing it was wet. Why weren't you wearing shoes?

This analogy is stupid. The point is, you're feeling bummed out.

And what better way to not have to deal with that than hang out with someone you knew wouldn't push you into talking about all the ways crashing on this planet sucked! The point is, you're on your way to see Mallek. Mallek is absolutely the kind of friend who can tell when you just need to sit down and veg out. You had been so caught up in everyone else's bullshit that you weren't looking after your own damn self. So now you were doing that.

All it took was a quick text, asking Mallek if he had any company. He texted back only a moment later with a no, obviously not. You asked him if he wanted any. Not really. You ask him if you can come over anyway. Obviously.

You smiled at the palmhusk in your, well, palm. You could already feel the chill vibes of your hacker friend. Friend? Was that the right word for it? You didn't know anymore. When you first met there were definitely some sparks there. You could still feel them now and it made weird butterflies flutter around in your stomach. When you slapped his phone out of his hand and he sent you ass over applecart into the slimy depths of sewer water and he saved you, tits out and all.

You shook off the weird wistful feeling of maybe possibly crossing the friendship barrier and told him you'd walk to his hive. You'd been moping in some bookhive, not your usual hang-out spot with Tagora or Tyzias. This was some upper caste bookhive with purple bloods and some indigos and definitely not where you were welcome if the looks you were getting were any indication. They ranged from snooty to downright murderous. Yeesh.

Your phone -palmhusk, stupid troll names- beeped again. You got another text from him and those cheery fucking butterflies were back. God, you had it bad.

yeah were not doing that lmao;

im not going to let my robobuddy walk out in the sun

do you even know what time of day it =

just stay put ive already got your location ill pick you up;

And like a good little friendsimp. You park your ass on a chair and wait. You hadn't released your moping had taken up most of the night. But with the quick look around, yeah, no, this place was nearly empty by now. Just some older bluebloods trying to cram before their Ordeals and get shipped off-planet. Again: Yeesh.

You kept your ears open for the telltale sound of Mallek's limo. It was a sound you were getting used to these days. He always seemed ready to drop whatever coding shit he was working on to come to see you. You tried not to think too hard on what that might mean. No need to get your hopes up now. It's probably just your bad mood making you imagine some context where there's nothing. Yeah.

Damn, that shit hurted.

Just as you were about to add that to the reasons you were considering just screaming your lungs out who cares whose listening? you heard the wonderfully familiar sound of an approaching elongated scuttlebuggy. If that wasn't enough of a clue as to who the ride was for the quiet of the bookhive was very abruptly disturbed by a series of rhythmic beeps.

Holy shit was that the Tetris theme?

You shoved your palmhusk into your hoodie pocket and yanked the hood over your head. Even if the sun was only out a little bit you didn't want it anywhere near your freshly healed skin. You had no kind cowgirl to nurse you back to health right now if you got your asscheeks baked by the flaming death orb. You peeked your head out and even with the blinding light of Alternia's suns you could Mallek had opened the door and was waiting for you.

Aw. No, shit. You're in a bad mood don't get all heart eyes at him. Don't make it weird.

You took a few steps back into the bookhive, ready to make a run for it. You turn to a sitting indigoblood, who is just staring at you disdainfully for keeping the door open. You give her a two-fingered salute. Godspeed young cosmonaut. She gives you a one-fingered salute. Close the door you insufferable bulgebiter. Fair.

Taking a running start, you book it out into the heat of the Alternian sun and dive for the open car door. It's then that you realize he's halfway parked on the sidewalk to lessen the amount of time you'd have to spend in the sun. Aw. That also means that you came barreling like a cannonball at something that was like two feet out of the door. FUck.

Your face meets carpet and you can already feel the rugburn starting to set in. You hear a startled wheezy laugh from above you, a sound you know better than anyone else on this planet. You smile. It's not like you had any dignity to begin with.

You say hello to him as you peel yourself off of the floor of his car.

"Hey, there robobuddy. You stuck the landing this time," He smiles down at you as he reaches over you to shut the door, closing the space out from natural light and leaving you both lit by his colorful LEDs. You shrug and tell him you've been getting a lot of practice landing on your face these days. The look he gives you is still smiling but there's some level of disbelief at the dumbassery that is your whole existence.

"I know you can get yourself into it. Nothing too bad this time, though, right? No drones or broken bones?" He sounds concerned which is nice but he doesn't drown you with his concern. He leans back on the bench of his limo, keeping an eye on you as the vehicle begins to move on its own. You've been staying out of big messes but the little messes are starting to mess with you. He makes a sound of understanding the sounds as it comes from deep in his chest. Whoa. "Believe me, I've been there. Glad you're not cracking under it though."

He smiles and you can see his little fang and you can feel your heart melt a little. And also you're getting a bit teary-eyed and now Mallek looks alarmed. Shit. You try to quickly explain that you're fine, just, alien allergies am I right? He must be using some new air freshener to mask the musty smell of his limo. Since doesn't use it enough. Ha ha?

He isn't buying it.

With a rare show of cerulean prowess, he lifts you up off of the shitty car rug and sets you on the seat beside him. He feels uncomfortable and you can tell. Ah, goddammit you made it weird. You didn't mean to. Fuck. Fuck now you're feeling even worse. You thought you were starting to balance out. You're with Mallek now, shouldn't everything start to quiet down like it always does? Fuck. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans back against the seat and stretches his arms across it, letting you lean on him if you choose to.

...You choose to.

Your head finds itself somewhere between his shoulder and his collarbone, and you just. Shove your face there. Then scream.

To his credit, Mallek doesn't even flinch. He doesn't wince or shy away from you as you let out every bit of anger, sadness, and frustration out against his sweater. He just sits quietly, staring straight at the blacked-out windshield. You get the feeling he's needed to do this more than once.

Screw this planet. Screw everything about it that makes all of your friends suffer. Why can't you just get them away from all this bullshit?! Why do you have to deal with everyone's bullshit! You love them, you do but holy fuck they're looking to you like you can undo all the damage this place has done to them when you've got literally no god damn idea what's happening at any point ever!

And then, just like that, it fades into the background. Your throat hurts. Your head hurts and you think you might be crying. But it feels lighter. Better now that you've gotten some of that aggression out. You aren't like the trolls on Alternia. You can't kill people when you experience an Emotion™. But that doesn't mean you don't get pent up with rage.

Mallek realizes that now. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and his left hand slowly moves down from the back of the seat the rest against your back. His thumb brushes against your back, the claw drawing little patterns against the fabric of your sweater. His sweater. He tries not to think his sign your chest. This isn't the time.

"Feeling any better?" He asks and you don't know how to answer. You kinda don't want to. But you nod anyways, and you feel some tension leave his body. You knew he was worried about you. You apologize for making him witness your meltdown but he just makes another deep-chested hum. "Nothing to apologize for. I got the feeling you weren't feeling great. I could tell from the texts, you didn't use nearly enough ugly emojis."

You scoff and smack a hand against his chest and once again you hear that wonderful laugh from him. Hey! Your purrbeast emojis are adorable, thank you very much! And you'll not hear another word of it or else you'll send him pictures of rocks and rocks exclusively. No more memes.

"Jokes on you I'm into that shit." You laugh and thump your head against his collarbone. You thank him for being with you when were needed it. And picking you up to make sure you didn't deal with it alone. You don't want to make it weird but...yeah.

He doesn't respond this time, just letting you both enjoy the silence and the comforting sound of the engine. You should almost be at Mallek's apartment by now. It's as you're settling in for the last bit of the drive that you notice that the limo isn't moving. And hasn't been for a while. Your head pops up in confusion and the little GPS display on the back of one of the seats says... yep.

You're already at Mallek's.

But then why is the engine still on? That can't be good for the environment. Do these things even run on gas or is it bugs? Bug gas? Gross.

You notice then that the rumbling is coming from behind you. Like. From where Mallek is sitting. He doesn't look away when you turn to him, just kind of tilting his head to the side with a little bit of a cerulean hue to his cheeks. Oh. Oh, the sound is coming from him. He's purring. That's.

That's adorable.

You feel yourself soften even more when he lifts his arms, silently offering a hug if you want it. Is this platonic? Is this more? You've never had too much trouble identifying what people wanted from you. (Debatable.) If was overtly flushed you could shut it down or divert it to something very much friends only. (Like your every exchange with Zebruh.) But did you even want to do that to your hackerman? You could feel yourself screaming, no, absolutely not. But at the same time, you didn't want things to change. You didn't want to make his issues any worse than they already were. He didn't have too much longer on the planet and you knew it would tear him apart.

But then he turned those blue eyes to you. He looked just as unsure as you were but he was willing to take the risk. He shoved himself so far out of his comfort zone for you and was asking you to be selfish. To want something for yourself and do something for yourself. Not put him or anyone else's wants first. Just your own. And so you did.

You crawled up into his lap, pressed yourself as close to him as you could and clung to him. His arms didn't hesitate to wrap around you and you could feel a shuddering breath from above you.

"We don't have to put a label on this... not yet. Or ever. Either way is chill with me. I just... yeah." He gave up with a little shrug of his shoulders but you knew what he meant. Unless you could find a way to fight fate he was going to go off-world. He was going to leave you and you doubted you'd be able to go with him. You'd probably get gored by a drone for even trying.

But even if it was just for now, just for a moment, you were going to take it. You were going to let yourself have something, have someone who would care for you no matter how long or short your time was. You'd take it. You had stomached some of the most horrible things on this planet but Mallek had always been a constant. And you got the feeling he thought the same way about you.

So, you'd take it. Whatever comes next, you'd take it. You listened to the sound of his purring, in no hurry to move to get inside the apartment. Mallek felt the same.

You exhaled.

You would be okay.

[anxious-allie-ren]

Miscalculation

Hey cuties! So, I have started writing fanfiction! I have been posting on both AO3 and Wattpad. Both links are in my linktree in my bio! But, I’d like to share my first one-shot here. Let me know what you all think!

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Let's be honest, The Finalizer is boring.

Not a, "Oh, it's a calm day with nothing to do, kind of boring." But more like, "I'm trapped on a steel death ship in the vacuum less mass of space" kind of boring.

Okay maybe that's because you are trapped. You have been trapped for what feels like months. In reality, it's been a few weeks and you're really close to going insane.

It was a small error that landed you here. A tiny miscalculation that landed you on the path of Snoke's little apprentice. Should you have double checked to make sure you had enough fuel to get back to D'Qar? Yes. Did you? No. Instead you waste your credits on some shitty fried food at the docking station on Coruscant and take off. This leaves you stranded on Jakku. Luck was clearly on your side that day because this was the exact day Snoke's dog sent his bitches out on a mission. There you are, in your X-Wing with what seems like the biggest bullseye on you.

It doesn't take them long to sniff you out. You're ripped out of the cockpit by a knight in an all black mask with long shields placed on either side. The knight drops you to the ground and you can immediately see you're outnumbered. Six large armored men have circled you. Okay, so the blaster you're pointing at the one who man-handled you probably wasn't going to do shit. But that doesn't stop you from holding your ground.

"I am not afraid to shoot. I will blast you all right now."

This earns a chuckle from the group. That first knight speaks up.

"You're stranded on this sand pile with no fuel. I doubt you have enough plasma to shoot half of us."

You huff at his comment but stand your ground, keeping the blaster pointed at him.

"Trudgen, just grab her and let's get back to the mission. Master can decide what to do with her."

You take note of that fucker's name as two of the other knights haul you up by your arms roughly. You're dragged to the ugliest ship you've ever seen in your life and thrown in a dingy compartment.

"We'll be back rebel scum. Don't try anything." Trudgen said as he placed your blaster on his belt. Not like he has enough weapons strapped to his body or anything. You roll your eyes and try to sit in a spot that isn't covered in dust.

"No promises."

And that's how you ended up on the Finalizer. You made the journey here hell for the knights. You did eventually learn the rest of their names after eavesdropping on their conversations. When you arrived Vicrul and Ap'lek placed your hands in binders and led you to an interrogation room. After you were strapped into the interrogation chair the knights made their way to leave.

"Uh, excuse me? Where the fuck are you guys going? You can't just strapped me in to this stupid chair, way too tightly might I add, and then leave without saying anything!"

Vicrul and Ap'lek share a look and then turn towards you.

"We aren't the ones interrogating you, scum. Master is interested in you." Vicrul says, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have no idea why. Not much to be interested in." Ap'lek mutters as he turns to leave again.

You rolled your eyes as both knights leave the room. So you would be getting the honor of meeting Snoke's apprentice. Wonderful. From what you learned being in the Resistance, Kylo Ren was an overgrown toddler with a laser sword. So the likelihood of you coming out of this interrogation alive was small.

You probably sit strapped to that stupid chair for hours before Commander Ren decides to stroll on in. He comes through the door swiftly, feet pounding on the ground loudly. He stops in front of you and gives you a quick once-over. The mask finally meets your eyes.

"Are we just going to stare at each other? Or are we going to get this over with?"

Kylo ball his hands into fists and begins to circle the interrogation chair.

"I don't think you are in any position to ask questions right now. What were you doing on Jakku?"

"Your little boy band didn't fill you in already? I got stranded on that shitty planet. Didn't exactly go there by choice."

He stops in front of you again.

"And why did you get stranded?"

You immediately think back to your little error. You feel even more stupid looking back on it. Admitting to it is not something you were looking to do right now. What the fuck was the point of this? Was he really just going to ask you trivial questions? You figured Snoke would have taught him better than this if he's really so powerful.

Kylo leans down quickly, grabbing the sides of the chair by your head. The sudden movement makes you jump, wrists smacking against the restraints.

"I can hear all of your thoughts. It would be wise to watch what you think. Now answer the question."

Of course he can hear your thoughts. He's a fucking force user. Rookie mistake on your part really. But the idea of him actually hearing every thought you think does unnerve you.

"I ran out of fuel. Had to make an emergency landing, okay? Is that answer good enough for you?"

Kylo finally leans back up. He stares down at you and even though he's wearing that stupid fucking mask you can just tell he's got a judgemental look on his face.

"What kind of pilot runs out of fuel?"

You begin to argue back but he stops you.

"Not a very good one. A good pilot would have checked that they had enough fuel to get to their next destination. A good pilot wouldn't have spent all of their credits."

"Listen you fu-"

"A good pilot would have landed near a fueling station, not in the middle of nowhere. But I guess that's my point. You aren't a good pilot. Another useless member of the Resistance. So breaking you down is going to be easier than I thought."

All you could do was stare at him. He read your thoughts. He already knew everything. He wanted to embarrass you, make you feel small. It worked for a second. But if you were going to die today, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing your embarrassment.

You square your jaw and look right into the eyes of his mask.

"That's where you're wrong, buddy."

Kylo leans down so his mouthpiece is by your ear and whispers, "We'll see about that, little one."

He stands back up and stomps out of the room quickly. Leaving you feeling shocked, angry, and oddly aroused.

____________________________

So to everyone's surprise you did not die that day. Instead Kylo had you placed in a cell and that's where you've been for weeks. Stormtroopers come and feed you or take you to a refresher to bathe. Commander Ren has stopped by a few times since your original meeting. Nothing much has come of those ones either. Mostly him staring at you and asking trivial questions. Which just agitates you.

You can't seem to figure him out. He hasn't asked anything regarding the Resistance. What is the point of keeping you prisoner if he isn't going to get any useful information from you? It doesn't sit well with you.

When he doesn't visit you're left alone. Staring at the same four walls does get boring eventually. You've taken to sitting near the door and trying to listen to the stormtroopers conversations. Sometimes bucket heads spill some interesting tea. You learned last week that General Hux once got a boner after getting choked by the Commander.

That's what you're doing currently. Listening to the chatter when you suddenly hear the distinct pounding of boots. The last you knew, the Commander was away on a mission with the knights. As the footsteps draw closer you move quickly to your feet and back away from the door. Kylo strides through the door, chest heaving and fists clenched. You can feel the anger rolling off of him. So you're guessing his little adventure didn't go so well.

His hand flies up quickly, using the force to choke you.

"How many times do I have to tell you to watch your thoughts?"

Okay, so he heard you. You really gotta work on monitoring that. Wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a toddler tantrum.

Just as the thought crosses your mind you're dragged across the floor towards Kylo. Your toes just barely touching the ground as you move. His hand wraps around your throat and he leans his masked face down into your own.

"I've given you far too many warnings. Now you're going to be punished."

Your eyes go wide as you look up into the soulless mask. This is it. This is where you die. You're going to die at the hands of this fucker and even worse, you're turned on.

Kylo spins you around and pins you to the wall. He kicks your feet apart using his boot, shoving his knee between your legs. You feel his thigh rub against your core. It takes all your self control to stop yourself from grinding down on it. He can feel the arousal pouring from your body.

He pulls his hand from your neck and leans back.

"I'm afraid you're enjoying this too much, little one."

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, to no prevail of course. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. But the anger from this whole situation has begun to build. You're sick and tired of being in this cell. You're enraged by his trivial fucking questioning. And now, he's teasing you. You've had enough of it. You are not going to be his toy.

"I'm not enjoying anything. Im stuck in this stupid cell guarded by bucket heads. You've done nothing but ask me useless fucking questions. What is the point of this? Why keep me around if I have no use?"

You watch as he reaches up quickly and yanks the mask off. You weren't sure what you were expecting. But it wasn't that. When you imagined the Commander of the First Order, you pictured some burnt deformed old man. Not a hot ass guy with perfect fucking hair.

He throws the mask off to the side and glares down at you.

"You've certainly got a use and now you're going to fulfill it."

Suddenly, you feel the most glorious swirling against your clit. You gasp and try to squirm away from him. He pins you harder against the wall and begins kissing up your neck. You begin to feel the pressure building just as he starts to remove your shirt.

"Fuck, I don't know what you're doing. But don't stop." You pant out.

Just as the words leave your mouth the swirling stops.

"What the actual fuck?"

"You didn't think I'd just let you cum, did you? This is a punishment."

That is the final straw. You were so close to ecstasy. So close to release. You have had enough of this little twat. You collect yourself and use all the strength you can to push him away from you.

"Enough fucking games. I'm not some toy to be played with. Either show me the reason I'm still here or kill me already!"

Commander Ren is quick. If you weren't aware of his position, you'd think he was a bounty hunter with how fast he can move. So fast in fact, that he has you pinned face down on your shitty cot before you can think. You're bent over with your hands held in his fist behind you. You try to squirm but only end up grinding your ass back into him. Either that's his lightsaber or he's really excited to see you.

"Who is the general of the Resistance?"

The question catches you off guard. Why the fuck is he asking you his trivial questions now? Of all fucking times. He certainly knows the answer to this one, so what's the point of this?

You must have been stuck in your thoughts for too long, because a strong slap comes across your left ass cheek. The sound echoes throughout the tiny cell and you're certain the stormtroopers outside heard it.

"Answer the question."

"Uh, General Organa. She's your mom, right?"

Stupid response. He grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks your head back. He growls in your ear, "I would advise you shut the fuck up. Stop being a little brat and cooperate or this will only get worse."

Kylo releases your hair and holds you down with the force. He yanks down your pants, revealing your slick soaked panties to the room. Kylo looks down and smirks.

"You're drenched. Bent over and pussy wet for the enemy. What kind of pilot would do that?"

He lands another hard slap to your right cheek this time. Giving it a small kneed afterwards.

"Oh that's right. Not a very good one."

You try to move against the force hold but it's no use. He's got the upper hand here. But you're not going to let him degrade you like that.

"That's rich coming from Snoke's little bitch."

His fist is back in your hair and his other grabs your hip, pulling you back against him. He grinds himself into you and groans out, "You're going to regret that, little one."

Kylo pulls himself away enough to pull down your panties. You feel his gloved finger glide through your slick down to your bundle of nerves. You gasp and wiggle your hips back towards him trying to gain more friction.

"What is your squadron?"

Not this bullshit again. He's playing with your pussy and asking you these dumbass questions? He pulls his hand away and lands a slap to your pussy, causing your legs to shake.

"I hate repeating myself, so answer the fucking question."

Your head is spinning and your pussy is clenching around nothing. You have no clue what the point of these questions are but you'll do anything to get him to touch you again.

"Blue Squadron! Fuck."

Kylo's hand comes back to you, this time bare. He begins rubbing slow circles around your nub, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

"Now that's a good girl. Keep answering your Commander and you'll get rewarded."

"You're not my fucking commander." You gasp as he inserts two thick fingers into your needy hole. "My commander is Poe Dameron."

You realize what you've said after it's too late. It's not exactly classified information. But it's certainly not something you should be sharing with the enemy. You've got to get it together if you're going to make it through this little visit.

"Dameron, hm? Interesting."

You hear the sound of his belt buckle and zipper coming undone. He releases his long, girthy cock from the confines of his pants. It lands on your ass as Kylo grabs hold of both your hips.

"Are you ready for your punishment? I'm going to destroy this little cunt."

You arch your back, pushing your ass up. "I really doubt that. But you can try."

With our warning, Kylo buries his whole length in your wet heat. You gasp as he knocks the air out of your lungs, taking you by surprise. He begins thrusting into you at a slow pace, taking his time. You can feel every glorious inch of him, from tip to hilt.

You moan out and wiggle your hips, trying to get him to speed up. "If you're going to punish me, you'll have to try harder than this."

He snarls at your comment, squeezing your hips and picking up the pace. The little cell is filled with the sounds of your breathy moans, his grunts, and skin slapping. You get so lost in the pleasure you nearly miss him speaking to you.

"Where is the Resistance base?"

You almost answer. You almost let that information slide, forgetting where you are and whose cock is buried inside you. But then it all clicks. He's trying to distract you for information. Nice fucking try Commander Cunt.

"Fuck off."

Kylo grunts and releases one of your hips to instead grab a fistful of your hand. He yanks your head back and forces your back to arch further, making his cock reach deeper inside your pussy. Kylo begins pounding into you, each thrust hitting your sweet spot.

"Where the fuck is the Resistance base?"

Your moans are loud at this point. You couldn't care less about the stormtroopers outside hearing you. This all feels too good. But you aren't going to give in to him this easy. The resistance is counting on you. You are not some weak pilot that gives in to this moody bitch.

"Fuck. Off." You moan out in response.

Kylo's other hand leaves your hip and snakes down your front. He begins rubbing fast circles against your clit. You scream as you feel the pressure beginning to build again.

"Tell me where the fucking base is, pet."

You scream out in pleasure and frustration. You're so close. Just teetering on the edge. You so badly want to let go. So you crack.

"Fuck! Fine! D'Qar! The resistance base is on D'Qar! Please just let me come! Please!"

Kylo smirks, knowing he's won. He picks up the pace on your clit and groans out, "That's right, now be a good girl and cum all over my cock."

That was all you needed. You screamed in ecstasy, "Yes, fuck Kylo!"

Your pussy clenched around him as you came, your juices covering him. Kylo grunted, fucking you through your orgasm.

Soon after you came down from your high, you felt his cock twitch inside you. Kylo quickly pulled out of you and yanked you up by your hair.

"On your knees and mouth open, rebel bitch."

You quickly dropped to your knees and did just as he said, closing your eyes. Kylo pumped his cock over your face, using your slick and cum as lube. He threw his head back and let out a feral groan. Strings of his milky seed covering your face.

Once he was finished, you swallow what had gotten in your mouth and began wiping the rest off your face, licking it from your fingers. Fuck he tastes delicious. When you could finally open your eyes, he was already by the door. He had tucked himself away and put his glove back on. Kylo grabbed his helmet and looked back at you.

"Just as I thought. You're a useless Resistance member. So easy to destroy."

You sit there stunned by his words, letting everything that had just happened sink in.

"It has been fun breaking you, little one."

With one last look, Kylo places his helmet back on his head and walks out of the cell.

You stare at the door and replay his words. Maybe you were a shitty Resistance member. Others probably wouldn't have broken that easily, or at all. But with some of his cum drying on your face and a satisfied feeling, you can't find it in you to care.

You're secretly hoping Commander Ren needs more information. You might come to enjoy his little visits.

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I hope everyone enjoyed! If you all are interested, I can post on here more. Let me know! 

[turtle-steverogers]

she is very long so. enjoy😌

- Steve n Bucky going to the bodega down the street from their apartment. it’s open till like 4am and they go at all hours. sometimes they’ll go separately but they always go together when they go in between 12-4 am and no one who works there questions why

- they get a cat that they treat her like their child. it’s Alpine ofc😌 steve loves her so much but he knows it’s Bucky’s Cat and he’s fine with it

- you know how some siblings or partners or friends can communicate with their eyes and basically have telepathy? they totally have that and it annoys the shit out of every single person they meetjdksndks. someone will be talking to them and they will just make eye contact with each other bc it reminded them of an earlier convo they had or they both got annoyed by the other person or it reminds them of an inside joke or something and it just irritates EVERYONE. no one is able to intercept it and it’s just a thing that no matter what - even though they don’t mean to - you’ll feel a little left out when you’re with steveandbucky. it just comes with the gig. i like to imagine that depending on if it’s an au or not, its either really obvious or not. like in an au then yes it’s obvious they can have non verbal conversations, but if it’s not an au then it’s not entirely obvious bc they’re enhanced humans and they know how to hide their secret conversations. but everyone they talk to is essentially an enhanced human or has special abilities so it’s obvious to them and they catch them in the act LOL. if they’re interacting with regular people then it’s not very obvious though

- DATE NIGHT!!! yes they’re old yes they have date night. when they go out it’s usually to places in their neighborhood, but a lot of the time they like to stay in bc. they’re old men <3 steve is better at cooking and bucky is better at baking bc you can get creative with cooking and steve likes that more. he enjoys baking a lot too but he thinks bucky’s stuff tastes better. whenever they stay home though there’s ALWAYS a movie. always. they alternate choosing but there is always a movie to watch. bucky usually falls asleep nearing the end and steve plays with his hair😌 he rolls his eyes cause it happens every time but he actually likes when it happens bc he can braid strands of hair together

- pet names oh my god. so many pet names. every single one. mainly from bucky. steve uses them but maybe like two. he favors sweetie and buck and that’s it really. sometimes he uses hon. bucky though oh my god. every single pet name under the sun. so many variations of doll you wouldn’t believe - baby doll ofc, dolly, stevie doll. sweetheart. sweetness. blondie. pretty boy. hot stuff. stevie. baby. hon. honey. sunshine. angel. it’s just so many. and it’s like very sickening insane twisted etc but hot at the same time. most people are like jeez barnes do you ever shut up… but most of these people secretly think it’s a little hot theyre thinking damn where is that affection for me…. i need me a bucky barnes :| steve is the only smitten kitten outwardly even if he huffs and puffs sometimes but it’s obvious he enjoys it. like they are so annoyingjdkssn for real they aren’t a pda couple really but the petnames….. so many. so so so many it’s sickeningly sweet but bucky dgaf! steve is his sweetheart his dolly his baby his angel so he’s going to call him these things!

- steve knows his body is what is considered “perfect” but he still is insecure about it around most people and bucky knows this so when steve lounges at home in bucky’s boxer briefs and his own tee shirt or he kicks off his pants when he’s too hot at night in bed bucky is reminded of just how much steve loves him and feels comfortable around him which is something he always strives for - to make steve comfortable. not baby him because steve bitches at anyone that does that to him but to make him feel comfortable

- and on the subject of feeling comfortable i imagine that they always check in with one another but it’s very subconscious they hardly realize they do it. like steve will bitch at bucky to pick up his shoes from their doorway or to clean his hair from the shower drain but the next second he will ask him if his back still hurts from being kicked by sam and from where steve AND alpine scratched him (in very different ways)

- steve is the sweater husband and bucky is the sweatshirt husband. they trade off a lot but that’s just how their closets look

- steve takes a liking to crop tops 😌 but ONLY around the house bc again he’s really truly only comfortable around bucky. he wears em with boxer briefs or sweatpants but you can guarantee that the briefs and sweats usually just end up on the floor 9 out of 10 times

- hair ties everywhere. they can be found on the floor in the laundry in their bed in the couch on top of the fridge on their fire escape. they are literally everywhere. steve just picks them up and puts them in the bathroom but they always make their way back. he doesn’t say anything to bucky until he finds alpine chewing one and she ends up smacking herself in the face with the hairtie

- their fridge is always full with leftovers and food from sam or clint’s or whoever’s house or takeout. they always eat it all but they get and make a lot of food so the fridge is always full

- subconsciously bucky always has a hand on the back of steve’s neck. like it’s not ENTIRELY a possessive thing but he used to do it a lot when steve was small because it was easy and it was comfortable. for him and just for him and steve. it was like swinging an arm around steve’s shoulders or putting a hand on his shoulder. it was just natural and easy so he did it. a part of him back then prewar did it possessively too, but he always tampered that down bc steve wasn’t his. now he does it without shame

- steve really likes tofu and vegan meat, non dairy milk like almond and soy, and overall a lot of non dairy vegan foods, and a lot of fruits. he gets made fun of for a lot specifically about the vegan stuff but his reasoning is that there’s so much food accessible for people with allergies in the future that he wished existed a hundred years ago so he’s going to try it and stick with it if he likes it. people shut up after that

- he also tips a little more than he needs to everywhere he goes. everywhere. like it’s cool when steve rogers walks in to a restaurant bc he’s a superhero or whatever but its REALLY cool because he leaves a generous tip and that’s what really makes peoples day

- before they get legally married they are still very much married. like “i packed you lunch, meet me at the restaurant instead of me going to pick you up bc it’ll take longer, i got takeout let’s bitch together while we watch shitty reality tv, let’s bitch at EACH OTHER through the phone in public, let’s send each other ugly pictures of each other or funny texts while we’re right next to each other, i’m out with a group and you’re not there and i say multiple times ‘i miss steve/bucky’, let’s yell at each other from opposite ends of the apartment instead of getting up to see each other, steve i’m going to fuck you on the couch bc our room is too far, etc.” they are just very much married without the documents and legalities and it’s very obvious

okay all of these were ABSOLUTELY wonderful and im really going to restrain my urge to respond to each and every one but that might be futile

-okay YES they definitely go to that bodega at all hours, and usually it's for normal things when they go separately: milk, cereal, toilet paper. but when they go in the middle of the night, they almost always purchase some like odd assortment of candies and deli meat. also, they're always in their pajamas. like bucky's in plaid pj pants and a star wars sweatshirt, and steve is in like 5" shorts and a huge crewneck and they're both in slides and they definitely only speak russian to each other when they're in there after hours

-yes alpine! they also have a dog, that is more steve than bucky's!! his name is norman in my headcanon (and a couple of my fics) and he is best boy

-okay i need more of this in my general stucky life: steve and bucky being like,,, best friends as well as lovers and being so seamlessly close. like yeah, they definitely talk with their eyes, or just one glance, or half-sentences ("hey, did you ever get to--" "yup, on the way home. it was so--" "yeah, good. glad to hear") and they know exactly what the other is saying.

-yes to the date nights!!! and when they stay in to watch movies, they make Tons of popcorn. and they Have to make separate batches, because steve will Only eat his with like half a bottle of that powdered white cheddar on his

-YES we share the same fucking headcanon for petnames on god

Steve: love you, buck:)

Bucky: love you, pumpkin

-Steve definitely has body dysmorphia, probably even post serum (I have lots of thoughts on this, that might be a different post) and yeah, Bucky definitely knows its Big that he feels comfortable enough to be exposed around him (and he's even more honored that steve lets him be intimate with him, because that's really hard for steve, too)

-yeah! and easy check ins like "ur stomach still bothering you from last night?" "oh, no it was just a little bug turns out" or like "my head hurts:(" "i have meds in my bag. you want?" "yeah, just two" or like subtly checking on injuries, yeah

-yeah the sweater versus sweatshirt tracks tbh i picture steve in a lot of crewnecks so yeah

-STEVE IN CROP TOPS STEVE IN CROP TOPS and i raise you they're often ones he's cropped himself and he's also painted on! or bleach painted!! and theyre so cool and bucky never wants to make a big deal out of it, but he's so proud of steve for expressing himself like that

-ALPINE SMACKING HERSELF ALKFJALSDKFJA also steve always has a hairtie on HIS wrist in case bucky forgets one for himself

-they also always have Steve Staple Foods cuz i headcanon steve as a picky eater (adhd!steve + serum enhancements, it's down to a formula) so they have a lot of Kraft mac and cheese and easy heat up meals and lunch meats around for when he's having bad food days

-OMG and steve absolutely MELTS i raise you, too, bucky will especially hold the back of his neck when he needs to get steve to Chill Out. so like if he sees him stressing he'll put his hand on the back of his neck and squeeze and literally feel the tension drain from him or like if steve is having a panic attack, he'll hold the back of his neck while they breathe together

-yes and also any time that steve is Choosing food for himself and feeling motivated to eat it, it's a win, so people learn to back off there, too

-yes! he tips generously, but never awkwardly or offensively. he's also super kind and patient to food service workers!

-this last point is so perfect i cant. like yeah, back to steve and bucky just being,,,, the best of friends. ugly selfies galore, shoving their feet in each other's face, flicking each others ears. and yes, all the fucking gossiping. on the phone gossip, venting, fun gossip from around work. they talk about it all. and it's so great for them

thank you again for stopping by! your thoughts are impeccable!