#it hit me more than i really thought it would

[sweet-as-peach]

i’m reminded a lot of ppl on tungle don’t keep up with rap shit so important context!

drake wouldn’t respond to a diss from megan thee stallion where she called him a pedophile (✅) with plastic surgery abs (✅) who doesn’t really have any artistic credibility and pretends to be a “got it out the mud” type even tho he was literally on degrassi.

she did this because he accused her of lying about being shot.

drake didn’t respond to her (presumably because she’s a woman) and all parties went about their life.

drake then makes a song with j. cole. he invited kendrick to be on it with him (they are longtime associates) but kendrick declines. in this song he refers to himself and j. cole as being two of the top 3 rappers ever, being equal to one another. kendrick says No I’m Actually Better Than Yall. the two go back and forth with diss records and drake gets dogwalked .

if memory serves, 9 or 10 songs in total came as a result of that. here are some highlights from drake’s tracks

(push ups, drake)

(family matters, drake)

to encourage those reading to listen to more kendrick lamar (they should! he is excellent!) i’m not going to include his individual lines and am going to make you look up the lyrics to any of his four disses* that are available on apple music. i will instead synopsize what i thought was the most cutting

you are a pedophile (✅)

you are on ozempic

you have had a great deal of cosmetic surgery

you tried to be a deadbeat dad to your son

you are a pedophile (✅)

the only reason you’re not a deadbeat dad to your son is because the last time you got in a rap beef the other person exposed you for having a secret kid, you couldn’t deny him so rather than be absent you pretended to be ignorant and now trot him out periodically to come across as a dilf and a good man (✅)

hey check this shit out

you’ve claimed your son, now go claim your daughter (who is older than him!) who you refuse to publicly acknowledge

actually scratch that it’s probably not wise for a “sick man with the kinks of a nympho fetish” to be around an 11 year old girl

you are a bad bitch and you can’t make music that is legitimately moving, only pop hits, so stick to that

you are a pedophile (✅)

you have nothing you can levy against me because you know i am a more talented artist, a better father, and a better man than you are. the closest you came was when you misunderstood something i said and acted like i was sexually abused by the men of my family and then said my lady cheated on me because we don’t follow each other on instagram

there is of course more to it, and if you want someone else’s perspective on it i would recommend Josh Johnson on YT because he is funnier than i am

*these four disses make up about 22 minutes of music, and are not the only disses kendrick released about drake, just the ones he put on apple music

Kendrick Lamar is now a 22-time Grammy award winner. Not Like Us broke the record for most win by a rap song in Grammy history. It's also the first diss record to win a Grammy.

[barrenclan]

i feel a bit bad for cormorant :( im sure this isnt your intent but it almost feels as though hes settled for a life he didnt want

I'm curious what this is in response to - there's two major things I can think of, so let me explore them for a second!

So, if this is in response to the idea that Cormorantleaf wants kittens and Pinewing doesn't; lemme talk about that for a second. I tried to go into it in the last epilogue, but with their late-stage relationship I wanted to address a trope in fiction that really bothers me, especially as someone who doesn't want to have children. Stop me if you've heard it before:

Characters A and B are in a romantic relationship. Character A wants to have kids, but B doesn't, for whatever reason. They struggle, and talk about it, and eventually A says "it's okay, even if we don't have kids, I'll still love you!" It's really nice, and confirms that they love each other even if they don't want. Except, then, B turns around and says "it's so good to know that! It made me change my mind; I got over my 'fears', and now I do want kids!"

That bugs me. It's always the assumption, even if it's established that a relationship would be okay without kids, it's always on the onus of the person who doesn't want children to change their mind. It's never enough to stop at "it's okay if we don't have kids together" - and then they don't. So that's what I wanted to do with Cormorantleaf and Pinewing's relationship, and it's why I had Pinewing talk about his discomfort surrounding children so often and Cormorantleaf's potential to be a father. If Corm wanted kids more than he wanted to be with Pine - he could leave! No stopping him. But Pinewing matters more to him than having kids does. I find it more distasteful that someone would force themselves to raise children if they didn't want to (it's almost like that's a theme of the story... and kind of exactly what happened with Nightberry). Admittedly, I would've liked to rather do that idea with Daffodilcloud and Duncan instead of the main gay couple, but eh, I already had an end-of-arc theme with Daff to wrap up that would've clashed. These are the decisions you make when writing a story.

On the other hand, if this is in response to the idea that they're traveling around instead of settling down in one place, or that Pinewing is forcing him into the relationship; maybe I was a bit too subtle with what I was trying to get across. Cormorantleaf was actually the first one to suggest that they travel around together, way back in Issue 26:

Corm needs an emotional anchor more than a physical anchor. And this was especially clear in his early development, and how his relationship to Pinepaw was a bit unhealthy (and vice versa, too); he had such intense abandonment issues that he was holding Pinepaw up as a total pillar of support, and believed he wouldn't be able to survive without him.

That's why I wanted Cormorantleaf to have a chance to be on his own during the breakup, and solidfy that he could exist without a relationship, that he didn't need another person to survive. But instead that he could willingly choose a relationship with Pinewing, because it was something he wanted and something he thought would enrich his life rather than an obligation.

All that to say that Comorantleaf's hesitation in the last epilogue is not meant to be presented as "he's being forced into something he doesn't want by Pinewing", but rather "he's scared that them traveling around will cause Pinewing to abandon him, and that makes him panic and lash out".

And Pinewing would have absolutely stayed with him even after Cormorantleaf yelled at him, except that Corm happened to hit on Pinewing's own insecurities that come from his childhood of neglect and feelings that nobody actually wants him around:

You don't have to be un-anonymous to respond to this, and anyways if it's just personal feelings that's perfectly valid and not something I want to try and change. But I never meant to make it seem like Cormorantleaf wasn't happy with where he ended up, or that he 'settled' for something he didn't want.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was for Robin, and it was his day off. He literally had nothing better to do. He shouldered Robin's backpack and walked into the front office of Hawkins High. He grinned. Janice was still working at the front desk. He leaned against the counter and flashed her his best smile.

"Hey, Janice, those glasses look great on you. . .really slimming," Steve said, and she giggled, blushing. "I was hoping you could do me a favor. . ."

Steve didn't feel too guilty about using her weird little crush on him to get into Robin's classes and take notes for her. Janice looked down on anyone who wasn't a jock or a cheerleader. Steve thought about his life for a moment. . .God, it was pathetic that if he was so bored that he actually wanted to go back to school for a day. He nodded to a few people in the hallways and went to Robin's first class. It wasn't so bad. . .it was refreshing to catch up on what he had missed the first time. He didn't actually do any work. He just copied some notes. The second class wasn't so bad either, although people he didn't like kept trying to talk to him. The third class was far better. . .it was his favorite subject. He was surprised when he got to Robin's desk, and Eddie Munson sat next to him.

"Hey, Buckley, kiss any frogs - you're not Buckley," Eddie said.

"No, but I can understand the confusion, we do look alike," Steve said.

"You look nothing - yeah, you're fucking with me," Eddie said, narrowing his eyes at him. "What is King Steve doing gracing us with our presence?"

"Robin's sick. It's my day off, and she wanted me to take notes for her. I'd rather be here than be at home," Steve said. "What were you about to ask Robin?"

"Well, I was going to ask her if she kissed any frogs that turned into princes - princes. . .that turned into princes," Eddie said rather quickly. "Uh, it was an inside joke."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. Steve was slow, but he wasn't that slow. Eddie had stumbled and put too much emphasis on princes. He was going to say princesses.

"You know," Steve hissed, lowering his voice.

"Of course, I know. She wrote it on her fucking shoes, man," Eddie whispered. "Everyone else is too caught up in their own shit to notice, but I sat right next to her. You know, too?"

"She's my best friend in the world, my platonic soulmate," Steve said. "Of course, I know."

"Platonic soulmate, huh?" Eddie grinned. "I think I have one of those."

"Really?" He asked.

"Her name's Ronnie," Eddie said.

"You're fucking with me," Steve grinned.

"I am not," Eddie laughed quietly. "She's up in New York studying to become a lawyer. Ronnie. Robin. Ronnie. Robin. Yeah, it's funny. . .we've been friends since we were eight. I once tried to kiss her because I thought it was the logical next step in our relationship. Silly me."

"No way, I tried to hit on Robin," Steve said with a grin.

"Well, we're both idiots," Eddie cackled.

"I'm not going to disagree," Steve said.

Steve wanted to say more, but the teacher hushed them, and they had no choice but to begin taking notes. Eddie leaned over casually, his big brown eyes pleading with him.

"If I go to sleep, can I borrow those notes?" Eddie asked innocently.

"Does Robin lend you her notes?" Steve asked.

"Yeeess," Eddie said, laying his chin on his hands, blinking at him, and Steve gave him a look. "Okay. So, no, she doesn't."

"Then why would I?" Steve asked.

"Because she's not the boss of you," Eddie said.

Steve looked at him and thought about it for a moment. No, it was clearly a trap.

"No," Steve said firmly.

"You're mean," Eddie pouted.

Steve smirked as Eddie began scribbling furiously in his notebook, muttering and looking over at him every so often. When the teacher was done, she handed out work for them to do in class. Steve took that up along with Robin's homework. While everyone else worked, he pulled out a book. He wasn't very far into the book when he noticed that Eddie was struggling. He leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want some help?" He asked.

"You wouldn't help me before," Eddie said.

"I wouldn't help you skate by," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "But I can show you some tricks that helped me."

"By all means, my liege," Eddie said.

Steve scooted closer to him, and looking over Eddie's paper, he showed him easier ways to solve the problems. He could feel Eddie's eyes watching him, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside at the feeling of Eddie's gaze on him.

"Did you get all that?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I did," Eddie said, smiling softly. "You're pretty smart."

"Don't sound so surprised. The whole dumb jock thing is just a stereotype," Steve said.

"It's a shitty stereotype," Eddie said in realization.

"Definitely," Steve said. "Just like it's a shitty stereotype that people who play D&D worship the devil."

Eddie and Steve locked eyes. Hazel eyes peering into brown. . .there was a deep understanding there. . .that they weren't so different after all.

"So. . .why don't you want to be at home?" Eddie asked.

"My parents are there, and they're not exactly proud of me for not getting into college or working at a menial job instead of working for my asshole homophobic father," Steve whispered. "Plus, they'd rather not be around their queer son, so I get out of their hair when I can."

"You're. . .gay?" Eddie asked in surprise. "But all those girls. . .?"

"I didn't sleep with that many," Steve rolled his eyes. "It's such an exaggeration. And I'm bisexual. . .more than one gender for Steve Harrington."

"And you're telling me this why. . .?" Eddie asked, not unkindly.

"Because you get it, man," Steve replied.

"Oh, you mean because of Robin?" Eddie asked.

"Not just Robin, I mean, aren't you - ," Steve said and stopped when Eddie just looked at him. "Okay, I'm asshole. I just assumed - ,"

"Everyone does it," Eddie said. "I don't know why."

"Could be because of the way you represent the freaks and the outcasts. Most people assume the majority of them are queer but you'd surprised how many there are among the conservatives," Steve grinned. "But it also might be because of the hanky hanging out of your ass pocket."

"My hanky?" Eddie asked in confusion.

Steve leaned over and whispered in his ear to tell him about the code amongst people like him and Robin. Steve pulled back and watched his dumbfounded face.

"You okay, there?" He asked.

"Well, that makes total sense. . .I think I was actually fucking hit on a couple of times when I went out," Eddie said. "Honestly, I wear it because most metalheads do, plus it's useful. I mean, I've had sex a couple of times, but I've never done stuff like that. I mean, sure, I have handcuffs on my wall so I wouldn't be opposed to being chained up and spanked - ,"

"Mr. Munson!" The teacher yelled.

"Ooh, did I say that a little too loudly?" Eddie asked, and Steve snickered.

After class, Steve started walking to the next one while Eddie got chewed out by the teacher. It wasn't long before he heard someone call his name, and before he could turn around, he felt someone run into his back. He turned around, grabbing Eddie by the arms to steady him.

"Did you get in trouble?" Steve asked.

"Nah, I reminded him that he really shouldn't hit on his students," Eddie grinned. "Anyway. . .you want to sit with us at lunch?"

"Sure, Dustin will be thrilled," Steve said and Eddie laughed.

"I'm flattered by the way," Eddie said with a grin.

"By what?" Steve asked.

"By the fact that you thought I was queer. . .huge compliment," Eddie said. "And you're also, clearly in love with me. . .very flattered about that."

"I am not!" Steve scoffed.

"Sure, you're not," Eddie cackled.

They parted ways, and after fourth period, Steve met up with Dustin and Mike.

"This is so cool!" Dustin exclaimed. "Can you come to school with us everyday?"

"No, man," Steve laughed. "I got work."

"I bet you'd want to go to school with your mother," Mike teased.

"I would love to go to school with my mom. She's awesome!" Dustin yelled.

Steve laughed and placed his hand on Dustin's head, shaking it affectionately.

"I've been invited by your dungeon master to join you guys for lunch," Steve said.

"You spoke to Eddie?!" Dustin gasped.

"Yeah, and he's actually kind of. . .cool," Steve said.

"I told you!" Dustin exclaimed. "Mike, did you hear that?! He thinks Eddie's cool."

"I'm literally standing on his other side," Mike said. "And of course, Steve thinks Eddie's cool. Steve’s not stupid."

"Thanks, Mike," Steve grinned.

Steve followed them into the cafeteria, where they got their lunch, and then headed towards the Hellfire table. He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on Lucas. Steve raised his eyebrows at him questioningly, and he shook his head. He turned back to the table, feeling disappointed, but he understood. Eddie was sitting at the head of the table with an empty chair next to him. His eyes caught Steve’s and he waved eagerly before slapping the chair next to him.

"I think he wants you to sit next to him," Mike said.

"I think so, too," Steve grinned in amusement.

Eddie really was cute. How he ever thought he was scary was beyond him. Steve adjusted Robin's backpack and walked over to the chair meant for him. He sat down in it, smiling, and Eddie quickly introduced everyone.

"Steve Harrington's really joining us for lunch?" Jeff asked.

"I told you. . .he's cool," Eddie said.

"Didn't you graduate?" Gareth asked.

"I'm taking notes and collecting homework for my friend, Robin," Steve replied.

"Couldn't you have just asked for the teachers to send everything to the front of office?" Jeff asked.

"Sure, but then I wouldn't be hanging out with you guys," Steve said.

"Oh my god," Jeff said, looking into his eyes. "You actually mean that."

"Look, I'm sorry for the other douchebags on the team who made you feel like all jocks are out to - ," Steve started to say.

"Your parents are home, aren't they?" Dustin asked, slamming down his tray for dramatic effect.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged.

"Shit, man, sorry," Mike asked. "I know your parents are total assholes."

"Do they know?" Eddie asked, leaning close to Steve to 'whisper'.

"We know," Dustin and Mike said together.

Eddie snapped his head to look at them. Steve snorted. He really needs to work on his whispering. Mike and Dustin's head snapped to look at each other.

"You know?" Mike and Dustin asked.

"Of course, I know!" Dustin and Mike exclaimed again.

Oops, did he forget to tell them that they knew?

"Steve dated my sister for a year. Whenever his parents were home, Steve had dinner with us and occasionally slept in the basement," Mike said. "He's always welcome around our house."

"I am?" Steve asked.

"Duh," Mike rolled his eyes. "Can't you tell that we care about you?"

"Have you looked at your face when you talk to people?" Jeff asked. "You and Gareth both are a couple of grumpy looking bears."

Before Mike could open his mouth to say something, a basketball came flying out of nowhere and landed on Dustin's tray. Food flew everywhere, including on Dustin. Steve scowled, and he quickly located the source. Jason Carver was laughing with a bunch of his friends. He turned away from the Hellfire table. Big fucking mistake. Eddie moved to get up, but Steve pushed him back down. He grabbed the basketball and judged the distance. Yeah, he could do it. Steve threw his arm back and tossed the basketball. He was pleased when it made a loud thunking sound as it hit Jason in the head. He stumbled into his friends' arms as the cafeteria gasped. Jason whirled around and glared at Steve.

"You might want to keep an eye on your balls, Carver, you don't want to lose them," Steve said.

"Pathetic, Harrington," Jason said. "At least I'm not a disappointment to my family name."

"Yeah, finds someone who gives a shit, Carver, because I don't. At the end of the day, it doesn't fucking matter," Steve said. "You don't scare me. I've seen bigger pieces of shit than you. However, if you go after my kids again. . .I'm going to make you piss your fucking pants. All it takes is a few phone calls."

Steve stared Carver down, his eyes narrowed. At first, it didn't seem like he was going to call him on his bluff, but then Carver huffed and yanked his friends back down with him. Steve sat down to find the entire table, looking at him in shock.

"Holy shit," Gareth breathed with wide eyes.

"Uh. . .sorry, did I make that worse for you guys?" Steve asked.

"I mean, probably, but it was so fucking metal," Jeff said.

"It totally was," Dustin beamed and even Mike couldn't stop from grinning.

Steve looked over at Eddie to find him looking at him wide eyes, his mouth open in awe of him.

"Eddie? Are you okay?" Steve asked and waved a hand in front of his face.

"He gets like this sometimes," Jeff said, looking at Eddie in confusion. "Although, I didn't think he'd get like this over you. Give him a minute."

"Okay. . .here, Dustin, you can have my lunch," Steve said and began cleaning up the mess.

"Thanks, Steve, but I'll go get a new one," Dustin said. "Eat yours."

By the time Dustin came back with a new tray, Eddie snapped out of it. . .whatever it was.

"Fucking metal," Eddie breathed. "Are you an angel?"

"Definitely not," Steve said with a smirk.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER. . .

"I still can't believe it. I was joking when I told you to sub in for me," Robin said.

They were currently at Family Video, even though it was closed. It was inventory day, and they were both stuck with the job.

"I was bored, Robin, and my parents were home!" Steve exclaimed.

"You went in my place and fell in love with a straight man," Robin said. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry for you."

"Oh, you should also know that I flirted with Vickie for you," Steve said.

"WHAT?!" Robin shrieked and almost dropped the tapes. "Steven Robin Harrington, I swear - ,"

"Relax, Robin Steven Buckley, I was fucking with you," Steve said. "A little sympathy for my plight wouldn't kill you, you know?"

"Asshole," Robin said, but she was smiling slightly. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yeah, but he keeps running away from me. He once zig zagged through the entire school parking lot, screaming," Steve sighed. "I think I freaked him out with my sexuality."

"If he's okay with me, then he should be okay with you," Robin said.

"Robin. . .you know that's not exactly true. You know there's people within our own community who don't accept people like me. You remember what happened when we visited that gay bar. That guy accused me of pretending to be gay and said there's no such thing as bisexuality," Steve said. "And his friend agreed, but he said that I was a confused gay man. He told me that it was okay to be myself while rejecting who I am! How the fuck does that work?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up. I didn't know who to punch first. . .okay, so, you have a point, but maybe he's freaking out about something else," Robin said and sighed. "And if he is being like that, then I'll dismember him slowly while he's still alive and then let him bleed out."

"You'd do that for me?" Steve asked.

"Of course, you're my dingus," Robin said, stroking his hair. "And I expect you to do the same."

"Of course," Steve scoffed and then paused. "You know, Dustin said he left town last weekend. I mean, he came back, but he wouldn't say where he went."

"Yeah, this is definitely something else," Robin said. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, I fully expect all these negative thoughts to be gone."

"How long have you known me?" Steve scoffed.

"Surprisingly less than a year," Robin said.

"It feels like we've known each other our whole lives," Steve said.

"I know," Robin said fondly and then disappeared into the back.

Steve knelt on the floor and tried to focus on the inventory, but his thoughts went back to Eddie. It took one day for Steve to screw that up. . .although he couldn't figure out how he screwed it up. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tapping on the door. Steve sighed and stood up.

"Can't you read the sign? We're closed - Eddie," Steve froze when he saw Eddie standing at the door, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and waved awkwardly. Steve looked at him for a moment, studying him. Eddie's big brown eyes looked apologetic and guilty. Steve sighed and moved to the door before letting him in. Eddie slid past him, and he closed the door behind him, locking it back. Steve crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Hey," Eddie said awkwardly.

"Hey," Steve said. "Is that all you have to say or are you going to run away from me again?"

"No. . .no, definitely not. I've just been struggling with something, and I haven't been able to deal with it. I decided to go up and visit Ronnie. We talked about it for a long time," Eddie said pausing. "We've finally come to the conclusion that I've been struggling with the whole bisexuality thing."

"Well, I'm sorry that my sexuality bothers you," Steve said, angrily. "And if you can't tell, that was sarcasm. . .go fuck yourself."

"Fuck! No! That's - ," Eddie was interrupted by a loud scream.

Robin dove over the counter and tackled Eddie to the ground. Eddie shrieked.

"PREPARE TO DIE!" Robin yelled.

"No! No! I'm the same! I'm the same!" Eddie yelled as Robin slapped him, and then she took a box cutter out of her pocket. "I'M BISEXUAL, I'M BISEXUAL!"

Robin dropped the box cutter, but she remained on top of Eddie, frozen.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"That's what I was struggling with. . .my own sexuality. . .ever since Steve threw that ball at Jason Carver," Eddie said. "And I didn't know what I was feeling, so I didn't know how to talk to you so I did what I always fucking do when I get scared. . .I ran."

"Well, this was a rather awkward breakdown in communication," Robin said and got up, helping Eddie. "Thank God, I didn't want to have to kill you. I mean, we have the means to make a body disappear, but I did not want to go through it. Good luck, Steve."

Eddie watched as she disappeared into the back again and he looked back at Steve, his eyes comically wide.

"What the fuck did she mean by that? You can make a dead body disappear? Steve, what did she mean by that?" Eddie asked.

"Never mind about that," Steve laughed. "Tell me more about you realizing you're bisexual because of me."

"Okay, but we're going to come back to that other thing. . .right?" He asked.

"Eddie, focus," Steve said.

"Well, I mean, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "I like you. . .a lot."

"I like you a lot, too," Steve replied.

"Now what?" Eddie asked.

"Well, this is usually the part where we - "

" - fuck?" He asked.

"I was going to say kiss," Steve laughed. "But I like that your mind leaped frogged to that, but I'm pretty sure that Robin would kill us."

"Damn straight!" They heard Robin yell, and then she laughed. "HA! Get it? Because none of us are. . .Goddamnit, I'm hanging out with Dustin too much."

"Right, so kiss?" Eddie asked.

Steve laughed, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Eddie froze before melting into it, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He deepened the kiss as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, enjoying the way his lips moved against his. . .so soft and plump. God, Steve wanted to kiss him forever. Eddie pulled away, leaning his forehead against his.

"I'm sorry, I should have worded that better," Eddie said. "And I shouldn't have run away from you. . .in one single day, you turned my life upside down. . .although, I guess I've been struggling with my feelings for a long time. According to Ronnie, you're not the first man I flirted with."

"I didn't always know about myself either, so it's okay, Eddie, I get it," Steve said. "You're here now."

Steve buried his head into his shoulder and hugged him tightly. Never would he have been so grateful that his platonic soulmate had gotten the flu or that his parents had been home. . .It's funny how life works out like that.

[moonmaiden1996]

If you're not a couple... How would Sanji react to you catching him masturbating and vice versa? 😏

Catching Sanji Masturbating 💛🔥

You weren’t expecting to walk in on him like this. Maybe you were looking for him in the kitchen, expecting to find him making a late-night snack, but instead, you find yourself standing frozen at the threshold of his dimly lit quarters.

And what you see?

Sanji sprawled out on his bed, half-undressed, shirt unbuttoned and barely hanging from his shoulders. Golden strands of his hair cling to his damp forehead, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His fingers clutch desperately at the sheets beneath him, knuckles white from the strain, but it’s his other hand that really steals your attention.

He’s stroking himself—long, slow, deep strokes—hips bucking slightly, thighs trembling. And the worst (or best?) part?

"Nngh—ahhhh..."

He’s moaning your name.

A broken, needy sound that punches the air from your lungs.

The moment he realizes he’s not alone, everything stops. His entire body tenses, muscles locking up as his dazed, pleasure-clouded eyes flicker open. He meets your gaze, and the realization hits—his breath catches, face burning a deep shade of red, his mouth opening and closing like he’s scrambling for something—anything—to say.

"I-It’s not what it looks like!"

Oh, but it is.

Frantic, he tries to cover himself, grabbing the nearest object—which, unfortunately for him, is a thin pillow that does absolutely nothing to hide his straining, twitching arousal. His fingers tremble against the fabric, his chest still heaving as he struggles to regain any semblance of composure.

If you tease him? He might die on the spot. Stammering, apologizing, maybe even begging you to forget what you saw. But if you don’t leave—if you take even one slow, measured step closer—his breath hitches.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, muscles visibly tensing beneath his flushed, sweat-slicked skin. His hand twitches—like he wants to keep touching himself but doesn’t know if he can with you watching.

"D-Don’t just stand there looking at me like that…" his voice is barely more than a shaky whisper, hoarse and desperate. "You’re making it worse."

You own him now.

Because every time after this? Every single time he’s alone, needy and restless, his hand clamping around his aching cock his thoughts are going to go right back to this moment. To you standing there, watching him, teasing him, maybe even joining him.

Sanji was already down bad for you—this? This just sealed his fate, you are the one for him.

Sanji Catching You Masturbating—And Screaming His Name 🔥💛

You thought you were alone.

The ship was quiet, the night air cool, and everyone else had either retired or gone about their own business. It was safe. No one would walk in.

Or so you thought.

Your back arched off the mattress, fingers working over your heated skin, teasing yourself, chasing that sweet, blissful edge. Your breathy moans filled the room, growing louder, needier—until finally, the pleasure overwhelmed you, and the name on your lips spilled out in a sharp, helpless cry.

"S-Sanji—ahh—Sanji!"

And that was the moment the door slammed open.

"Merde—!"

A sharp, strangled inhale, followed by the thunk of something hitting the floor.

Your eyes fly open, panic spiking through your veins, and there he is—Sanji, standing in the doorway like he just walked into heaven and hell at the same time.

His breath is caught in his throat, his entire body locked up. His eyes, dark and wild, flicker from your flushed face to where your fingers are still buried between your thighs, glistening and trembling.

His cigarette slips from his lips. He doesn’t even notice.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then—

"Oh my god."

His voice is wrecked, deep, hoarse, and shaking as he grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. His face is redder than his damn suit, and his chest heaves like he just sprinted across the entire ship.

*"I—I didn’t—I mean, I heard—*mon dieu—I thought you were in danger—" his voice breaks slightly, physically trembling now. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the wood.

And then? His knees buckle.

He drops to the floor like his legs have completely given out.

His gaze is glued to you, pupils blown wide with a mixture of shock, arousal, and something darker. He’s still trying—trying to be a gentleman, trying to look away, to respect you, but his hands twitch against his thighs, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, and—oh, he’s struggling.

"I—do you—" he swallows hard, voice dangerously low, "Do you need help?"

And if you nod? If you so much as whisper his name again?

He whimpers.

And if you order him to stay....To watch? To help?

Sanji—sweet, hopelessly lovesick, would be in heaven because he will die from the most powerful nose bleed to ever overtake him.

Eitherway Sanji is in trouble. He is screwed both literally and figuratively.

[cleoselene]

FINAL RESULTS

it is my bad for forgetting to make this a week long poll and not a day long poll

anyway as someone who lives in Florida there are at least... 7 states there where I'd rather stay in Florida; but I'm not trans so I get why people who are would vote Florida.

My vote was for Missouri because it's an awful place and also for sports fan reasons. And like. Josh Hawley. Ewww. Idaho is a VERY close second and if they had a sports team I hated they would have one. It is a trashbag Nazi state. Ohio I hate for petty reasons and also it's ugly, boring, and it's my midwestern enemy as a natural born-Illinoisan.

States I didn't include. Utah. Look I thought long and hard on this but i have been knees deep in ex-Mormon youtube lately and did you know that Mormons now make up less than 40% of the state now? The number of Mormons is declining steeply for many of the same reasons Scientology has -- the internet has made it kind of embarrassing with their sci-fi secrets. And also, you know, the rampant bigotry turns people off. But Utah is also GORGEOUS, like really really beautiful. So with tumblr's limits, they didn't make it. Ditto Wyoming.

I didn't include either Dakotas because honestly no one cares about these states but I have no doubt the fucking suck

I didn't include any New England states because y'all are living in like the highest quality of life human rights are of the country, your petty squabbles between Connecticut and Massachusetts or whatever, are lame. I mean, okay, yeah, Boston is SUPER racist, I'll give you that, but with only so many slots and so many other super racist states, no way.

Didn't include North Carolina because the Carolinas are one. Sorry. It's true. Just like I didn't include Indiana because it's basically the same state as Ohio. But trust that Indiana was a DIFFICULT omission. Mississippi not included because it's basically Alabama (Don't @ me college football fans you are fans of the worst most exploitative major sport)

Someone mentioned Nebraska and I legit dropped the ball on that one. When I road-tripped across the country it was hands down the worst state I passed through and it felt like I was there forever.

But y'all. The only difference between Florida and Texas is that Texas doesn't have a functioning electrical grid to handle hot weather, I will die on this hill. Like both states are more diverse than you think, are oppressed by gerrymandered cheater shit, voter suppression, etc. But when a heatwave hits Florida my MS-having ass never has to worry about a blackout or some shit. Texas is so much worse.

States that are worse than Florida, in this poll alone: Texas, Arkansas, Idaho, Ohio, Missouri, Alabama, South Carolina

as an expert Floridologist who views my field with a very critical eye (check out my 'fucking florida' tag), I'd still rather be here than the seven states listed in the paragraph before this.

I put in some of the states that I personally hate and ones that I've seen get a lot of hate. So like while I personally love California people in neighboring states harbor a lot of hate for the way they hike up housing prices when Californians move to there. And I know Jersey and Pennsylvania got some beef.

i know this is very American centered but even if you aren't American just tell me which state has given you the worst vibes from afar

[gatorbites-imagines]

scott summers x male reader where Scott gets hit with someones love mutation ( basically like a love potion type of situation ) and Scott " falls in love" with male reader, but scoot acts the same as he always does, because he is already in love with male reader.

Scott Summers x mutant male reader

Headcanons

Readers mildly based on Atom Smasher, at least power-wise. Still tired from working all week, but it is what it is. I eat up Scott being awkward, I hc him as autistic if anyone cares. Cuz I love Scott, and Scott is me.

You were on X-men, with a mutation that let you change your size. Like ant-man, but cooler, if anyone asked you. You didn’t need a suit to change your size, so in your mind you were the original.

How long you had been an x-men doesn’t matter much, just enough time for Scott to fall in love with you, but not long enough that you could read between all his actions.

Which isn’t very obvious to anyone but the teams telepaths, who can hear his thoughts because of different mind bonds they share. Or the ones who have been on the team long enough to notice he’s giving you favorable treatment.

To you it isn’t obvious, as Scott doesn’t let it show too much. favorable treatment from Scott is things like him pulling you into the danger room to spar more, or him secretly stocking up on your favorite snacks.

Scott would stick closer to you than most, but again, to you it just comes across as the leader sticking closer to the new guy. At least, in the beginning when you are the new guy. After that, you two have kind of a strategy when it comes to fighting from all the training, which makes you believe its that.

Scott was always a bit tense or flighty, in your opinion. But everything moved so slow or fast when you changed size, so maybe it was just that. being the leader of the x-men also meant he had to have a lot of weight on his shoulders, right?

It definitely wasn’t because your suit would rip and tear a lot back when you first joined the team, before Hank and you found the right formula for a suit that would shrink and grow with you.

At least you never flashed anybody, as much as Scott would silently in his mind wish you did. Which just ended up with him getting a lot of ribbing from Jean and whoever else could hear his thoughts.

When Scott was hit with the enemy mutants’ powers, no one really realized for a while.

You had been as big as a skyscraper at that point, fighting against a sentinel of all things. Why mutants would side with them, you never understood. But that’s life. This also just meant you didn’t see Scott get hit.

It was only after you guys got back to the mansion, or krakoa, depending on where and when this takes place, and other members of the team were getting treated. Hank was mostly shocked you hadn’t gotten hit, since you were so damn big and easy to hit.

The only difference in Scott was that he was hovering more than usual, hell, he even let his fingers brush against the back of your hand for like a split second but that was it.

Other than that, he’s the exact same, giving out orders and helping where he’s needed. Though, he does keep an eye on you more than usual, which isn’t that obvious with his visor and everything anyways.

Maybe Jean is out of commission for a while, so it’s Charles that realizes Scott was hit, so it takes a while.

And its only realized when Scotts thoughts spiral more than usual when it comes to you, sounding borderline obsessed and possessive. It’s when flickers of thoughts about using his optic blast on Remy when he’s doing his usual flirting that it starts setting off alarm bells.

Scott would deny anything being wrong with him, since he doesn’t feel different. Which, in the end, just outs him and his feelings to you which leaves you stunned for a while.

You end up having to sit with him and hold his hand to make him stop resisting treatment, since he’s way too focused and flustered about holding your hand.

Maybe your powers act up a bit from having these feelings put on display, because yeah, your team leader is such a damn smokeshow and he’s charming in his own way. But you never thought hed actually like you of all people.

It’s pretty awkward in the medical wing for a couple of moments, with Scott wanting to jump into the ocean at how embarrassed he feels. It doesn’t help when you grow a couple of sizes when you realize all the times you two have been grinding on each other during spars, and the table breaks right under you.

Being thrown to the floor at least makes Scott laugh. Enough for him to roll over and pull your mask off, because it’s not fair only you get to see how flustered he is, right? (it’s also because he wants to see if you are disgusted by him, but sssshhh, don’t tell anybody)

When he sees how flustered you are about it, how you keep worrying your lip and looking away it makes his heart flutter.

Scott has always been good at reading people, it comes with the job. But realizing other people like him has never been his strong suit, so he’s never really thought about it.

In the end you two kiss, even if it’s pretty clumsy and a bit weird with you being at least 8 feet tall, but you make it work. Good thing Scott doesn’t mind the size difference.

It takes a moment for you to shrink back to normal size, and you two just spend some time sitting on the floor feeling flustered and talking about it. Scott likes order in his things, so of course hed want to get this right too.

You two are not surviving leaving the medical wing for long though, especially when the rest of the team sees the smashed table. Everyone knows the real reason, but there’s so much teasing about “what were yall doing in there, huh?”

But you guys survive, even if Scott does get huffy and blushy about it. you get back at the teasing by putting the items of the teammates in places they cant reach.

[anomaliex]

Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:

- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)

- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.

- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.

- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)

- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck

- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.

- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.

- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao

- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding

- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself

- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten

- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.

- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.

- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)

[julietsf1]

Home Again - Charles Leclerc x Reader

summary: eight years, one city, and a thousand unspoken words—will a chance encounter in London bring closure, or is there more in store for Monaco's golden boy and the one who got away? (4.5k words)

content: reunion, slight angst, unresolved feelings, childhood friends

AN: another Charles one! I felt like these tropes really suited his vibe, I hope you enjoy!! :)

____________________________________

London always felt like a city of paradoxes - chaotic yet calming, detached yet full of life. As I sipped my cappuccino at a small café tucked away in Soho, I let my mind wander. The same questions had lingered in my mind over the years, growing louder the longer I avoided them. Was it a mistake to leave? Should I have fought harder to keep in touch with him? With Charles?

I shook my head. No, leaving Monaco had been necessary. It was beautiful, yes, but it was like living inside a postcard, picture-perfect on the outside but so painfully hollow within. Everyone was constantly posturing, trying to outdo the next person in opulence, charm, or connections. It was exhausting.

And Charles… he was Monte Carlo personified in so many ways. Stunning, magnetic, the kind of person who made you feel alive just by being in his orbit. But there was something raw and real beneath that glossy exterior, something I’d always seen, even when no one else seemed to. I loved him for it. And maybe, in a way, I hated him too - for thriving in a place that felt like it would suffocate me.

The faint chime of the café door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting some trendy Londoner or a tourist fumbling with their map. But instead, my eyes landed on a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Arthur Leclerc.

“Y/N?” His voice was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up as he stopped mid-step. He looked exactly the same, just a bit taller, a bit sharper around the edges. Still the same boy I remembered from childhood, though, with that mischievous glint in his eye.

I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. “Arthur?”

He grinned, practically bounding over to my table. “Mon dieu, it is you! I wasn’t sure at first, but… wow, what are you doing in London?”

I gestured to my half-empty coffee cup. “Living here. What about you? I thought you’d be… I don’t know, in Monaco or racing somewhere glamorous.”

Arthur slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation, his grin widening. “I was here for a sim session, actually. But you, London? I thought you’d be in Paris or some other philosophy capital, writing about Socrates or something.”

I laughed softly. “Close enough. I came here for university, and I never left.”

“Eight years.” His tone was lighter, but his words carried weight. “It’s been eight years, Y/N. Do you ever go back?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time. “No,” I admitted. “Not since… well, not since I left.”

Arthur’s expression softened, though confusion lingered in his eyes. “You just… left,” he said gently. “No one really understood why. Charles especially.”

I looked down at my coffee, the words caught in my throat. How could I explain the weight of feeling like an outsider in a world I was supposed to call home?

“I just needed to go,” I murmured. “It wasn’t about anyone else.”

Arthur studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I never really got it, but… if it’s what you needed, then fine.” He paused before leaning forward with a small smile. “Come back. Just for the weekend, for the Grand Prix. I think it’d mean a lot to everyone. To Charles.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, I’d thought about going back a hundred times. But every time, I chickened out. Monaco felt like a ghost town to me now, haunted by memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Arthur said simply. He pulled out his phone and started typing something before I could protest. “There. I signed you up as my guest. No backing out now.”

I stared at him, equal parts annoyed and touched by his insistence. “What if I had plans already?”

“Cancel them,” he shot back with a wink. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s time. Come back. Just for a weekend. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I sighed, knowing I’d already lost this battle. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was time.

…

Monaco hadn’t changed. Not really.

The same sunlit streets curved around the cliffs, the same pastel buildings clung to the coastline, their colors soft and warm under the Mediterranean sun. The harbor was still crowded with yachts that gleamed like polished jewels, reflecting the light off the water’s surface. It was all exactly as I remembered—beautiful in the kind of way that made you feel small and insignificant.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe cracks in the pristine perfection, signs that time had weathered the place the same way it had weathered me. But Monaco, ever the picture perfect place, refused to bend to time.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t resent it for that. The beauty I had once thought insincere now felt strangely comforting, like being greeted by an old friend who hadn’t forgotten you, even if you had drifted apart.

“Here we are, mademoiselle,” the taxi driver said, pulling up to the paddock entrance.

I took a deep breath and stepped out. The familiar hum of Grand Prix weekend surrounded me immediately - the roar of engines revving in the distance, the buzz of chatter from fans and team members, the faint tang of fuel in the air. It was overwhelming, yes, but also exhilarating. Nostalgia wrapped around me, equal parts warm and suffocating.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice rang out, pulling me back to the present. He was waiting just inside the paddock entrance, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waved me over.

I smiled despite myself and walked toward him. “Arthur,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re not old enough to be drinking espresso yet.”

He laughed, pulling me into a hug that was warmer than I expected. “Eight years and you still won’t give me a break. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked as he led me into the paddock, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

“Everywhere,” he said simply. “It’s been years. You’ve missed so much.”

Arthur guided me through the maze of the paddock, pointing out everything with a mix of pride and excitement, as though I hadn’t grown up watching all of this unfold. But I let him have his moment, nodding along and laughing at his commentary.

“You look different,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “In a good way, I mean. More… I don’t know, serious. Like you’ve seen things. Learned things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very poetic way of saying I look old, Arthur.”

“No, really,” he insisted, his expression earnest. “It’s like you’ve grown into yourself.”

The comment was unexpected, but it warmed me. “Thanks,” I said softly. “You’ve grown up too. A little.”

He grinned. “Don’t let Charles hear you say that. He still treats me like a kid.”

At the mention of Charles, my stomach twisted, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. Arthur must have noticed something, because his tone shifted, gentler now. “I know it’s probably weird, being back here,” he said. “But I think it’s good you came. I think… I think Charles will be happy to see you.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong I thought he was. Instead, I nodded and let him lead me deeper into the paddock.

…

The paddock was chaos, as always. Media rushing everywhere, team members darting back and forth. But Charles couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she was here.

He had only seen her for a brief moment, just a glimpse of her stepping out of a taxi and into the paddock. But it was enough to bring back everything; every memory, every laugh, every ache of missing her. She looked exactly like she did before, only prettier. 

It had been eight years. Eight years since she left without a goodbye, leaving him to wonder if he had done something wrong, if he had somehow driven her away. And now she was back, as though she had never been gone.

“Arthur,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. His hand shook slightly as he dialed.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Charles? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Charles hissed, keeping his voice low as he stepped out of the chaos and into a quiet corner. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”

There was a pause, then a sheepish laugh. “Ah. You’ve seen her already.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her!” Charles snapped, though the anger in his voice was undercut by the nervous energy bubbling beneath. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Arthur said, his tone annoyingly casual. “I thought you’d be happy. It’s been years, Charles. Don’t you want to see her?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “Of course I want to see her. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur’s voice softened. “You’ll figure it out. You always did with her.”

…

Arthur had been called away to a meeting, leaving me to wander the place on my own. I found a quiet spot near the Ferrari hospitality area, nursing a coffee and trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions in my chest.

Being back here was surreal, like stepping into a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the comfort of it - the familiar sounds, the smell of the sea air mixed with fuel, the vibrant energy of race weekend.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned instinctively, my breath catching as I locked eyes with him.

Charles.

He stopped in his tracks, his expression a mix of shock and something I couldn’t place, something that made my chest tighten. For a moment, neither of us moved. The weight of eight years of silence hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding.

Before I could say anything, he turned abruptly and walked away.

…

The roar of the engines drowned out everything else. I stood on the hospitality terrace, surrounded by fans who were shouting encouragement in a chorus of excitement. The energy was contagious, a reminder of why I had always loved race weekends, even when the rest of Monaco felt stifling.

Arthur had left me to sit with some of his friends, but I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me a chance to take it all in—the track, the sea of red Ferrari merchandise, the sun reflecting off the sleek cars. My eyes kept drifting to one in particular, the red number 16 that seemed to glide through every corner as though the circuit were made for it.

Charles.

I hadn’t seen him since he walked away from me in the paddock earlier. It shouldn’t have surprised me; after all, what could we have possibly said to each other in that moment? But it still stung, the abruptness of it, the way he looked at me like I was a ghost he wasn’t ready to confront.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him. It was about being here, about reconnecting with a part of my life I had left behind.

But as the race unfolded, I couldn’t stop my gaze from following him. Every lap, every overtaking move, every moment of brilliance - it was impossible not to be drawn in. Charles had always been talented, but seeing him now, so focused and in control, was something else entirely. It was breathtaking.

The crowd around me erupted as Charles crossed the finish line, taking the victory in a masterful final lap. People were cheering, waving flags, hugging strangers in celebration. I found myself smiling, caught up in the infectious energy of the moment.

But my smile faltered as I saw him step out of the car. The joy on his face was undeniable, but there was something else—something in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, as though he were looking for someone.

For a split second, I thought he might be looking for me. But then I shook my head, brushing the thought away. Charles had the whole world celebrating him right now. Why would he waste a second of it on someone who had been gone for so long?

Still, as he climbed onto the podium and lifted the trophy, I couldn’t help but feel that same strange pull I had always felt with him. It wasn’t just admiration or pride; it was I only felt with him.

As the celebrations spilled into the paddock, where the Ferrari garage was alive with champagne showers, laughter, I kept my distance, lingering near the back of the crowd as the team surrounded Charles, congratulating him.

Arthur spotted me and made his way over, a grin plastered across his face. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he said, motioning toward the scene.

I nodded. “He’s… he’s amazing,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Arthur gave me a look, something between knowing and sympathetic. “You should come to the afterparty,” he said. “We’re all heading to Rimaldi later. It’ll be fun.”

I hesitated, the thought of being in a room full of people who knew Charles, who had been part of his world all these years, making my stomach twist. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t overthink it,” Arthur said, cutting me off. “It’s just a party. No pressure.”

I forced a smile, but the weight in my chest didn’t ease. “We’ll see,” I said, knowing full well I wasn’t going to go.

***

The party at Rimaldi was everything Charles had come to expect from these celebrations—loud music, overflowing champagne, and a sea of people he barely recognized. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere had been transformed into a chaotic celebration, with glasses clinking and laughter filling every corner. Fans and acquaintances congratulated him as though they were old friends, slapping him on the back and offering toasts in his honor.

Normally, this was his element. He was good at this—the smiling, the handshakes, the polite small talk that came with being the center of attention. On any other night, he would have been content to let the noise and the crowd carry him, to let it fill the empty spaces he so often ignored. But tonight was different.

Tonight, no matter how many times he raised his glass or laughed along with a joke, he couldn’t shake the gnawing restlessness that had been with him all day. His mind kept drifting, pulled away from the party and back to the one place he couldn’t seem to avoid—her.

She’d looked the same and yet completely different. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others, but it was still her. Y/N, the person who had once been his closest friend, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. He thought he had moved on from wondering why she left, why she cut him off, but seeing her again brought it all back in a rush.

He barely touched his drink, the glass sweating in his hand as he leaned against the edge of the bar. Across the room, Arthur caught his eye, a knowing grin on his face as he raised his own drink in a silent toast. Charles frowned and turned away, pretending not to notice.

“Charles! Congratulations!” A voice pulled him back to the moment. A well-dressed man, someone he vaguely recognized as a sponsor, clapped him on the shoulder. Charles offered a tight smile, exchanging a few polite words before excusing himself.

The truth was, he wasn’t really here. Not mentally. The louder the party grew, the more it grated on him, every laugh and cheer feeling like static in his ears. His thoughts kept circling back to the paddock, to the way her eyes had met his for that brief, electric moment. She had looked surprised, hesitant, but not angry. That was something, at least.

But then she had disappeared, and he hadn’t been able to stop replaying it in his mind—the way she stood there, so poised and composed, and then was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

By midnight, he couldn’t take it anymore. The laughter and music blurred into background noise as he stood, shaking his head at someone offering him another drink. He muttered something about needing rest and slipped out through the side door, ignoring Arthur’s raised eyebrows as he left. His brother didn’t stop him, though, and Charles suspected Arthur knew exactly where he was going.

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city’s energy winding down after the race. Charles drove aimlessly at first, his hands tight around the steering wheel. The roads he knew so well blurred together as his thoughts raced faster than his car ever could.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t even know if she would want to see him. But none of that mattered, because the one thing he did know, the one thought that consumed him, was this:

He needed to see her.

***

The knock at the door startled me.

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—12:27 a.m. I had been lying on the hotel bed for the past hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the day. Arthur’s invitation, the race, seeing Charles for the first time in years—all of it felt like too much, like I had stepped back into a world I didn’t belong to anymore.

Another knock, firmer this time.

I sat up, my heart racing. Maybe it was Arthur, coming to drag me to the afterparty. Or worse, maybe it was a staff member telling me something had gone wrong with my reservation. My stomach twisted as I padded across the room, hesitating before unlocking the door.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t Arthur or hotel staff standing there.

It was Charles.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, a fitted jacket that hinted at his frame—but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. They flickered between me and the floor, restless, as though he were trying to piece together why he was even here.

“Hi,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.

I stared at him, too stunned to respond at first. “Charles,” I managed after a moment. “What are you doing here?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like he’d been holding his breath. “Can we go for a drive?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Now?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone firmer this time, though not unkind. “I need to talk to you. And I can’t do it here.”

I hesitated, glancing back into the room like it held the answer. But there was no answer waiting for me, no excuse strong enough to keep me from following him. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me grab my coat.”

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city winding down after the race. Charles drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearstick. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road, and the silence between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.

I kept stealing glances at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it was unreadable. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t calm either. It was something in between—a tension I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he turned onto a small road overlooking the harbor and parked. He shut off the engine but didn’t move, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

“Why did you leave?” he asked finally, his voice breaking the silence like a crack of thunder.

I swallowed hard, my hands twisting in my lap. “I didn’t know how to stay,” I said quietly. “Monaco… it wasn’t the same for me as it was for you. It felt fake, like I was living in a place where everything was about appearances and nothing was real. I couldn’t breathe there.”

He turned then, his gaze sharp and searching. “So you left without a word? Without even telling me?”

I met his eyes, feeling the sting of his words. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Y/N, you were my best friend. I would have done anything for you, but you didn’t even give me the chance.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said softly. “But I had to go. For me.”

Charles shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how many times I thought about calling you? About flying to London to find you? But I didn’t, because I told myself that if you wanted to talk to me, you would.”

I clenched my hands together, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I thought about telling you,” I said softly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to leave. And I had to leave, Charles. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I would have let you go if that is what you wanted. I just wish I had known.” He said, looking deep into my eyes. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Even a text or a quick call would have made the difference, Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You blame me for no contact, but you never reached out either.”

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel again. “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “You didn’t leave a door open, Y/N. Not for me, not for anyone.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

We fell into silence, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady. I looked out at the harbor, the city lights shimmering like distant stars, and took a deep breath.

“Explain it to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Because I don’t understand, Y/N. I’ve spent eight years not understanding.”

My chest felt tight, the weight of everything we had been avoiding pressing down on me.

“I was scared,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “Scared that if I stayed, I’d lose myself. Scared that if I saw you again, I’d lose the courage to leave. And then… after your dad…” I trailed off, the memory too painful to finish. “I didn’t know how to come back after that.”

Charles’s expression softened, the anger fading into something more vulnerable. “You could have come to me,” he said quietly. “You should have come to me.”

I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “And what would I have said? ‘Sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most’? I couldn’t face that, Charles. I couldn’t face you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside.

My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady, as though years of bottled-up feelings had burst open all at once, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I turned my gaze toward the harbor, the city lights shimmering like scattered stars on the water, their soft glow blurring slightly as tears pricked at my eyes. The stillness of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside me.

Charles broke the silence, his voice soft but resolute, as though he’d been holding these words back for far too long. “It shouldn’t have been Arthur who invited you back,” he said, his tone laced with frustration and regret. “It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to call you.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a blow to the chest. I turned to him, my breath hitching as his words sank in. The years apart had been a chasm between us, filled with missed chances and unspoken words, and hearing him acknowledge it felt like a bittersweet relief. My throat tightened, and I struggled to find my voice.

“I know,” I said finally, my voice trembling. “But you didn’t call me. And… neither did I call you. We both let it happen.”

Charles’s jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I didn’t know how to. After you left, I was confused. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt. And then it just… felt easier to pretend I didn’t care.”

I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipping free. “The second I got back to Monaco, all I did was look for you,” I admitted, my words coming out in a rush, like I had been holding them in for years. “Everywhere I went, I looked for you. You were everywhere - your face in the streets, your name in conversations, your memory in everything I saw. And yet… you were nowhere.”

I heard Charles inhale sharply, and when I turned back, his eyes were locked on mine, filled with an intensity that made my breath catch. Green and piercing, they were searching for something, some part of me I wasn’t sure I still had to give. Vulnerability. Hope. Regret. I saw all of it reflected in his gaze, and it was almost too much.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know if I could. But now that you’re here…” He shook his head, his expression softening into something raw and earnest. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine letting you go again.”

The space between us seemed to disappear in an instant. Charles reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a way that was both tender and desperate. His touch was hesitant at first, as though he was afraid I might pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then, before I could say anything, his lips met mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like we were both testing the waters of something so fragile it might shatter under the weight of our emotions. But it deepened quickly, carrying years of longing, frustration, and unspoken love. It was messy and imperfect, tears mingling with laughter, but it felt like home in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

When we finally pulled apart, Charles didn’t move far. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though grounding himself in the closeness between us, before murmuring, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever.”

My heart pounded, each beat echoing the promise in his words. I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me, before whispering back, “You won’t.”

In that moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving something lighter in its place. We weren’t perfect, and neither was this, but it was enough. It was us.

[yawping-poets-society]

we don't talk enough about cameron's first real scene, where he talks to neil outside his dorm before todd arrives. in case anyone doesn't know what i'm referring to, here's the dialogue from the scene:

Cameron: Hey, Neil, study group tonight?

Neil: Yeah, sure.

Cameron: Business as usual, huh? [turns to leave, then] Hey, I heard you got the new kid. Looks like a stiff. [laughs at his own joke] [Todd enters] Oops. [Cameron leaves]

so let's talk about it!!

cameron opens with the study group question. this is pretty straightforward to me-he knows he's none of the poets' favorite, and certainly not charlie's. neil is his foremost supporter, pretty much the only one who sticks up for him, so this makes sense. he's checking with neil, his 'in' to the group, to make sure he can hang with these guys. he wants to be part of their circle so badly, and that's pretty clear from the get-go.

and then he hits us with this whole "stiff" business. this is a major thing i've seen people use to justify their hate of cameron and i really struggle with that.

because, well...this is SO undeniably awkward. neil tells todd just a moment later not to mind cameron because he was "born with his foot in his mouth." so off the bat, that's not something you say about someone who's consistently rude or who you don't like. that's neil sticking up for cameron. he's saying, sorry todd, he means well, or at least, he doesn't have any ill intentions. cameron's just not got the best grasp of social cues, that's how he is. this is a pretty valid explanation in and of itself, but if you'll walk with me a little further, i've got a deeper theory about why cameron makes this comment.

more than just it being awkward, this casual friendliness, haha, new kid, a mild insult said with much bravado...this isn't really cameron as we see him for the rest of the movie. though he does remain relatively awkward, it doesn't really match his character of being cautious and trying to not stand out, to fit into the group (as we see in his first line). so how to explain this action (because i don't believe the explanation is just: cameron is being an asshole/being awkward)?

to me? this is what cameron thought charlie would say. isn't that almost exactly how charlie always talks about cameron, after all? for a great example, see later in the same scene:

Charlie, about Cameron: What's his specialty, bootlicking?

so maybe cameron believes that this is how friends treat each other. or at least, how they talk about other people to entertain their friends. charlie, while not a stellar student and clearly not liked by the administration, is the class clown, which makes him popular with students at welton. thus, cameron is probably jealous of charlie. he probably wishes he was more like charlie-confident, funny, well-liked, etc. and again, he clearly wants to be friends with neil, and part of their larger group, very, very badly. all of this to say:

i don't think cameron meant what he said about todd.

he's trying to get a laugh out of neil. so what does he do? he does what he thinks charlie-neil's funny best friend-would do. it's not a nice thing to say, but to me, it really just reads as someone who is trying to guess what the appropriate, funny thing to say in a situation is, but doesn't actually know. cameron might not have even really thought the 'stiff' joke was funny. but he thought neil would find it funny, which is really the whole point. cameron is, at the most fundamental level, an unpopular kid who wishes he was well-liked, and is fumbling around blindly trying to find his way there.

[berfgrimm]

butterfly | choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, semi-public, enemies to lovers (ish), oral, choking, spanking, heavy on the dirty talk, manhandling, overstimulation, name calling, pet names, pain kink, mentions of humiliation kink, mentions of death/violence. i’m sorry if I forgot anything.

note: hey, so this ended up being 12.5k words and i have actually gone insane from writing it. my app crashed trying to post this. please enjoy as i am exhausted.

———————

The first experience you had with Su-bong was at work. You were employed at a small dance club in Seoul called Temple, where you would bartend on weekends. It was a part-time gig to help pay the bills, and the general vibe of the club was mellow. Until the first night Su-bong showed up with his friends.

You were a fan of his music before you met him and you had a little bit of a crush on him, so you were excited to see him at your place of work. That first night, you’d intended to compliment him on his talent, however, you didn’t get the opportunity. The group of men ran you ragged, ordering drink after drink, causing chaos on the dance floor, interfering with the DJ, hitting on every girl that looked their way. When Su-bong found cause to speak to you, he wasn’t polite to you, but he wasn’t rude — something about his demeanor was off, and you attributed it to the drugs and alcohol.

After that night, Su-bong and his friends would show up at Temple most weekends, and their behavior only worsened. The group managed to get away with their antics since Su-bong was friends with the club owner; this created more problems for you. The easy nights generally ended with you having to clean up broken glass and spilled liquor. On the worst nights, you’d find yourself replacing broken furnishings or cleaning up forgotten panties. You gave your notice the night you had to clean up after Su-bong’s friend who didn’t bother to relieve himself in the bathroom.

Even though Su-bong wasn’t the worst of his group, his celebrity status made him the face of the problem in your mind. You had to leave a job you enjoyed because of a group of disrespectful grown men. You stopped listening to his music after that, and you felt your crush on him slip away, instead being replaced with resentment.

Which brings you here. At these games where your bunk is directly next to his. It’s a cruel joke. A few years have passed since your time at Temple, and you’re positive he wouldn’t remember the damage he caused. You wouldn’t dare bring it up to him, because it didn’t matter much.

The first game and vote have been completed, and everyone sits around the room, some talking, others too scared and traumatized to speak. You sit on the floor with your back against your bed, doing your best to ignore Su-bong, who stands next to his bed with his new buddies, Nam-gyu and Gyeong-su, talking louder than everyone else. You are beginning to get a headache, so you rub your head to help alleviate the tension.

“Can you please talk quieter?” you ask, trying your best to keep your voice calm, but finding it difficult given the situation. “My head is killing me.”

“I’ve got something that will help with that,” Su-bong laughs, crossing towards you as you peer up at him.

It’s the first time you’ve really gotten a good look at him since you arrived. From this angle, with him standing above you, he’s almost…intimidating? No, not that. He wasn’t scary, but the look that he gives you creates a sensation in your stomach that certainly isn’t welcome.

“Not interested,” you reply, looking back to the floor. “Please just keep the volume down. Or if you can’t help it, maybe take it somewhere else.”

“This is my bunk,” Su-bong says, sitting on his bed, crossing his arms and staring at you. The smirk is faint until he runs his tongue across his lips to wet them, which he does slowly. Your eyes lock onto the movement, and you feel trapped for a moment, your thoughts shifting, but you remind yourself to stay focused.

“And this is my bunk,” you retort, gesturing behind you, meeting his eyeline again. “I asked nicely. I figured you’d have some decency in you, buried down deep beneath all of the drugs. Guess not.” You lower your gaze to the floor again, the anger starting to snuff out the other feelings he gives you.

“You think you’re better than me.” The words sound like he’s hurt, but instead his tone is agitated. Looking into his eyes from your spot on the floor, you see an animated expression on his face. It’s intense, like he’s ready to challenge you to a fight.

“Most of us have debt because of real problems,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “I’m not here because I made a bad investment on some fucking Monopoly money.”

“Then, why are you here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he laughs. “You’re here, same as me. I watched you press the circle, and I can see the patch on your jacket. Drugs, crypto, medical debt: all money spends the same, and you need it too. You act like you’re above it all.”

“I'm taking it seriously,” you snap back. “Should I be more like you and treat this like it’s schoolyard fun? When we just saw all of those people get killed?”

“So some strangers died, and you’re going to walk around like you’re dead, too,” he laughs, shrugging his shoulders as he waits for you to say something in response.

“Whatever,” you sigh, turning your head away from him.

“You’re just mad because I’m right,” he laughs.

“I’m not mad,” you reply.

“But I’m right.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it takes all of your might not to say anything sarcastic to him when you look at him again. “Okay, you’re not mad,” he shrugs. “Then you’re into me.”

“Into you?” you laugh. “That’s funny.”

“I saw you staring at my mouth before,” he says. “You could tell that I know how to use it, huh, señorita?”

“Don’t call me that,” you say.

You ignore his actual question because maybe, just maybe, he’s not far off. And maybe his cockiness turns you on a little bit, but you won’t admit that out loud, not after the way he and his friends acted at Temple. That doesn’t stop your body from reacting and remembering that little crush you had on him because there’s always something about a guy with an attitude. But his arrogance can only take him so far, and right now he’s testing your patience from running his mouth like this.

Well, while you’re on the subject of his mouth, you weren’t staring…he talks a lot, and raps a little, so of course you find your focus drifting to his mouth. The lighting at the club was never good enough for you to truly see him. But now under the bright lights of this dorm, you have a clear view. His teeth are nice, his lips look soft, and his tongue…no, you can’t think like that, not in front of him.

You realize you’ve been quiet too long and when you tune in again, you see that he’s already pulled his friends back into a conversation. You let out a steady sigh of relief, glad that you didn’t get caught daydreaming about this clown in front of you. At least that’s what you hope.

You drop your head against the bed behind you, and close your eyes, trying to ignore the conversations around you. Instead, you think of how truly scared you are, deep in your chest. Of course you didn’t want to stay in a place like this, surrounded by hundreds of scumbags who are drowning in gambling debt. But maybe Su-bong was right: you need the money just as badly as they do, just for less nefarious reasons. You’re no better than the others.

The sensation of another person beside you pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present. You tilt your head in their direction, peeking from one eye to see the failed rapper looking back at you. With a groan, you close your eyes again, leaning your head back to your previous position.

“Just because our bunks are near each other doesn’t mean we’re friends,” you mutter.

“You talked to me first,” Su-bong shrugs.

“And now I regret it,” you respond.

“I get under your skin.” You can hear him laughing as he speaks, and you try to keep from proving him right. “It’s easy with you, I can tell,” he continues. “I’ve barely done anything and you already hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you reply, flatly, still not looking at him. “I don’t even know you.”

“You can get to know me,” he mutters.

“What is it?” you ask. “Do you have a humiliation kink? You like when someone talks down to you?”

“I bet you do,” he retorts, and this catches your attention. You raise your head and look at him incredulously; of course he’s fucking smirking. “I saw it before,” he pushes. “You can scowl at me all you want, but you can’t hide your eyes.”

“You’re irritating,” you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

“So, you’re not wet right now?” he whispers.

“No, I’m not,” you reply — too quickly; he grins wider now, and you try to think of something to recover.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder then,” he smirks, squeezing your thigh and fuck, you jump at the contact.

He swoops away before you can respond, and you can immediately feel shockwaves hit your body. No one has touched you in so long, and all it took was a thigh squeeze from some idiot named after a comic book character for your body to react. You feel flush all over, lightheaded, from one fucking touch.

Now you start to feel hatred towards him. No, hatred is too strong, but it’s definitely rage because what gives him the right to have that effect on your body? Beyond the way he treated you at the club, he’s kind of a loser. He’s a washed up musician, he’s a drug addict, he’s annoying, and his debt is in the billions.

Pick a struggle, you think, as you stand from the floor, taking a few steps out into the open to get a better view of your surroundings.

You look into the crowd of other players in the center of the dorm to try to find him. When you spot him, you clench your jaw, frustrated. He talks animatedly, probably about nothing important, because he doesn’t seem to be very scholarly. He appears to ramble to anyone who will listen and some who won’t, but at least he’s excited about something. No, don’t sympathize.

Still…he looks passionate. Even if what he has to say doesn’t matter to some people, it matters to him. He cares about something. Maybe that passion spreads into other aspects of his demeanor…especially with his mouth…and his hands…

You feel the heat returning to your cheeks and you need to cool off. Your gaze drops from Su-bong, and you quickly make your way through the crowd towards the exit of the dorm. Unfortunately, in your journey, you have to pass Su-bong, who spots you coming and steps into your path.

“Was that you I saw staring at me, señorita?” To your surprise, Su-bong places his hand under your chin, tilting your head towards him.

“There are almost four hundred people here,” you say, shoving his hand away. “I wasn’t looking at you, asshole.” You hope you sound convincing, but you doubt it from the way your body has been betraying you today. Judging from Su-bong’s expression, he isn’t deterred, but his eyes scan your whole face, searching for something. Before he can speak again, however, you sidestep him and continue your trek to the bathroom.

Your hands tremble as you stand at the sink, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Why are you this rattled? He’s just some burned out musician with an attitude, and your emotions are wrecked. You have anger towards him, and annoyance, but you feel desire as well. Maybe you’re confused? After the events of the day, who would blame you for having your emotions mixed up?

You splash some water on your face and around to the back of your neck. The coolness helps you regulate your body temperature enough to make the sensations begin to subside. Still, you have a headache that you hope will be alleviated by your soon-to-be relaxed demeanor.

When you reenter the dorm, most people have broken off into smaller groups, milling around the bunks as opposed to the center of the room. Thankfully, you don’t see Su-bong just from a quick scan around the room, so you make a beeline to your bed.

“Thank God,” you mumble when you don’t see Su-bong in his bed. Rolling your shoulders, you try to rid yourself of that last bit of tension you feel, as you lay in your bed.

The thin mattress doesn’t do much to calm you, but it’s better than the hard floor that you sat on before, so you don’t complain. Closing your eyes, you begin to take slow, deep breaths, relaxing your limbs into the mattress, hoping that you can drift off to sleep.

“You never told me why you’re here.”

The sound of his voice, smug and annoying, makes you want to scream. You were so close to absolute comfort, hopeful for peaceful sleep, but now you feel the tension begin to form in your jaw again almost immediately. Reluctantly, you open your eyes, rolling your head to the side to see Su-bong sitting on his bed, staring at you expectantly.

“That’s none of your business,” you echo your exact sentiment from earlier, hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Well, what did you—?”

“What am I doing that indicates to you that I’m interested in having a conversation right now?” you interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Please, tell me, so I can stop doing it.”

“You complain a lot,” Su-bong laughs. “But you’re still desperate just like the rest of us.” He pushes every single one of your buttons, relentlessly, and you begin to wonder what it would be like to punch him in his face, but no, you can’t resort to violence.

“Jesus Christ, you don’t know when to quit.”

“You’d be surprised how long I can last,” he smirks. The charm has worn thin, and you don’t feel the sensation in your stomach like you expect; maybe the crush is gone again. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Su-bong practically giggles at his own words.

“Shut the fuck up!” you snap, your voice louder than you intended — loud enough to silence some of the other players in nearby bunks, but you’re undeterred. “You talk so fucking much,” you continue, sitting up on the edge of your bed so you can really see him. “All I’m thinking about is how I want you to leave me alone!”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he says, most of the teasing now absent from his tone, but there’s still something that you can’t place. Excitement?

“Oh, that’s right,” you say. “You get off on being talked down to. Well, get it from somewhere else. I’m not interested.”

Before he has another opportunity to speak, you lay on your bed again, with your back to him this time, and you cover your head with your pillow to block out the noise. You think you hear Su-bong say something, but you don’t acknowledge him, instead you focus on getting some much needed sleep.

———————

After successfully competing in the six legged race, you begin to think that you might not be able to handle another game. You’re only a few million away from having enough money to pay off your debt, but it weighs heavy on your conscience. The blood on the soles of your shoes makes you queasy and sad, knowing that all of the lives lost over the last two days probably thought the same thing you’re thinking right now: one more game.

Sitting on your bed, you stare down at your jacket that you have draped over your lap. You trace the circle on the blue patch, disappointed in yourself for placing everyone in danger once again. All for the sake of money.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it out safe this time, señorita.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan, rolling your eyes. You hoped that maybe he’d take up residence elsewhere, perhaps closer to his friends, but, much to your dismay, Su-bong kept his bunk next to yours. “I told you not to call me that,” you say, tossing your jacket onto the bed next to you.

“What would you like me to call you?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to me at all.”

“That’s not very nice,” Su-bong’s tone is playful, bordering on sing-song as though he thinks you’re friends.

“Well, I’m not a very nice person,” you reply.

“I’m starting to see that,” he answers, laying on his bed with his hands behind his head.

“I think you’re not used to people who aren’t going to put up with your shit,” you say. “You got so comfortable with being surrounded by yes-men, you forgot what it’s like to have someone genuinely dislike you.”

“I thought you didn’t know me to not like me,” he retorts, turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “It’s been twenty-four hours. What changed?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

“Oh, that’s what it is!” Su-bong’s face lights up, a wide smirk spreading across his lips. “We hooked up, and I never called you back. I’m sorry, señorita. I’m sure it was the best you ever had but I’m not into relationships.”

“You think we hooked up?” you laugh.

“Well, if we haven’t before, we can try it tonight.”

“First of all, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it if I gave it to you,” you say, not missing the amusement on Su-bong’s face. “Second, I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember me. You were usually pretty faded by the time I’d see you.” The smirk starts to drop from Su-bong’s face and you can practically see him searching his memories for your face. “Don’t worry,” you wave your hand, giving a shrug of your shoulders. “I probably wouldn’t remember me either if I was you. All of the cleaning up I had to do after you and your friends were around, I used to think it was what I deserved: picking glass off of the floor and cleaning up piss. But now? Now, Thanos, I’m starting to think you’re right. I’m not better than you. But the good thing about that is that you’re not better than me anymore either. So, I guess I should be happy.”

Su-bong is silent for the first time since you’ve met him, and your body feels thankful. The look on his face is unreadable, and unfortunately, you worry that you took it a step too far. That is until he swings his legs off the edge of the bed so he can sit up, pointing at you with a look of realization.

“Club Temple,” he says, slowly nodding his head. “You’re that bartender.”

You’re unsure of what it is about his words that sets you off, probably the borderline dismissive way he spoke, but your fists clench and you envision yourself punching him directly in his face. Before you can act on your impulse, however, Su-bong speaks again.

“Butterfly,” he laughs.

“What?” you snap.

“I remember you,” he goes on. “I used to call you ‘butterfly’.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to catch you,” he grins, as if it’s a good joke, but you roll your eyes. Still, you feel it: the flutter in the pit of your stomach because now he looks at you with the same intention from the day before when he was standing over you. “You were quiet, but you were sexy. I wondered where you ran off to,” he says as he stands from the bed, slowly sauntering towards you, and planting himself beside you on the mattress. “I always thought we would have hit it off. The way you gave me everything I asked for, I figured you’d listen really well.” You try not to squirm from the way the fluttering begins to increase, but his voice is suddenly deeper and the way he presses against you spreads warmth through your whole body. “I didn’t realize that you had a mouth like this,” he whispers. “Though I thought of other things you could do with your mouth…”

“Alright,” you mutter, feeling yourself begin to flush, so you press your hand to his face, shoving him away as you stand from your bed. “At least I know you’re still an asshole.” You venture a few steps from the bed, avoiding eye contact with Su-bong for fear of him seeing the impact his words have on you. From the corner of your eye, you see him lying back on your bed laughing; you can’t figure out if the feeling it gives you makes you want to fight or fuck. “When I come back, I want you off of my bed,” you say, turning abruptly and storming away before you do something you regret.

The bathroom is beginning to be the safest place for you as of late, so you find yourself clutching the same sink as the day before, staring into the same mirror, on the verge of a breakdown. You wonder if punching the mirror will help alleviate this vortex of sensations in your body, but you have to keep your calm. With another game tomorrow, you can’t afford to bust your knuckles nor can you lose focus like this. A quick splash of water over your face and a couple of deep breaths will have to suffice.

You make sure to walk slowly back to the dorm, taking enough time to reset your emotions before you have to face Su-bong again. One more close call with him, and you may not be able to control yourself again.

When you get back to your bunk, Su-bong is nowhere to be seen, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You suppose you should be relieved, for your sanity and for your body, that he took your advice and made himself scarce, but with the way your body has been betraying you for the last twenty-four hours, you don’t trust your emotions right now. You hurriedly slip off your shoes and climb into your bed before your body starts making more decisions for you, and prepare for another greatly needed rest.

———————

Playing Mingle only proves to complicate things further, as far as your resolve goes. You try to find a spot on the turntable that puts you far away from Su-bong, but you quickly realize that you haven’t made any alliances during your time playing the games. All you can do is hope for the best.

The first number called out is ten, and you quickly try to locate a group that only needs one more player, but you find it more complicated than it seemed to be. You begin to panic and the numbers on the clock appear to tick faster, until you feel someone grab you by the wrist.

“This way, señorita!”

Su-bong tugs you along with him and his group, hurrying towards an open room. He shoves you inside first, where you stumble forward into the back wall of the room. When you turn around to watch the others pile into the room, Su-bong crowds you quickly, pressing his hands flat against the wall behind you to box you between his arms.

“There you go,” he smirks, pressing his body to yours. “Stay just like that.” The way he speaks, hushed so only you can hear, making his voice sound deeper than normal, you can feel it rumble through your whole body.

And you fucking whimper.

Su-bong looks more satisfied and absolutely tickled at your reaction, and with a lick of his lips, he tilts his head to catch your gaze. You set your hands on his hips, firmly shoving him away from you to be able to breathe again. You feel overheated and wet, it makes you blush in embarrassment as the other players in the room look at you suspiciously.

For the next couple of rounds, you put as much distance between yourself and Su-bong as you can. Sometimes you catch him staring at you, but you can’t let your mind wander, not when it’s quite literally life or death. One round, he tries to pull you into his group, but you snatch your hand away and dash to find a different group to align with.

When the final round begins, you’re nearer to Su-bong and his remaining friends than you wanted to be, but you can’t focus on that. Instead you start doing the math: fifty rooms, one hundred and twenty-six people…the last number has to be two. You spare a quick glance around and see who you could grab that doesn’t already have a group. There’s no way you’ll be able to be in a room alone with Su-bong, especially if he touches you again, because you’re sure you’ll break. That’s when you spot Min-su just a few feet from you.

When the turntable stops, and the number two is called, you reach for Min-su, but someone else’s hand wraps around your wrist — of course it was Su-bong. All you can do is run along with him, knowing you’ll waste valuable time if you try arguing. Instead, your heart pounds harder in your chest. Su-bong shoves you into the room and hurries in after you, slamming the door shut before turning to grin at you.

“You’ve been flying away from me all day, butterfly,” he smirks. “Guess I caught you now.” You try to feel relieved from surviving the game but with your body already in overdrive, Su-bong slowly closing in on you only makes it worse. “I heard you earlier,” he says, stalking closer towards you. “Whimpering. You finally gave yourself away.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in this room,” you say, shakily. Su-bong licks his lips, eyeing you up like he was prepared to pounce; the sensation in your stomach begins to spread throughout the rest of your body from the way he makes no effort to hide his staring. He now stands directly in front of you, just as he was in the first room; he’s so close, you can feel his breath on your face.

You both stay silent for several moments, and all you can think about is if he would put his hands on you one more time, he’d push you past that last hurdle. But instead, the gunshots ring out on the other side of the door, startling you.

Your next move is purely automatic, so frightened by the noises, you don’t realize what you’re doing right away. You place your hands on his hips and press your face against his chest, instinctively looking for comfort from your fright. Realizing that you’re seeking solace in the arms of Thanos, you quickly begin to pull back, but he wraps his arms around you to keep you in place.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “I have you.”

The tone of his voice is different. He actually sounds sincere. It’s a new shade for him, and the way his hand gently rubs your back doesn’t help the fiery sensation under your skin. It does, however, soothe the fear enough for you to be able to focus on him instead of the scene outside of your room.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Su-bong mutters. “Is it because you’re this close to me?” You laugh in spite of yourself, but with your face pressed into Su-bong’s jacket it sounds more giggly than you intend. “We have a few minutes…” he begins to slide his hands down your back and you gently shove him away before he can do whatever he’s planning on.

“There’s a camera right there,” you say, pointing to the wall behind you.

“I always liked an audience,” he smirks.

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh. “Not worried you’ll get stage fright like you did during that last rap battle? Or was it the drugs that time?” You worry that you may have crossed a line, but when he scoffs and crosses his arms with a grin, you know he’s prepared to snap back.

“You like watching me perform?”

“I used to,” you nod.

“We could have a performance of our own right now.”

“I doubt you’d be a good fuck,” you shrug. “It’d probably be a waste of time.”

“Is that what you think?” Su-bong asks, backing you towards the wall again. You nod your head slowly, this time not caring if he can see the way you stare at him. “That’s funny,” he nods. “Because you look like you want to kiss me right now.”

“If only to shut you up.”

Before Su-bong is able to reply, the lock disengages for your room, signifying the end of the game. You slide past Su-bong, taking your leave, not giving him the opportunity to make another innuendo. You slip into the crowd in an effort to get lost among the other players, but you can almost feel Su-bong creeping along behind you.

As you walk past one of the side corridors of the labyrinth, Su-bong finally makes his move. You feel his arm hook around your waist, hurriedly pulling you along with him into the dark space of the side corridor before you’re spotted by any guards.

“No cameras here,” Su-bong mutters, spinning you around and pinning you back against the wall. His hands land on your hips, and you take a firm grip on his biceps, both of you breathing hard in anticipation.

When he finally kisses you, there’s no more buildup, no more suspense because now you’re past all of the pretense, and you both need this. The kiss is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and soft moaning into one another’s mouths — your head reels with pleasure and excitement.

While he has you distracted with the kiss, Su-bong’s hand slips into the front of your pants, and past the waistband of your panties. You feel him just as his fingers press into your folds, swirling through your wetness.

“Fuck,” you gasp into his mouth, and break away from the kiss to look down at his hand that begins to tease you.

“Have you been like this all day?” Su-bong asks, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’ve been pretending to be so mad, running your mouth, and the whole time you’ve been soaking wet.” Your lips stay parted and you let out soft pants from the feeling of his fingers touching everything except your clit. “What turns you on the most, huh?” Su-bong continues, kissing your jaw tenderly. “To be treated like a good girl or to be treated like a slut?”

You can’t find your words to tell him that you like both because now his fingers gently brush over your clit and your moan gets caught in your throat. Su-bong chuckles, taking a step closer so he can grind himself against your hip. One of your hands finds its way to his hair, fisting enough to tug his head back away from your face.

“You’re gonna fuck me here?” You’re almost breathless as you speak, but the look in Su-bong’s eyes, arousal and excitement, drives you to keep going. “You’ve been talking about it for two days,” you continue, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for friction. “Throw me down right here and fuck me. Show me what all of that attitude was for.”

“I guess I have my answer,” Su-bong mutters, and you set both of your hands on his shoulders now to brace yourself. “You’re begging me to fuck you on the floor of this place…I don’t think a good girl would do that.”

This time you whimper again, not because of how he touches you but from the way his voice sounds: strained but sharp. You can’t stay still, squirming against him, unable to compose yourself or even look him in the eyes. You aren’t ashamed of how you’re acting, because fuck, you really do want him, but you’re flustered.

“After the vote,” he begins, moving his head along with yours, trying to get you to look into his eyes while his fingers still tease you. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom. You can show me how much of a slut you really can be.”

You want to say something sarcastic in response because you’d prefer not to give him the upper hand, but your instincts kick in and all you can do is nod slowly. Su-bong’s fingers tease your clit again, and you whimper in response, grabbing him tighter to keep him close. When you finally make eye contact with him, of course he looks smug.

“Yeah? Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding faster. Su-bong kisses you, just as sloppy as the first kiss, and slides his hand from your pants again, much to your disappointment. So you whine in protest, which seems to be your new favorite reaction to him.

“Shhh,” Su-bong hushes, breaking the kiss. “You can wait.” He slips his fingers into his mouth, cleaning the taste of you from them. “Mmm,” he hums, pulling them from his lips with a pop. “I know what I’m going to do to you first…”

“You love to fucking tease, don’t you?” you breathe, shoving him away from you.

“I guess we both do,” he retorts, adjusting his pants to try to hide that he’s obviously hard. “Pull yourself together, señorita.”

Su-bong disappears from the hallway, leaving you turned on and slightly annoyed. You take his advice and straighten your pants to look more presentable before you follow after him.

For a moment, with your emotions heightened, you find yourself worrying that if you vote out of this hell, you won’t be able to see Su-bong again. You didn’t want to vote in favor of staying just so you could get railed in a public bathroom, and with the amount of money you garnered, you’d be able to successfully pay off your debt. You press the ‘X’.

When you walk towards the red side, you catch a glimpse of Su-bong’s face, scrunched up in anger as he signals that he has his eyes on you. The gesture makes you laugh, although you know he’s serious. And as the numbers creep higher, you think that maybe you really will be going home at the end of the vote.

You didn’t expect the vote to split 50-50. The mixed emotions return to your chest, but as you start to wander back to your bunk, you spy Su-bong creeping out of the dorm, presumably on his way to the bathroom. You give him a few moments for a head start before you make your way to join him. You reach the bathroom just in time to see Su-bong ducking into the women’s room, so you sneak in immediately after him.

“I thought the women’s room would be nicer than the men’s,” Su-bong says, peering around the room, giving a peek into each of the stalls. “I’m disappointed.”

“Life would be boring without disappointment,” you shrug, watching him carefully until he finally turns to face you, a serious look on his face.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. “You wanted to get away from me again, butterfly?” When your eyebrows furrow at his words, he taps his finger on the circle patch affixed to his jacket, then nods his head towards you. “Did you get scared thinking about being alone with me?” he smirks.

“No,” you reply, running your hand over the ‘X’ patch. “I figured if we made it out of here, you wouldn’t care that we missed our bathroom rendezvous.”

“Hmm,” Su-bong hums, breaking his gaze with you and staring to the side in thought; he appears to weigh his options for a few moments before answering. “Well, good thing we’re still here,” he says. “But if we had voted out, I’d find you so we could finish what we started.”

It’s a mix between a threat and a promise that gives you a flip in your stomach and a flush to your skin. Su-bong notices the change when he speaks, which brings a more pleased smirk to his lips. He tips his head to the side to eye you up, the wheels turning in his head with what you assume are completely devilish ideas.

“Come here,” Su-bong commands, beckoning for you with a crook of his fingers. You move closer to him, and he grabs your hips to guide you backwards to the sinks. “I want you to take your pants and panties off,” he whispers, eyes locked with yours. “And stand right here, so I can see you.”

Su-bong stops you when your back hits the wall perpendicular to the sinks, then releases his grip on you, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms. He stares at you expectantly, so you begin to do as you’re told, stepping out of your shoes first before working your clothing down your legs to pool at your feet. You also take the opportunity to remove your jacket, dropping it along with your other clothes. You keep your eyes on your task, a tinge of nerves making you too shy to look back at Su-bong just yet.

When you are naked from the waist down, you straighten your back, pressing yourself against the wall as you were instructed to do. With a slow breath out, you finally look to Su-bong, who has his gaze locked on your lower half.

“Put your leg up there,” he nods his head towards the sink nearest you, and you fucking blush thinking of being on display for him. “Do you need me to help?” he asks, his tone clearly amused as he already begins to stalk closer to you.

“Someone could walk in,” you say, finally, when he places his hands on your bare hips.

“No one cares what we’re doing in here,” he laughs. “By the end of this, you’ll never see them again. They’ll be dead or disappeared.” His hand slides down your thigh, gripping it firmly and helping you lift your leg to press your foot to the side of the sink. You lean your weight to the wall behind you, bracing yourself against the cold tile with your hand. “Besides that,” he begins, casually slipping his fingers through your wetness. “A little slut like you, I’m sure you don’t really care if anyone sees you.”

“Maybe…” you breathe, studying his face as if you want to memorize it.

“If I would have known you were like this, I would have fucked you at Temple.”

Su-bong lowers to his knees in front of you, eying you up like he’s about to have his last meal. Before he dives in, he bites along your inner thigh, each one harder than the last, making you yelp in surprise. Su-bong laughs against your skin, turning his bites into kisses now until he reaches your wetness.

The teasing starts slowly, a gentle brush around your clit with the tip of his tongue but not quite touching it yet. It’s softer than you expect from him, but with how badly you’ve been aching for him, you aren’t sure how much teasing you can take. As though he can read your mind, he starts to trace his fingertips around your entrance, getting his fingers nice and slick for what comes next.

It feels like forever before he touches your clit, and even then, the contact is so tender, it’s almost nonexistent. You whine in response, hoping he’ll take the hint, but of course he doesn’t — intentional or not, he’s driving you crazy. You thread your fingers through his short locks, trying to urge him in to put some fucking effort in, but he doesn’t allow you to move him.

“C’mon,” you whine, sounding more tantrum-like than you would have liked.

“You made me wait, now you can be patient too.”

“This is different,” you retort, breathless. “I was teasing you with words…you’ve got your mouth on my pussy…”

“Mmm,” he hums against you. “That’s a good point.”

Su-bong finally gives you what you want, licking your clit more directly, with more pressure than before, and at the same time, he slips his index and middle fingers inside of you. All you can do is moan and tip your head back against the wall, the sensation of someone touching you after so long becoming too much very quickly.

“You’re tight for a slut,” he mutters against you, his mouth sounding wet and the heat from his breath blowing against your already hot skin. “No one has touched you like this in a while, hm?”

You clench around his fingers as they pump into you, shallow thrusts as the speed of his tongue increases. A thought pops into your head that makes you grin: maybe you can bully him into going faster.

“Fuck, go faster,” you groan, grinding yourself against his face. “Unless you’re just bad at eating pussy.”

He freezes, his face still pressed to you, tongue halfway through a lick. You’d be mad that he stopped if you didn’t know what would be coming next. When he finally sits back so he can look up at you, his eyes have darkened, and he appears incensed by your words — so you decide to give him one more push.

“I knew this wasn’t going to be worth my time,” you mutter.

Su-bong unzips his jacket, pulling it off of his arms and spreading it on the floor; he removes his cross necks as well and stuffs it into his pocket. He grabs your hips, harder than you expect, and yanks you down to your knees on the floor with him. You allow him to do as he wishes with you, and you find yourself on the floor, your body resting on the clothes to put a barrier between you and the tile.

“Spread your legs,” he commands. You do as you’re told, spreading your thighs wide and giving him an eyeful of the way you’re now drenched because of him. He doesn’t speak again, but quickly drops down onto his elbows to bury his face in your wetness.

He surprises you with just how voracious he is, his mouth claiming your clit immediately, and his fingers slipping back into you. From this angle, his pace is faster and fuck, those long, slender fingers go deeper with each thrust. You moan out, pressing your hands to the ground beneath you and arching against him. You swear you can feel him laugh in response.

Su-bong’s free hand grabs the thick of your thigh, pulling your leg to hook over his shoulder so your heel presses to his back. He doesn’t let go of your thigh, but holds it harder, feeling like it’s enough pressure to leave bruises on your skin.

The way his fingers pump into you is better at this angle, digits curling up with each hard thrust. But his mouth is a revelation. He alternates between tonguing your clit and sucking, the absolute perfect back and forth to match how hard he fingers you.

“Fuck,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging, much harder than you intend, but he growls against you. Of course he likes to get his hair pulled.

Su-bong shoves your leg off of his back, instead pinning it to the ground so he can keep you spread wide open for him. Now he increases the speed of his torture on you, sucking and thrusting so hard that it starts to hurt but fuck, it gets you that much closer to climaxing. Maybe you aren’t any better than he is if you’re getting horny from a little bit of pain. But you can’t think about that, you have to get off. All you need is to give him one more push

“At least your mouth is good for something,” you pant.

That does it. Su-bong’s pace increases and you can’t stop the moans that start to claw their way from your chest in response. He’s erratic and forceful and it’s exactly what you need to push you over the edge, tumbling towards your climax.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, arching your back, both of your hands grasping his hair to keep him right where you need him to ride out your high. “Fuck, baby.”

Your first orgasm brought on by someone else in so long and you can feel your legs trembling from the intensity. He doesn’t stop until you release your grip on his hair and drop back onto the floor, panting and squirming.

“Mmmm,” he hums against you, finally pulling back for air and sitting back on his knees to peer down at you. “It was ‘asshole’ earlier, now it’s ‘baby’. It just took my tongue to get you to change your mind, hm?” You feel a flush hit your face at his words because you hadn’t realized you’d called him ‘baby’. He sucks the taste of you from his fingers before he scoots closer to lean over your body and rests his weight in his hands at your sides. “Is this what it’s like when you’re a good girl?” Su-bong asks, licking his lips. “I like you this way… but I think I prefer the slut.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes, but when he kisses you, it’s gentler than you expect.

“Are you getting soft on me now because I called you ‘baby’?” you joke against his lips. He rests all of his weight on one hand to use the other to take hold of your wrist and press the palm of your hand against the bulge in his pants.

“Does that feel soft to you?”

“Is this why you talk so much shit?” you ask, rubbing him over his pants. “With the attitude you have, I’d expect you were compensating, but, fuck…and you got this hard just from eating my pussy?” You swear you can see him blush, but he quickly chuckles and sits back to rest on his knees again.

“What can I say, I love a slut who’s needy,” Su-bong retorts.

You sit up so you’re closer to him, working his pants and briefs down his hips until you can free his erection, and fuck if you don’t feel your mouth water from the sight. You try to hide the look in your eyes that you’re sure gives away just how badly you want him, but Su-bong chuckles.

Before he can speak, probably to tease, you spit on his erection so you can begin to stroke him. You angle him toward your mouth so you can suck on the head of his cock, getting a taste of the precum that has already leaked out.

“How does that taste?” Su-bong asks, his hand resting at the base of your head, urging you to take more of him into your mouth. “Have you been thinking about it since you met me?”

He wasn’t wrong: you had been thinking about this moment since you arrived at the games. Sure, you’d thought about hooking up with him when you first met at the club, but a torrid, illicit bathroom hookup was not what was on your mind back then. You thought of kissing, holding hands, making love, and other sweet things that were far from your mind right now. Instead you want to know what it feels like to choke on him. And maybe you have to let yourself loosen up a bit to get it.

You pull off of him, glancing up to peer into his eyes. You motion for him to stand up, and he obliges, staring down at you while he slowly strokes himself. Sitting up on your knees in front of him, you peer up at him from under your lashes, your tongue teasing the head of his cock.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” Su-bong asks, inching his hips forward to encourage you to take him deeper.

“I just want to be a good slut for you,” you whisper, the tip of your tongue still gently toying with him.

“Oh, yeah?” Su-bong chuckles in surprise, stopping for a moment to pull in a quick breath. “Show me what you can do, then.”

You take him halfway into your mouth, bobbing your head along with the stroke of your hand. Su-bong lets out a quiet groan, his hand holding on the back of your head, showing restraint by not applying any pressure. You hollow out your cheeks, sucking harshly on him as you pick up your face but you don’t take him any deeper, not just yet.

“If I had my phone, I’d film you right now and make you famous,” Su-bong mumbles, holding his hands up in front of him as if he was a director framing a shot. “I don’t know what debt you have but I know what you could have done to pay it off.”

The implication of his words makes you moan around him, which in turn causes Su-bong to give a thrust of his hips against your face. It catches you off guard when he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. When you gag around him, he lets out a deep moan that you can feel vibrating through your body, landing straight between your thighs.

“Jesus,” Su-bong breathes. “Do that again.”

He sounds strained, like he’s struggling not to sound too desperate. You grab his hips with both hands so you can hold him still when you start bobbing your head over him, taking him all the way into your mouth. Su-bong rocks his hips against your movements, giving an extra nudge so he can steal a few more centimeters of space in your mouth. When he gives you a particularly hard thrust straight into your throat, he grasps the back of your head, keeping you in place. You gag on him, struggling to maintain his girth, but the feeling makes you clench around nothing, because, fuck, it feels so good.

“Damn,” Su-bong groans, releasing his grip in your head so you can back off, but you don’t.

You can feel him staring down at you still struggling to contain him in your mouth. Until you swallow around him, and he stutters out words you can’t understand. He pushes at your shoulders to signal he needs a moment, which you quickly oblige, taking in a few deep breaths.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “If I die in these games, at least I get to go out after some good head.” When you attempt to grasp him once again, Su-bong grabs your wrist, stopping you. You peer up at him, trying to give him a look that translates into you begging him to keep sucking his cock, but he shakes his head. “Get up here,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet by your arm.

The way he grips your arm, hard enough to hurt, makes you whine. Not in protest because you can’t handle it, but because it feels good, and you want more. Su-bong hears your moan, and stops tugging at your arm long enough for you to get your footing.

“You like that?” he asks, and you nod in response. “I should have known.” He yanks you towards the sinks, spinning you around and holding you firmly by your hips. You can feel that his grip is much harder than before, because now he’s trying to test your limits.

One of his hands lets go of your hip, and slides up your back, forcing you to bend over the sink. Your hands grasp the sides of the sink for support as you watch Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror. You get an idea that immediately puts a smirk on your face; just because you’re giving him the upper hand doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun.

You take a step back so that you’re pressed against Su-bong, and you start grinding your ass against his erection. He lets out a deep groan, lowering his gaze between your bodies so he can watch the way you rub against him. You watch him lift his shirt up his stomach so he can get a better view of what you’re doing. Seeing Su-bong like this, pupils blown, licking his lips, giving you a glimpse of his body while he grinds along with you…fuck, you could come again just from the sight.

“You want it inside of you, or would you rather keep playing with it?” he asks, his hand not holding his shirt giving you a hard slap on your backside. You lurch forward and whimper from the contact, giving him your best pleading eyes through the mirror. “Say it, señorita,” he teases, angling hisnhips so he can tease the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “I need it. Please, baby. Make it hurt.”

“Jesus,” he laughs, squeezing your hip hard enough to make you arch. “I should have done this years ago.” Su-bong pushes inside of you, burying as deep as he can go. He pins you between himself and the sink, the porcelain hard against your hips. He doesn’t move immediately, but revels in the feeling of you squeezing around him. “Fuck,” he whispers, licking his lips and tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling with a groan. “You haven’t felt it like this before, have you? Are you sure you can take it? You’re shaking already.”

You hadn’t realized that you were trembling, but when he calls attention to it, your first instinct is to feel shy about it. But no, you want him to use you, to manhandle you, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. You’ll have to stroke his ego to get him to really give it to you the way you need it, but you’re not embarrassed of the way you’re going to act.

“Please fuck me,” you whine, swaying your hips, trying to get him to move. Su-bong stares at you in the mirror for a moment, eyes darting around your face before he grabs you by your shoulders to pull you upright with your back against his.

“Yeah?” he whispers in your ear, looking at you in the mirror. “You’re begging me? Do you need anybody or is it just me?” His hands slide up your shirt, cupping your breasts and squeezing them roughly; you see him smirk when he rubs his thumbs over your hard nipples.

“You, just you. Please!”

Su-bong growls as he bends you at your waist again, forcefully pressing you over the sink. You brace yourself on the sides, unable to lift your gaze to find him for his hand that holds you down by the back of your head. He slowly shifts his hips back, pulling all the way out until it’s just his tip inside of you, and waits for you to start squirming.

When he snaps his hips forward again, he drives you against the sink hard, the pain immediately evident in your hips. And you clench around him from the sensation. He repeats the motion again, harder, and you whine, your grip on the sink slipping.

Su-bong starts a pace. A slow and hard pace, driving you against the edge of the sink over and over until the pain starts to numb and your pussy aches from how roughly he thrusts into you. He still holds your head down, pressing it against the porcelain near the taps.

“What is it that you said before?” Su-bong begins, speaking gruff and deep as he keeps his slow pace. “That I ‘wouldn’t know what to do with it’? Do you still think that?” Your eyes water because he’s fucking mocking you. He can see and feel everything that he’s doing to you, but he needs to hear you tell him; he wants you to eat your words.

“No, my pussy’s yours,” you whine, one of your hands blindly reaching behind you to grab his forearm. ”It feels fucking great. You’re so big, no one has ever stretched me like this.”

Su-bong grabs both of your arms, bringing them behind you and holding them against your back to pin you down to the sink. You briefly wonder how many bruises you’ll end up with by the end of the night, but you don’t have much time to be distracted as he uses his grip on your arms for leverage.

He starts to thrust into you again, and fuck it feels so good to have him pounding you into the sink. You hear his breath come out in heavy huffs as he sets his pace, speeding up from what he’d previously done. You can’t help yourself, moaning in a way that you never have for anyone else before: needy and whiny.

“You love this, don’t you?” Su-bong asks, breathless, but still determined to get those sweet sounds from you.

You start to feel tension building in your stomach again, and you are desperate to get another climax, so you struggle against his grip to signify that you want him to free your wrists. He quickly obliges, instead holding you firmly by your waist with one hand, spanking you hard with the other. You moan as you brace yourself on the sink again, working against him to try to get him deeper if it’s even possible.

“Spank me again,” you beg, your voice sounding unlike your own as his hips start to thrust faster.

“Oh, are you a bad girl?” Su-bong asks, and you can actually hear him smirking.

You nod furiously, and he quickly slaps your backside again, hard enough to make it sting. Your legs tremble beneath you, and you know it won’t take much to get another orgasm. You bring one of your shaky hands from the sink to your thighs, but Su-bong catches your wrist to bring it behind your back, pinning it there.

”Uh-uh,” he chides. “This pussy belongs to me, isn’t that what you said? I’ll decide when you can come.” You moan his name in the most pathetic way you’re able to manage, and he laughs in response, landing another slap to your ass.

“Please,” you moan, dropping your head forward next to the faucet, and closing your eyes. “I’ll be good for you…I’ll come as many times as you want me to.” You aren’t even sure if you’re going to be able to keep your promise because your body is already weak, but you need it right now.

“Shit,” he moans, leaning over you to press his weight against your arm and back. “That’s so sexy…I’ll give you what you want only because you’re being such a good slut for me.”

Su-bong reaches around front of you, rubbing circles on your clit. The sensation makes your knees buckle immediately and you moan louder, swearing and muttering his name. Su-bong’s hips plow harder into you, faster still, and the speed at which he teases your clit increases along with it. It’s only another moment before you feel yourself crashing over the edge.

You’re sure someone will be able to hear you moaning Su-bong’s name, because you can almost feel the vibrations echoing off of the walls. Your body quakes with your orgasm, the sensation flowing through you all the way to your fingertips. Su-bong slows his thrusts until finally he stops, still buried deep inside of you. His hands set softly on your hips, giving you a moment’s reprieve to catch your breath.

“You good?” he asks, quietly, rubbing one of his hands over your backside.

“Mhm, keep going,” you mutter.

“Needy,” he chuckles, slowly pulling out of you with a small groan.

When Su-bong pulls you away from the sink, you feel the dull pain from how he’s handled you so far, but now, he shoves your back against the wall between two sinks. You pant softly, staring into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, until he presses both hands against the wall on either side of your head.

When he leans in to kiss you, you expect him to be rough, but it’s surprisingly soft, and tender. While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking at a steady pace. Su-bong groans into the kiss, but breaks away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes closed.

“Mmm,” he hums, rocking his hips against your hand. “I thought you wanted to be a slut. You’re playing with me like I'm your boyfriend.”

“I can’t keep my hands off of you,” you reply, stealing a kiss that makes him smirk faintly. Your free hand slides under his shirt, touching his skin softly for a moment until you dig your nails in just a little. Su-bong inhales sharply the smirk on his lips spreading wider. “You like it, anyway,” you tease.

“I’m only letting you have a break before it’s my turn again,” he responds, tipping his head back to look into your eyes. His face displays mixed emotions as he tries to keep his composure, but you can see the amusement as well — the break must be over.

Su-bong grasps your wrists, moving your hands to set on the sinks on either side of you. He keeps his eyes trained on your face as he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit. You mewl in response; you don’t want to stop because you need more, but fuck, you’re so sensitive from your romp thus far. You break eye contact with Su-bong, your head lolling forward as his slow torture of your clit spreads a shiver throughout your body.

“I thought you wanted more,” he teases, tilting his head around to try to catch your gaze. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to take it. My butterfly wants to fly away again.”

“I want you so bad it’s making me fucking angry,” you reply, when his head nudges yours to signify he wants to see your face.

“Yeah?” he laughs, grinning at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. You feel his fingers move closer to your entrance, his middle and ring fingers slipping inside of you quickly. “This is what you want? For me to make you come again? Tell me how good it is.” Su-bong starts to pump his fingers into you roughly, his hand angled so the heel of his hand rubs your clit as he goes. “Tell me” he says, his free hand grasping your throat, not yet applying pressure, but only holding you.

“It feels so fucking good,” you moan, grabbing his hand that holds your throat and urging him to tighten his grip. His eyes flash briefly with concern, but you nod your head quickly.

“Put your hands back on the sinks,” Su-bong commands, so you quickly grab the sinks again, using them for support as you feel your next orgasm beginning to build. “You can only let go if you need me to stop. Otherwise, you stay just like this. Remember, this belongs to me now. Right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding furiously as you keep your eyes on his face. He studies every emotion on your face, as if he needs to commit it to memory, until he starts to finger you harder and faster.

His grip on your throat tightens and you drag in a ragged breath while you can. You close your eyes, trying to maintain your composure, but his grip tightens again. You can feel his rings pressing firmly into your skin. You use your hold on the sinks as leverage to grind against his hand, feeling yourself inching closer to release.

“Oh, god,” you gasp. “Please.”

He fingers you harder, curling them inside of you to get you right where he wants. The hand that holds your throat now cuts off your ability to breath and you feel almost euphoric at the sensation. Su-bong’s eyes never leave your face, searching for any signs from you that it’s too much. When his grip loosens briefly, you pull in a ragged breath mixed with a groan, but you’re thankful for the air. You start panting, losing any shred of inhibitions that may have been left over.

Su-bong doesn’t let up, but keeps thrusting his fingers, trying to get them deeper with each push. He still applies some pressure to your throat, not cutting off the air supply completely, but enough for you to feel his rings digging into you. The tightening in your stomach increases, fluttering out slowly into your aching limbs until finally it snaps. You let out another desperate and loud moan to reverberate off of the walls of the bathroom, repeating praises around Su-bong’s name as if it was all you knew. You use your grip on the sinks to help you grind against his hand, to wring out every second of your climax.

“You’re so sexy,” Su-bong mutters in your ear, his deep voice sending another wave of pleasure through your body. He keeps working you with his fingers until your legs start to quake and you become overstimulated, so you grab his shirt with one hand, fisting it hard.

“Please,” you gasp. Su-bong slows down until he stops again, letting out a moan in your ear, as if he’s just as intoxicated from this moment as you are.

Su-bong grasps your hips with both hands, keeping you upright as you feel your legs turning to jelly. You lazily drag your eyes to his, watching his eyebrows raise in question — he’s checking on you again. You nod, and watch the way he brings his hand back to your throat to soothingly rub the marks that his rings left. In your heightened state, your heart skips a beat because who knew he was so fucking considerate.

“How about this…” Su-bong begins, stealing a quick kiss from you before he takes a few shuffled steps backwards towards the pile of clothes.

You watch him spread the clothes more evenly before he sits on top of his jacket and shoves his pants and briefs down to his ankles now. He grasps his cock, slowly stroking his hand over it a few times while he looks at you.

“If your pussy belongs to me, you can come over here and make this yours,” he nods his head to his lap. You realize that he could ask for you to do anything in that moment, and you’d do it without question.

You make your way over to him on shaky legs, and he notices quickly — he responds by extending his hand to you, which you happily accept. You step one foot over him and lower to your knees, straddling his waist and putting just enough pressure between your overly sensitive pussy and his length. Su-bong hums in satisfaction, pressing his hands to your hips to urge you to very softly grind against him.

“I used to think about this,” you whisper, your voice soft because maybe you’re afraid to admit it after all of the annoyance he gave you. “Fucking you.”

“Was it like this?”

“No,” you shake your head, your hands taking hold of his shirt and bunching it up around his ribs. “But I like this better.”

Su-bong lifts his arms up, allowing you to pull his shirt over his head and discard it. Placing your hands to his chest, you shove him to lay on his back, and use that pressure against his chest to help you grind yourself against him a little harder.

“Are you trying to come again?” he breathes, holding your hips, to steady you. All you can do is shake your head, but still you keep grinding, dragging yourself back and forth along his cock. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he says, one hand sliding under your shirt to squeeze your breast.

You dig your nails into his stomach and the moan he lets rattle from his chest is gorgeous. He grabs your hips more firmly as if he’s torn between letting you continue and throwing you down and finishing himself off. You keep pushing him, scraping your nails along his chest until he finally cracks.

Su-bong guides your hips backwards enough for him to reach between your bodies and slide himself inside of you. You both moan together, and you drink in the way it feels to have him inside of you again, stretching you out.

“Go ahead, it’s yours,” Su-bong says, his voice strained. He takes his hands off of your hips and props them behind his head, letting you ride him as you see fit.

With your hands still on his chest, you start at a steady pace, but you know you won’t be able to take it for very long. The sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the room, mixing with your moans of his name and Su-bong’s heaving breaths. It drives you to move faster, rolling your hips so you can chase your fourth climax of the day.

Your limbs feel as though they are on fire, an ache resonating through your whole body but you couldn’t stop — you needed him. Faster and faster you move until your rhythm feels sloppy and you start to lose your steam. Su-bong, sensing this, sits up and wraps his arms around your waist holding your bodies together so he can help you move along with him.

You take the opportunity to kiss him, sloppy and wet because you couldn’t have it any other way. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging on it as you pull him even closer to you. You find yourself moaning into his mouth as you feel another climax approaching. He growls in return, breaking the kiss and focusing on getting you off.

This time, when your climax hits, Su-bong fucks you through it, your entire body feeling like it was alight. You shake and moan and beg for something but you don’t know what. Your hands grab his back, nails digging in and clawing up his back; he fucking loves it as much as he loves when you pull his hair.

“Good girl, my good girl,” Su-bong groans.

He shoves you backwards so he’s on his knees while you are now on your back, the whole time keeping his length buried inside of you. He pins your legs to the floor and begins to fuck you again, harder and relentless. You feel yourself still shaking with the remnants of your previous orgasm that now begins to fade into yet another one when his fingers make contact with your clit.

Su-bong pistons his hips harder, driving himself deeper into you than you imagined possible until finally he reaches his own climax. You hold your hands around his waist, helping him along as he keeps driving into you. He moans your name, mixed with nonsensical mutters and needy groans as he fills you up with everything he has.

When he collapses on top of you, Su-bong bites your neck hard, and you can only whine out a raspy sound that you don’t even recognize belongs to you. With his body on top of yours, you can see his back, emblazoned with a tattoo of his own name, now covered in your scratch marks. The sight sends a chill through your body: you certainly made him yours.

“Someone will be in soon, I’m sure,” you whisper after you both stay silent for several minutes trying to catch your breath. You tighten your thighs and arms around his body, trying to get one more feel of him before he moves, and you feel his lips press to your neck where he had just left a deep bite.

“Hmm, you’re right.”

Slowly, Su-bong climbs off of you, taking care to make sure he doesn’t hurt you beyond what you already did. It takes you both several minutes to clean yourselves up to appear even remotely presentable, during which you steal a few glances at him to compare the marks you left on one another.

As you zip up your jacket, the last article of clothing you need to put on, you take another look at yourself in the mirror. You notice the distinct mark on your neck from where Su-bong’s hand gripped you earlier, along with the bite mark he left. You zip your jacket the whole way to cover your neck, just as you spot Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror. He stands several feet behind you, sizing you up with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you ask. He locks eyes with you in the mirror.

“If we don’t make it out of here…” he trails off, leaving an uneasy feeling in the air that crashes you both back to the reality of your situation.

“Don’t think like that,” you say, turning to face him again. “We’ll get out of here and pay off our debts, then get back to our lives. We’ll forget all about this place.” You shift your weight between your feet and immediately feel the throbbing of pain in your body; you pull in a sharp breath in response. You can still feel him all over you.

“You’re going to forget about everything, hm?” he grins in response, crossing closer to you and tugging at the collar of your jacket to see the mark he left on your neck. ”My butterfly, always trying to fly away,” he teases. You smile in response, and bite your lip to try to hide it from him before you speak.

“I’m not flying this time. I’m running.”

“You’ll slow down one day,” he laughs. “Then I’ll find you, and I’ll reclaim my property.”

“Oh, I’m your property now, am I?” you grin. Being referred to as ‘property’ isn’t something you’d normally derive pleasure from, but with Su-bong…you fucking love it.

“Mhm,” he nods, taking hold of your hips carefully, so as not to aggravate the bruises he left there. “You might think that you’ll forget everything about this place, but you won’t forget about those five orgasms I just gave you.”

“Well,” you begin, tracing one of your fingers around the circle on the blue patch that is affixed to his jacket. “You’d better think about that when you walk up to that podium tomorrow, then. Because if I make it out of here without you…I’ll have to find someone who’ll get me off six times.”

You steal another kiss from him, this one deeper and more passionate than before. When you pull back, you see the smug smirk on Su-bong’s face, and this time, you match it. You shove him away from you playfully, and leave him alone in the bathroom with his thoughts.

As you slowly walk back to the dorm, you realize you can smell Su-bong all over you, feel him and taste him, as well. Your body aches with what he did to you, and you know he’s right: you won’t be able to stop thinking about him if you get out of this place. The way his voice sounded when he promised that he would find you makes your mind race with what else the two of you could do, but for now you can only hope that tomorrow, he presses the ‘X’.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

@bucktommyfluffebruary Day 8: Surprise

Another of my prompts from last year that fit.

*****

Rated T | 2,430 | tw: homophobic slur

Buck knew that Tommy loved a romcom. He liked lots of genres of movies, and all for different reasons. But romcoms he loved because of the fantasy of them. He’d told Buck once that growing up with a father like his, and then spending the majority of his adult years firmly tucked away in the closet, that he’d wholeheartedly believed that a true love or romance was not in his own future. That living vicariously through two people on screen, even if they were straight, was the closest thing he’d get to a happy ending.

He’d very much changed his mind since he’d met his Evan, but still Buck had been determined to give him all the romantic moments he’d missed out on over his life.

It started with surprising Tommy with a candle lit dinner ready when he came home from work.. Which ended with Buck being bent over the table as dessert. Not quite the emotional response he was going for, but hey who was he to say no to that!

Tommy mentioned once a book he loved as kid and Buck spent three weeks hunting down a first edition. He was certainly blown away by Bucks thoughtfulness and showed him immediately by getting on his knees. Again Buck was happy to oblige—he always was—but it still wasn’t the response he was truly hoping for.

He wanted to sweep Tommy entirely off his feet. Woo him to the point of breathlessness. Make him feel so unbelievably cherished and loved that he forgets out to speak.

And then the idea hit him.

Oddly, while watching Carrie.

“Man, the worst thing that happened at our senior prom was Mikey Jacobs spiking the punch. I still can’t drink Jack Daniels” Buck reminisced.

“Better than pigs blood, babe. Or, you know, the revenge by telekinesis.”

“True. What about you? What was yours like?”

Tommy sighed. “I, uh, didn’t go to mine.”

“Really?” Buck looked at him in surprise. “I mean granted you were secretly gay, but I know the girls would have been killing each other to get the Tommy Kinard to take them to prom.” The idea seemed to bring such joy to his Evans face that Tommy almost didn’t want to admit the reality.

“I appreciate the support, babe, but I wasn’t exactly drowning in dates with girls.” He laughed “I was 6’2” by the time I was 15 but I didn’t know how to build muscle or even eat right for my body’s needs. I went from 5’8” and over weight to 6’2” and skinny, which my dad just loved to point out constantly. I was super insecure and had zero confidence to ask a a girl out.” A look of sadness flickered across his face.

“Did people not go stag at your school?”

Tommy huffed a cold laugh. “Only fags and virgins go stag to a prom, Thomas.” He mimicked his father’s voice. Buck gently rubbed Tommys arm.

“I’m sorry you had to hear shit like that from your dad. You deserved so much better than that.”

“I know that now and mostly because of you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Bucks lips and smiled.

“Good.” He smiled back, already formulating his next plan to woo the shit out of his boyfriend.

This one took a few weeks of planning but Buck was certain it would knock Tommys socks off.

****

Tommy was surprised that Lucy had suddenly turned up at Harbour on what was supposed to be her day off. Even more surprised when she offered, nay insisted that she take Tommys remaining 24 hours of his 48 hours shift.

In the end their Captain had to practically shove him out of the harbour doors to get him out. He eventually relented and left for home.

Approaching their front door he noticed a note in handwriting so bad it had to be Bucks. God did he love him but the man’s penmanship looked like a doctor’s. A drunk doctor’s. Wearing a plaster cast. Thankfully after almost a year together he’d learned how to decipher Evans scribbles.

“Go straight upstairs.

Shower and get dressed..”

“Huh?”

“Don’t “huh” me, Kinard. Just do it. Then meet me in the dining room.

P.s: love you, Your Evan.”

Tommy chuckled to himself but did as he was asked and walked straight up the stairs to their bedroom. He was surprised, and confused, to see his tux freshly pressed and laid out on their bed.

After showering and dressing he made his way back down found himself knocking on his own dining room door for permission to enter.

“Come in.” Evans voice called from inside.

Tommy opened the door his mouth and eyes opened wide at what he saw.

The table had been pushed to the side wall, with a black cloth draped over the top, atop of which was a punch bowl filled with an orangey pink liquid. Surrounding it was lots of bowls filled with candy and chips and other kids favourite snacks.

A shiny disco ball hung from the ceiling with paper decorations swinging from the Center of the room and up to the corners. Twinkling lights hung all around giving the room a gorgeous warm glow.

And standing in the centre of the dining room, under the disco ball, in a tux that fit him so incredibly perfectly was the most beautiful man Tommy had ever seen.

“What’s.. what’s going on?” Tommy asked not being able to hide his smile.

Evan took a few steps toward him and held out his hand. “Thomas Kinard. Will you go to prom with me?” Every time Tommy thinks he can’t fall in love with Evan any more, he’s proven wrong.

For the next two hours they do nothing but dance like idiots, drink spiked punch (tequila instead of Jack Daniel’s this time - buck would actually like to remember this prom), and snack on junk food.

Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he had let loose like this. Or even smiled this hard. Evan was by far the greatest joy to ever come into his life. He reminded Tommy of what fun was, what joy was and what it felt like to be truly unashamedly himself - something that nobody had ever made him felt safe enough to truly be.

Buck knew he’d achieved his task of sweeping Tommy off his feet tonight already, but there was one more thing he decided, last minute, that he was going to do.

Buck picked up his phone and searched for the perfect song, settling on Songbird by Eva Cassidy because it was on the soundtrack to Tommy’s favourite movie Love, Actually. He didn’t even need to do anything because as soon as the opening bars played through the speaker Tommy instantly knew what it was and pulled Buck into a slow dance.

They swayed slowly and silently for a few moments just breathing in the perfect moment with each other with Tommys arms wrapped around Bucks waist and Bucks arms around his neck.

“So, not that I’m complaining, babe, what with all the romancing lately?” Tommy asked.

“You deserve it.” Was Bucks simply reply. Tommy looked at him with a mixture of adoration with a hint of confusion. “You go out of your way to show me how much you love me and to do all these sweet and romantic things for me, but you deserve them too. You deserve to be shown how much you mean to me also.” Tommy was looking at him with those eyes again - the big bright ones Buck first saw right before he kissed him for the first time - and he had to use every bit of strength to hold back from jumping him, because he needed to say this before his courage disappeared.

“I see how you look at these little moments in the romcoms you love and I hate that you never got to experience them, so I wanted you to have some of them of your own. Our own. Plus, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to tell you just how much I love you. To tell you how unbelievably happy I am that you walked, well, flew into my life. To tell you that I have never in all of my life thought that I deserved to have someone so beautiful and kind and wonderful and just fucking incredible as you. And.. and to ask you to marry me.”

Tommy blinked. Did he hear that correctly?

“Wh-what?”

“I know, it’s- we’ve not even been together a full year yet, and full disclosure I didn’t even know I was going to ask until, like, 10 minutes ago, so I don’t even have a ring, and-“ Tommy grabbed Buck either side of his neck and pressed his lips firmly against his. When Tommy pulled back his cheeks were wet with tears cascading over his beautiful lower lashes. Finally, Buck thought, though he kept that to himself.

“Hold that thought.” He said simply before quickly leaving the room. He took 2 steps at a time as he hurtled upstairs, before running back down seconds later back to Buck still stood in the center of the dining room.

He lifted up his palm on top of which was a dark blue velvet box, opened, with 2 tarnished silver bands of differing sizes, each with a shiny silver strip running around the centre of each of them.

“You bought.. how long have you..” Buck could barely get the words out. His eyes kept flicking between Tommys beautiful face and the rings in his hand.

“About a month. Well, I ordered them custom made about 2 months ago but I’ve had them for a month.”

“Custom?” Was all Buck could get out.

Tommy pointed to the shiny part of the rings. “A couple of years ago I had this rescue and the husband of the woman we were life flighting was telling us about how they met. Anyway, he said that his family had this tradition of putting something sentimental in the band to give to your partner as.. sort of as a piece of you. You know that piece of metal that sits on my desk in the study?”

“Y-yeah. It’s part of the blade from the first chopper you flew when you transferred to harbour.”

“Right. Well, it now has a little chunk missing.” He laughed. “Transferring to the 217 was the first piece of me finally becoming who I always wanted to be. You’re the last piece, Evan.”

Buck had this whole night planned—minus is own spontaneous proposal—and had wanted Tommy to be the feeling pleasantly surprised and loved.. yet here he was himself being loved so fucking beautifully it was taking everything within him to not break apart right there.

“What’s-what’s in your ring?” He asked.

“Well, that was.. a little trickier. And full disclosure on my part— Maddie knows because I had to enlist her help.”

“Okay..”

“It’s difficult to pick something when your boyfriend loves so many things,” he teased “and then Maddie.. she gave me a little silver bracelet that she was given as a kid and-“

Buck inhaled a breath when he realised what bracelet Tommy was referring to. Immediately his whole chin began to quiver and tears filled his eyes.

“The one that Daniel gave to her.”

“Yeah.” Tommy said softly. “She told me how he’d seen it one day when he was with your grandparents when he was 6 or something and insisted he give to her for her birthday.” Buck nodded, not being able to find words. “She said that this would be something that would be special to you because you never got to know him. Is-is that okay?”

Buck looked from the ring back to up Tommy; eyes completely blurred from tears pouring out of him.

“I.. this..” He could always find peace in Tommy eyes but this was all so- it was overwhelming and.. he took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

“Tommy, this whole night was-was supposed to be about you.. a-and showing you just how much to mean to me and then..” he blew out another breath trying to center himself “and then here you are with the most beautiful fucking gesture, I.. I can’t..” The tears flowed once again and this time he threw his arms around Tommys neck and held on tight. Tommy, as he always did, reciprocated and held him tightly back.

“I love you so fucking much.” He cried into Tommys neck. Tommys own tears were flowing too, now.

“God I love you, too, Evan. More than I could ever even show you.”

“I don’t know-“ Buck pulled back with a laugh “I think you hit it out of the ball park with this one.” He gently thumbed Tommys tears from his cheeks. He looked closer at the rings.

“Are there inscriptions?”

“Only on yours.” Tommy replied, sniffing.

“For my Evan. Always.” Buck read out loud. Tommy wiped away Bucks next tears that came. They were the only type of tears he ever wanted to illicit from his Evan.

“I thought you would what to decide what to inscribe on my ring.”

“Can I put it on you now?” Tommy asked.

“Uh, technically I should be putting yours on you because I asked first. Actually, you haven’t actually said yes by the way..”

Tommy reached up an gently fixed a curlon Bucks head and looked at him with those big earnest eyes again.

“Yes.”

Buck took his ring out of the box and slid it onto Tommy finger, then Tommy did the same with Bucks ring.

Buck gripped the lapels of Tommys tux and pulled him into a kiss. They both sighed into it. It wasn’t a kiss that they’d shared before; this one was full of promise, of hope, a future - the rest of their lives as husbands.

Tommy pulled back for a second “By the way, I did promise Maddie that the second we became engaged that we would face time her. Where’s your phone?”

“She can wait a little bit.” Buck replied aiming his lips at Tommys neck.

“You sure? She might be mad.” Buck lifted up and looked Tommy in the eyes.

“Tommy, there’s only one thing I want to do right now and it absolutely does not involve my sister.”

“She can wait a little bit.” Tommy repeated wrapping his arms around his Evans neck and pulling him in for another deep kiss.

[meelusinee]

NEW NUMBER | R.L X READER

word count \ 2.0k | fluffy fluff | slash / remus lupin x reader

in which you get remus' number at the bakery he works at

NEW NUMBER | REMUS LUPIN X READER

Remus had decided he needed a job.

His friends had money. James, Sirius, Regulus, Lily. Even Peter, who wasn’t rich but wasn’t poor. 

Not like him at least.

So he decided to get a job. He didn’t think he could have a job in a Wizarding area, as much as he wanted to. It wouldn’t be safe, to say the least. 

Which led to his journey to a Muggle town. Small, just outside of Hogsmeade, with an older style surrounding the buildings. There was a lot of greenery and other calming elements, wide sidewalks and scooters for transportation.

Plus, he found a job as a baker. 

He only needed training for more advanced things. Remus had muscles big enough to carry the pounds and pounds of flour and other ingredients. And he knew recipes, which he learned when his mother tried to distract him as a kid.

It was nice. 

He had great coworkers, and a good genre of customers. A calming environment too, which helped his pain a lot better than he thought it would. He also lucked out with his boss as well, who was also a Werewolf trying to make a living. Which meant the payment could be given to him in Galleons rather than Muggle currency.

Some days, he came to the bakery even when he wasn’t called in for work. The coffee was amazing, to say the least, and the food was even better.

His job seemed to get even better when you joined the picture.

It was a rather boring day at the bakery. Remus had been assigned the front counter, he had been a real hit with the older ladies who came in most often. He didn’t exactly like it, but they sometimes gave him extra money as a tip.

He never complained about that.

He also didn’t complain about the phone calls, something that he didn’t mind at all. He liked the comfort of the barrier between him and the phone.

“Welcome to Bettie’s Bakery, how can I help?” his voice rang through the bakery. It was mostly empty at the moment, all except for the workers and whoever was on the phone right now.

“Hi!” 

Remus felt his heart pounding at the sound of your voice, mind running wild as it flitted through different lines of romantic poetry that he had read  over the years. Who was he kidding, it was one single word that you said. Just one.

“Hi there,” he said, clearing his throat. “How are you doing today?”

He smiled softly as he heard you giggling over the business phone, leaning both of his elbows on the counter as he listened to you. “I’m good.”

“Good?” he asked. “Not great?”

“I’ll get to great if you keep talking to me.” you giggled to him.

Remus felt a wider smile breaking out on his face as he heard that, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I’ll be able to keep talking to you if you order something from the bakery.”

“Oh, yes!” you said, giggling. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his life, sweeter than the taste of thaumatin. “I wanted to wonder if you had this bread that I really like. My friend made this tomato bisque that tastes like spaghetti, I pair it with this special loaf you guys used to make. I don’t know if you still make it though.”

“What’d it taste like?” Remus asked, assuming that you didn’t know the name based on how you were describing the situation. 

“Uh,” you mumbled. “Kinda like a Cuban loaf. Very peelable, but it had a nice crust still. It had a special name you guys made though.”

“Like a baguette shape?” he asked.

“Mhm!” you smiled. “I always cut it in half.”

“Was it Sasha’s Slice?” he asked, looking at the different breads held in their display case. “It’s a baguette with a decently hard crust, kind of sweet.”

“Yes, that one!” you smiled. “You still have it?”

“Yea, we do.” he chuckled softly, his Welsh accent coming out a bit more than usual when he was talking to you. Maybe it was the natural comfort he felt around you, despite the fact he barely knew you. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe he was just tired, and it had nothing to do with you.

“Am I gonna see you in here?” he asked.

“If you’re there before closing.” you chuckled, the sound of your keys jingling in the background.

“I’ll be here after close.” he said, his voice a bit hoarser before he cleared it. He held the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he started to look around for things to distract himself with, writing random words on a piece of paper to look like he was doing something. “My night.”

“Well, I hope I see you!” you giggled. 

“Me too.” he smiled, sighing as he heard the sound of the phone hanging up in his ears.

“Hello there!” your voice chirpped through the bakery.

Remus looked up as soon as he heard it, like he was a dog and your voice was a dog whistle made just for his ears alone. Maybe your looks were too, a stunning beauty he doubted he could drag his eyes away from.

You were around his age, he could tell that much. Maybe a year younger, but he hoped that didn’t matter much to you. If something were to happen, that was.

“Hi.” he smiled as you walked to the counter. “Sarah’s Slice?”

You gasped dramatically, pointing a finger at him. “It’s you! Phone man!”

“Phone man?” he chuckled at the nickname, both of you bursting out into laughter at it. Indeed, you did meet through the phone, but it was still a rather funny nickname regardless. “I thought it’d be bread man at first.”

“Maybe ‘phone bread man’ then.” you said, watching as Remus bagged your bread.

“Phone bread man it is.” he said. “I’ll head to the bank soon, make sure they change my name. I’ll start with my nametag first though.”

You gasped before giggling, a wide smile on your face as you grabbed the bread. “Oh, why thank you! You make sure to add a ‘Mr’ in front of it.”

He chuckled, smiling at you. “Mr. Phone Bread Man. First, middle, last.”

“That’s the spirit!” you smiled bright.

Remus looked around the store to make sure nobody else was there before leaning forward a bit, his eyes now meeting yours as he spoke. “Do you come here often? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Not as often as I’d like.” you whispered. “I have school, but it’s working out okay. I’m moving down here soon, a small town just North.”

He smiled softly as he heard you ramble about the lovely town your mother would be taking you too, more so captured by the way your lips moved rather than the words coming out of your mouth. Though, if anyone asked, he was sure he could recite the talk in his sleep. Word for word.

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered.

You smiled, the bag holding your bread crinkling in his hands. “It’d be more interesting with a friend to spend my time with.”

Remus looked at you with a raised eyebrow before the both of you laughed, your eyes watching as he pulled out his phone and opened the app. He had gotten it so his boss could contact him for work schedules, something he charmed to still be usable in Hogwarts. He was sure it was about to pay off in more ways than just that now.

“Thank you,” you said, voice trailing off as you looked at his nametag. “Remus.”

“Remus.” he smiled, much like a lovesick puppy might look at its owner. 

“Y/N.” you smiled gently, holding your bread filled bag up. “And thank you, really Remus.”

Remus smiled, watching as you walked out of the bakery with your phone in hand. He didn’t know what way you were going, not yet, but he was planning on learning soon. At least, he hoped.

Remus was sat in class with Sirius and James to each side of him, foot bouncing up and down as he sat in Potions class. He had already done the assignment the night before, submitting it early so he would have time to relax.

Sirius demanded help with the potion they were working on, but Remus gave up after he began to wing it much like James. Despite the fact that James had been doing Potioneering since he was a kid, Sirius decided they were on the same exact level with potion making. James definitely didn’t help.

Which led to him sitting in silence, watching the fumes of different potions and ingredients finding their way into the air.

That was, at least, until you texted him.

Y/N: hi there!!! youre remus, right?

Remus looked at the message for a bit with a small blush on his face, biting his lip as he texted a quick response. 

REMUS: Yes, Remus. Y/N?

Y/N: i can’t believe you remembered! thats so sweet :c

Remus smiled softly at that, adjusting his posture in his seat to be more comfortable. He tried to minimize himself as much as possible, which wasn’t much given he was well into 6 feet territory. 

REMUS: You are rather unforgettable.

Y/N: and you are apparently a sweetheart

Y/N: btw i made the bread and soup!! It tasted really good, and i wanted to thank you

Remus felt his phone vibrating against his hand as you texted him more about the bread and the soup, eventually offering a photo without waiting for a yes or a no. It looked delicious, he had to admit, a cheesy looking tomato bisque soaking into the bread.

Y/N: i must be rambling so much though, im so sorry! how are you doing??

Remus chuckled to himself, not having minded your ramble one bit. On the contrary, he thought it was a rather endearing tidbit about you.

REMUS: Don’t feel sorry, I enjoyed it.

REMUS: I’m okay though. Having to suffer through classes.

Y/N: you have classes???

Y/N: i didn’t mean to interrupt them or anything, im so sorry!

Y/N: ill let you get right back to it right now

Remus chuckled softly, his fingers typing a quick response. He was rather glad that he was in the back of the classroom, Professor Slughorn not able to see far back enough to notice his phone. 

REMUS: Don’t be sorry, I’m not busy. I already completed the assignment so my friends could cheat off of it.

REMUS: Besides, I like talking to you. You’re a fun distraction. 

Remus felt his shoulder being nudged as soon as her saw your spamming of heart emojis and apologies, looking up to see James and Sirius staring at him with a rather teasing look.

“What?” he asked them.

Sirius waggled his eyebrows, nudging Remus again. “Who’re you texting?

“If you don’t back off, I’m taking my homework back.” Remus said threateningly, his eyes narrowing in a way that showed he meant every single word.

“Understood Sir!” James said, going back to his potion. As much as he loved potions, he hated following the rules with them. Which meant that he loved Remus’ notes and homeworks, his ability to understand the words and make them sound even better getting him higher marks.

Sirius just hated Potions regardless, mainly out of spite. It was Snape’s favorite subject, and he tried hard not to have anything in common with the greasy-haired boy.

Suffice to say, a lack of homework was a good threat.

Remus went back to texting you almost as soon as the two looked away. Maybe even before, he wasn’t quite sure. You were like a black hole that he was falling into, with rings of gravity around you sucking him through different perceptions of time and space before crushing him completely. 

You had him utterly hooked. Something that, surprisingly, he didn’t mind the idea of.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

thank you so much everyone for reading! i haven't been writing as much, but i'm hoping that, with valentine's day and the spirit of love fast approaching, i'm able to get more stuff done. i might make a small series of just text messages between some characters, though i haven't decided who yet, so feel free to comment if you want any specific character!

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, reblog, and have a wistful day!

[ledesaid]

Almost Complete - Shazam without Achilles

↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕↕

AU - Billy receives the news, not all his sponsors agreed that he was to be the new champion of magic.

Solomon was happy to guide him with his advice. ▲ Hercules was convinced that he would be a great lion when he grew up a little. ▲ Atlas was very kind and is willing to bear some of the weight of the new champion. ▲ Zeus had given his approval in consensus with the choice of the wizard. ▲ Mercury really enjoyed feeling the strength of speed through Billy again. ▲ Achilles, yes, this Achilles... He didn't want him fighting for justice or fighting in general. He was completely against a child throwing himself against evil, injustice, pain, and many more things that Solomon hushed up so as not to worry Billy. ▲ It was non-negotiable, Achilles would not give his gift until Billy was an adult or understood the magnitude of what it meant not to have it.

Then...

Yes. There was something that didn't come in the demigod package instructions or even in the warnings...

Billy receives an echo of all the damage he recibes in his divine form.

And boy... does it hurt!

Billy has paraded through all kinds of injuries. Black eyes, some broken or bruised bone and he is proud of having recovered from all of them.

Although...

People are too scared about his integrity.

So, there was only one alternative left, you know, that's why he left the orphanage and all his previous foster homes.

He had gotten used to the whole system and was at a dead end at the same time. But he didn't want to give rise to misunderstandings... Misunderstandings that would generate a barrage of abuse reports... heavens.

That wasn't heroic.

"What happened to you, Billy?"

"Sorry, I fell again..."

Billy doesn't want them to get involved. He wants to be a hero and is willing to bear that weight. That's why he took what little he had and escaped.

So he is opting for a word-based approach. Talking is better than hitting. Solomon always whispers it and, given his situation, he tries to hold on as much as he can.

But sometimes... one cannot choose.

Hal: Cap, are you okay?

Marvel: Yes! It's just going to leave me an ugly bruise. Do you know... Do you know how to heal a rib at home?

Hal: We'll fix it in the Watchtower, Cap. Can you still fight?

Billy knows he should say no. The blow broke a couple of ribs, he has felt a tingling sensation, the magic has healed the blow... But the echo of the damage will leave him with a broken rib.

Another blow in the same place and it could be much worse... Going to a hospital and returning to the system... Goodbye Captain... Goodbye freedom... Hello endless persecution.

Marvel: Yes, throw it at me, I'll send it to jail with one hit.

Hal: That's the spirit, Cap!

With the end of the day, Captain Marvel delivered the final blow.

But the one who really took it was Billy.

As usual, the infirmary in the Watchtower did not detect any damage in his adult form... But they didn't know what awaited him in Fawcett.

Marvel: Batman, sir, I need to take a couple of weeks off. I have an urgent matter to attend to and it cannot be postponed.

Batman: I'm going to send the notice, so we can support you in your city. Thanks for today, Captain.

Marvel: Thank you very much too Batman, I don't know what I would do without you.

Batman: Captain... Are you sure you're not hurt?

Billy: I-I have the resistance of Achilles, remember? I mean! Of course, I'm not hurt, Mr. Batman!

Billy narrowly escapes and prepares. It's time.

That terrible moment in his superhero career...

The curtain must fall.

Billy has already thought about it. The magnitude of the injury...

He must transform as close as possible to the hospital. If he can walk, he will go to his hideout and if he can't, he will have to surrender. Escaping will be terrible, but he would think about that when the time came.

It takes a while, pronouncing that word is so easy... But now it brings a bitter taste.

Sha... Sha...

Billy sits down. It will hurt less if he is sitting when it happens.

Billy: Shazam...

Billy faints next to an alley. It's the last thing he sees before waking up in the hospital.

He wears an oxygen mask.

His head hurts... Had he also hit there?

There were several devices connected, oh, and a social worker next to his bed.

He rejoined the Watchtower three weeks later. Batman had many questions, and Captain Marvel did what he does best: he escaped.

[sugurusladyknightt]

what i'm thinking of right now is what if someone tried hitting on you out while out on a date with your love.

satoru would've stepped away to grab the ice cream that had you waiting in a line for what you thought would feel like forever. it was fun though, the two of you pausing your initial conversation about the days plans in favour of people watching and listening in on the very scandalous conversations of those who stood with you in line. your eyes meeting in shock or surprise every so often, doing your best to disguise your laughs and gasps with charades of idle conversation and your own scandalous conversations referencing drama that, mind you doesn't really exist in your lives at the moment.

while he was a way your getting hit on by some creep. it didn't come off that way initially, but man was this getting uncomfortable fast. can this guy not take a hint? he's asking for your number once again and your refusing once again politely at first, and more stern as the advances keep coming. your not used to people that won't listen when you speak. since when did back off mean come closer? since when did i'm not interested become im just playing coy. since when did im taken, leave me alone translate to my relationship isn't real or isn't important to me and id throw it away for someone who doesn't understand basic boundaries and uses those suffocating, nauseating colognes?

drawing closer and closer to you. face far too close to yours, breathe stank too. yuck. he's gaining confidence now,convinced the 'boyfriend' you were talking about was an excuse you'd made up. your just nervous is all. playing hard to get.

panic starts to set into your bones. he's leaning back, all cocky now.

come on doll face, this 'boyfriend' of yours doesn't have to know. quit playing so high and mighty i know you want me.

you think you might throw up. when an ice cream cone hits him right in the centre of his face. comically sliding down his face. and satoru enters the scene. sun creating a halo around his fluffy white hair, your ho is glowing. signature classes sat pretty low on his nose his skin a little flushed from the heat (hence the ice cream) he's holding two more cones in his hands, walking towards you and and the offender, mock sympathy in his voice. as he expresses apologies that to just might seem sincere if your that stupid if you tried hard enough. grabbing the cone of his face to meet his eyes.

satoru has a incredibly towering stature, and while this wasn't news to you, it's quite impressive to see its advantages in real time.

peaking down at the face behind the sweet creamy mess, satoru recoils. "ew." his tone dripping with absolute disgust. turning around to make his "bleghh" face as he presses the now ice cream less cone into the man's hair. like a sad party hat above his head an sticks on of the other two, being careful to use the flavour he knows you like least, straight back into his face. massaging it around to cover as much of the monstrosity as possible before nodding proudly for his work. a pat on the make, and he's turing on his heel towards you with that blinding smile on his face.

dramatically, satoru drapes his hands over you shoulders, and leans his weight it, a pout on his strawberry glosses lips. "babyyyyy, the sight will haunt my night mares, scary people out there" he tuts standing straight with a satirical furrow between his brows. he should have been a theatre kid with all these dramatics. though you were greatful, and relived. he makes life feel so easy. it's contagious.

he looks down at you through his sunglasses small smile playing on his lips, face no longer contorted by an expression of discomfort or disgust.

satoru hands you the last cone. after all the two he got for him have served greater purpose than satisfying his sweet tooth. strong arm loosely hangs from you shoulder as you walk off leaving behind the cheap excuse of a man now covered in creamy deliciousness far too good him. your laughing at something satoru said as he glances back to see yhe newest addition to his hit list muttering to himself as he try's to get the ice cream of his over gelled greasy hair, fake designer top and horribly ugly face. satoru thinks he should just keep it as it was. ice cream was a far more pleasant sight. he looks back down at you eating away at your cone, there's a little caught at the corner of you lips.

smirking he leans down to lick it off, taking advantage of the angle of your head above his to make his eyes wide and pretty for you the same way he would when he was licking something else. your flustered, mouth open, paused mid sentence and your eyes wider than his now. wide eyes portraying his faux innocence drop to a sultry lidded gaze leaning in to kiss away another but in the other side. your fingers going up to feel if there's anything there on instinct.

he stands up quick, back to his regular self, pinching your check acting as if nothing had just transpired. like the subtle innuendo was felt only by you. "are you blushing?? god baby your such a pervert. is that all i am to you???"

and he's back to the dramatics. rolling your eyes your shrug him of and continue. he stays, watching you, his beloved walk ahead, he feels himself let out the dreamy exhale of a lovesick fool, he'll be the first to admit that for you, he is nothing else.

a quick jog is all it takes to catch up to you. arm coming back around your shoulder he leans in like he weighs the same as the feather. burying himself close to you. you smelt sweeter than ice cream. his hair tickles your neck, and your his face.

"baby"

a hmm is all he gets in reply, to busy lapping away at your cone to pay attention to the kind sexy clown you call you boyfriend. he got your favourite flavour after all.

extravagant gestures weren't something satoru shied away from, as we have gotten to see up close today. he was loud and carefree but he was yours. and you his. walking side by side, his arm around your shoulders, head resting close to you. he can feel your pulse (his posture must've looked horribly uncomfortableto someone watching from outside the two of you). it's peaceful like this. despite the bustling crowds and busy chatter around you, you shared a feeling of peace in that moment. body held close to the one you loved, despite the heat your far from bothered by the proximity. he smells so good.

then it hits him. no sweet treat :( the gravity of the situation makes it self clear to him, but his salvation, as always, is being held delicately in your hands.

"you wouldn't mind sharing with your brave, fearless, super funny, super hot, saviour knight now would do you baby"

[yujisdreamgirl]

Love and Lies

satoru gojo x reader

cw: drunk confessions, angst(?)

“how many times are you gonna do this, hm?” gojo grunts, carrying dragging a drunk you back to your place.

you mutter something inaudibly, gojo paying no mind to it as he focuses on getting you safely home.

“no.”

“no?” he turns to you confused.

“i dun wann go home..too lonely.”

gojo’s gaze softens, although his playful smirk still appears.

“pffft, you just wanna be in my sheets.”

he winces as you hit his head hard, “ow! i didn’t mean it like that, baby! i know you love my soft, $700 king sized bed.”

“you’re stupid..”

“i’m already helping your drunk ass yet you still bully me? ugh, you wound me.” gojo chuckles, putting his hand on his heart as he gasps dramatically.

after an uncomfortable length of silence and carrying you home, you spoke up.

“‘m sorry..”

gojo raises his eyebrow, “i know you are. you don’t think straight when you’re drunk, it’s okay.”

“i just.. haven’t been feeling well lately”

“…so you think drowning yourself in alcohol would make things better?” he sighs. “you’re lucky i’m here to take care of ya.”

you sigh guiltily, knowing he’s right. “yeah..”

when you get to his apartment, you immediately flop onto his bed—no hesitation, no questions asked.

gojo smiles as he gazes at you softly.

“alright, pretty girl. let’s get you comfy.”

he sits you up under the blanket, taking note of you tear stained cheeks.

“baby, what’s wrong?” he says as he wipes your tears away.

“i just- i don’t know what to do, satoru..” you sniffle.

“what do you mean you don’t know what to do?” he asks with a gentle tone, “you could start by taking more care of yourself. you don’t need to drink away your problems. not when i’m here at least.”

you wipe your tears aggressively, words caught up in your throat. “how can i do that when all my problems root from the people i can talk to?”

he pauses. his eyebrows furrow with concern, gently rubbing your arms as comfort.

“you’re.. afraid to talk about how you feel, huh?” you nod. he knows that feeling all too well. he’s given his all to protect you, that he forgot about this aspect of your well-being.

“hey, it’s okay!” he desperately tries to sound optimistic. “you don’t have to feel pressured, but you know you can always talk to me, right?”

a frown casts upon your face, “not when it’s about you.”

what?

panic stirs within gojo. what had he done for you to resort to alcohol? did he do something to greatly offend you? he knows he annoys you too much, but that’s just because you’re his best friend!

“what.. did i do something?”

when you don’t reply, your eyes half lidded and posture hunched over, gojo thinks he’s done the unspeakable. the kind of action that could make you write a whole book about it.

“..i like you.” your face lights up with sadness, a look clinging onto a thread of desperation.

a shiver ran down gojo’s soul. how could this happen? not even his six eyes could predict this.

you take gojo’s silence as an unspoken rejection, the disbelief in his eyes saying everything. “i’m sorry,”

gojo’s expression softens, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and slightly pulling his comforting hands away from your arms.

��hey, don’t apologise. there’s nothing to be sorry about, you just.. took me by surprise, that’s all.”

you look up at him, eyes glistening with tears.

“you.. what do you feel?”

he sighs, a mixture of longing and contemplation cast upon his face.

“i don’t know. i care about you, a lot more than i care to admit.” he chuckles, “you’re my best friend but i.. i haven’t really allowed myself to consider anything more than that.”

oh.

that was the cherry on top.

he panics, scrambling to find the words to ensure things don’t stay awkward between you two.

“look, it’s not that i haven’t thought about it before. you know, the possibility of us being more than friends” he gulps. “i just don’t want to ruin everything we have and what we’ve been through together.”

your heart aches, you can’t help but look away from the man you love.

“but you won’t.. how would you?”

“I don’t know,” he admits honestly. “i guess.. i’m just afraid that if things go wrong between us, it would change what we have now. i don’t want to risk losing our friendship if things don’t work out romantically.”

he has a point, but what good does it cause you? pining over your best friend, only to hear that he feels the same way but also doesn’t because he’s too stuck over your friendship? it’s all too complicated for your intoxicated mind.

“but… i also can’t ignore what you just said,” he says, looking into your eyes. “you said you like me, i.. i can’t just disregard that. it’s just a lot to process, especially in your current state. i want to be sure you really mean what you said.”

you choke on your silent sobs, muttering out a soft “i do mean it..”

“i believe you..” he says, his voice filled with a touch of vulnerability. “but… let’s talk about this more when you’re sober, okay? i don’t want us making any rash decisions and conversations right now, not when we’re both this emotional and vulnerable.”

you nod apprehensively, allowing yourself to sink into the comfy bed sheets.

“we’ll talk more in the morning, okay? i’ll be here when you wake up.”

and just like that, the door closes and all that fills the air is tension and unspoken truths.

mixed signals go crazy🫨🫨

[hottiesforhockey]

jealousy, jealousy ⏐ e.pettersson

pairings: elias pettersson x reader genre: fluff ⎜ established relationship ⎜ romance ⎜slice of life? ⎜ warnings: none tbh... this is just short and sweet synopsis: your best friend invites you to a birthday get together with some of his teammates - it's pretty hard to socialise when he refuses leave your side. word count: 2.6k authors note:  this is pretty short and sweet - I think we all lack a little EP40 in our lives so here's enough to get you by. (p.s. I know the poll said "the big oopsie" first but hear me out - this one just happened, okay. Auston's fic is in progress and about half way done!)

(unedited)

The moment Elias asked you to come with him to a "casual, no-pressure, totally chill" birthday get-together with his teammates, you knew two things:

One - This was absolutely a setup.

And two - He owed you. Big time.

Because let’s be real—walking into a room full of professional hockey players who’d probably judge your entire existence based on your drink choice and your ability to keep up with their insults—chirping, as Elias had recently explained—was not exactly how you planned on spending your Friday night.

But then Elias hit you with that look—the one that made it impossible to say no. The one that practically screamed I need you to come so I don’t have to suffer alone without him actually saying the words. His big blue eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, waiting for the inevitable ‘yes’ he knew was coming.

And, well. You were weak.

Pathetic, really.

So here you were, standing in the middle of the crowded entryway, regretting every single life decision that led you to this moment.

"Relax," Elias murmured, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in close, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear. His hand settled at your hip, grounding and insistent, as he pushed the door shut behind you. "You look like you’re bracing for war."

"That's because I am," you muttered back, your eyes darting to the cluster of guys he was leading you toward. They were loud. Too loud. Someone was already chirping someone else about a missed goal from two games ago, and there was an entire debate happening over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. (It did. You would die on that hill.)

"Come on," Elias nudged you forward, his grip tightening slightly, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t about to let you fend for yourself. "They're not that bad, I promise."

"Says you," you shot back. "I’m the one walking into a testosterone-fueled lion’s den with no backup plan."

"Your backup plan is me," he said, his hand now resting low on your back as he guided you through the crowd. "And I’m excellent at sticking to plans.” Before you could fire back a snarky response, the group had fully spotted you both. The room fell silent for what felt like an eternity, eyes flicking between you and Elias before conversations slowly picked back up.

"Petey!" someone called, and suddenly you were in it, surrounded by an overwhelming mix of aftershave, expensive cologne, and the undeniable energy of men who spent way too much time together—probably more than they did with their own families. Elias sent out quick, easy smiles as he navigated through the crowd, dropping his present onto a table before immediately shifting back to your side, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist like a silent claim.

“Everyone, meet my—” Elias hesitated, his gaze flickering down to you, something unreadable flashing across his face before he looked back at the group. 

What was he going to say? 

Friend? Girlfriend? 

“Someone very special to me.” He relents, the knowing glances exchanged between his teammates weren’t subtle. Elias quickly added your name, his voice measured, controlled, as he rattled off quick introductions, keeping you close—like he was afraid you’d bolt if he let go.

You wouldn’t, of course. But it was cute that he thought you might.

The group was momentarily distracted when food was announced, shifting toward the massive dining table in the backyard. You settled into your seat at the far end, Elias beside you, his knee knocking into yours, his palm resting casually on your thigh as he slipped into an animated conversation with the guy beside him.

But it didn’t take long before the attention turned to you.

"So, you're the famous best friend," one of them—Quinn, maybe?—grinned, resting his chin in his hand as he studied you like you were an interesting new puzzle. "Petey talks about you all the time."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Does he?" You grimaced, clearing your throat to cover the surprise.

Elias tensed beside you, shifting slightly in his seat, his grip on your thigh tightening. “I wouldn’t say tha—”

"He does," another guy—JT? Brock?—confirmed without missing a beat. "A lot. Like, a lot a lot. To the point where I think he might be obsessed.”

"Huh." You turned to Elias, biting back a smirk. "That true, Petey?"

"Don't let them get in your head," Elias warned, sending his teammates a sharp look. "They're just messing with you."

"They don’t have to try very hard," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

And then it happened.

The telltale red creeping up Elias’s neck, his lips pressing into a tight line as his jaw tensed. Because apparently, the guys loved you. 

Way more than expected.

One of them pulled up a seat beside you—shoving Elias slightly out of the way—to dive into a deep conversation about movies. Another leaned forward, peppering you with questions like you were the most interesting person in the room. Someone else (you were pretty sure this one was Brock) actually went wide-eyed when you mentioned your latest book obsession.

And Elias?

Elias was seething.

It wasn’t obvious—not to anyone else, anyway. But you knew him too well to miss the signs. The barely-there twitch in his jaw. The way he sat up a little straighter, his grip on his drink a fraction too tight. The flicker of irritation in his eyes every time one of his teammates made you laugh.

It was hilarious. To you. To them. To everyone except Elias.

"Wow," you said, leaning in close enough to ensure he could hear you, your voice laced with amusement. "You never told me your teammates were this charming."

Elias’s gaze tracked Quinn as he handed you his phone, grinning as you typed something in. His arm draped over the back of your chair, fingers grazing your shoulder with clear intent.

"They're not usually," Elias deadpanned, his tone flat.

You smirked. "You sure? Because I think I just got invited to a game night."

Elias made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

"Oh my God," you whispered, eyes widening in exaggerated shock. "Are you jealous?"

"Of them?" he scoffed. "Not a chance."

"Uh-huh," you drawled, dragging out the syllables. "That’s why your death glare is currently burning a hole in Quinn’s head, right?"

Elias exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You are insufferable."

"And you," you mused, leaning into him, "are adorable when you're possessive."

He shot you a look, but the corners of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

"I should’ve left you at home."

"But then you’d have to deal with them alone."

Elias huffed, exasperated. "Honestly? Might've been worth it."

You grinned, nudging his leg under the table. "Too bad. You’re stuck with me."

And despite himself, Elias smiled.

Elias exhaled, shaking his head like you were the biggest headache and the best thing that had ever happened to him all at once. His fingers flexed against your thigh before he finally leaned back in his chair, conceding defeat.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if one of them starts planning a wedding in their head, I’m walking out."

You snorted, taking a sip of your drink as Quinn—oblivious to Elias’s growing torment—grinned at you. "Speaking of weddings," he said, resting his forearms on the table. "Petey ever tell you about his dream proposal?"

Elias nearly choked on his beer. "Quinn—"

"Oh, this I have to hear," you interrupted, perking up. "Go on."

Quinn smirked, clearly revelling in Elias’s distress. "So, Petey’s always said that if he ever found the one, he’d want it to be—"

"Okay, that’s enough out of you," Elias cut in, reaching across the table to swipe a fry off Quinn’s plate and shove it into his mouth like that would somehow shut him up.

You turned to Elias, amusement dancing in your eyes. "A romantic, huh? Should’ve known."

Elias swallowed hard, glaring at his teammates, who were barely holding back their laughter. "I hate all of you," he grumbled, but the tips of his ears had turned pink.

"Sure you do," you teased, nudging your knee against his again.

The conversation moved on, but the warmth of Elias’s touch never left your skin. The longer you sat there, the more comfortable you became, letting yourself fall into easy banter with the team. At some point, someone dragged you into a heated debate about which Marvel movie was superior (you refused to back down from your stance on Captain America: The Winter Soldier), and Elias—despite his continued attempts to look unimpressed—was definitely watching.

His gaze lingered whenever you laughed, softened when you absentmindedly stole a fry from his plate, flickered with something almost unreadable when Quinn leaned a little too close while showing you a picture on his phone.

And then, as if he’d finally had enough, Elias shifted.

His arm slid fully around your shoulders, tugging you just enough that your bodies were pressed together, your side flush against his. His fingers traced absentminded patterns along the curve of your shoulder, the casual intimacy of it making your stomach flip.

"Comfortable?" you murmured, tilting your head slightly to look at him.

Elias didn’t miss a beat. "Mhm." He hums, his fingers showing no sign of stopping their minuscule movements. 

The night continued, and despite your initial nerves, you were actually having fun. The team was rowdy, sure, but they were also hilarious, treating you like you’d been part of the group forever.

Elias, however, was barely holding it together.

At first, it was just the occasional twitch of his jaw or his fingers tightening on your thigh whenever someone got a little too comfortable in your space. But when one of the guys—Brock, of all people—decided to get extra friendly, Elias reached his breaking point.

"You’re actually the best for putting up with Petey," Brock said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Can’t believe he kept you hidden this long."

You laughed. "Oh, he didn’t hide me. I just don’t usually spend my Friday nights in a room full of hockey players."

Brock smirked. "Tragic. We could’ve been best friends by now."

You grinned, about to respond when Brock suddenly draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a half-hug like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Don’t worry, I’ll make up for lost time," he declared.

Elias was out of his chair before you could blink.

His arm hooked around your waist in one smooth motion, tugging you out of Brock’s grasp and straight into him. You barely caught yourself, your palms landing on Elias’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

The entire table went dead silent.

"Alright," Elias said, his voice deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it. "Think you’ve had enough time getting to know my date, Brock."

Your breath caught. Date?

Brock raised his hands in surrender, grinning like he’d just won something. "Easy, Petey. Didn’t realise we were claiming now."

Elias ignored him entirely, his full attention locked on you. His hand settled at the small of your back, pressing just enough to keep you close, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your shirt.

"You good?" he asked, voice quieter now, just for you.

You swallowed hard, your pulse stuttering. "Yeah, he was just being friendly” you murmured, taking in his tense posture and the glare he’s shooting over your shoulder at his teammate. “Are you?" You question softly. 

Elias exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. "No," he admitted, so low you barely heard it.

Your heart flipped.

And then, before you could think too hard about it, before logic had the chance to kick in, you reached up, threading your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down—

And kissed him.

Elias made a quiet, almost surprised sound before he melted into it, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. His lips were warm, firm, but not rushed—like he was savoring it, like he’d been waiting.

The world around you faded—no loud teammates, no teasing voices—just the steady, intoxicating press of Elias against you.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath a little uneven.

"Wow," Brock muttered somewhere in the background. "Should we clap, or…?"

You let out a breathy laugh, your fingers still tangled in Elias’s hair as he groaned.

"Ignore them," he murmured, lips ghosting over yours like he was already thinking about kissing you again.

You smiled. "Already forgotten."

And when he kissed you again—slower this time, more sure—you knew you weren’t walking out of this night just as Elias’s friend anymore.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, wrapped up in Elias, but when you finally pulled back, your face felt warm, your lips tingling from the lingering press of his.

Elias looked just as wrecked as you felt. His blue eyes were darker now, still fixed on your mouth like he was debating going in for a third kiss, his grip on your waist firm like he wasn’t ready to let go.

"Well," Quinn finally broke the silence, his voice full of amusement. "That was unexpected."

Elias didn’t even glance his way. "No, it wasn’t."

You bit back a laugh, your fingers still resting against the nape of his neck. "Oh, so this was the plan all along?"

His gaze flicked back to yours, and instead of answering, he just looked at you—really looked, like he was trying to memorise this moment, brand it into his mind.

And then, with a slight smirk, he murmured, "Worked, didn’t it?"

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

Someone wolf-whistled, and Elias finally, reluctantly, let you go—though his fingers still trailed down your arm before fully releasing you, like he couldn’t help himself.

Brock leaned forward, grinning. "So, does this mean you're officially off-limits, or do we still have a chance?"

Elias shot him a look—one that would have sent lesser men running.

Quinn snickered. "Dude, I’ve never seen Petey glare this hard in his life."

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth of Elias’s claim still buzzed beneath your skin. "I don’t know," you mused, sending Elias a teasing glance. "Are you officially staking your claim, Petey?"

His jaw twitched, his fingers tapping idly against his glass before he leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

"I think that kiss made it pretty clear," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek.

You swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

His lips twitched. "Want me to do it again just to be sure?"

God, you hated how easily he got under your skin. How a simple look, a soft-spoken challenge, could turn your thoughts to mush.

But you weren’t about to let him win that easily.

You tilted your head, considering. "Maybe you should, just to be thorough."

Elias exhaled sharply, like he was barely holding on to his patience, then—so fast it made your breath catch—he tugged you back in, his lips pressing firmly against your cheek, the feeling of his lips spreading out in a grin as he moves away with a loud “mwah”.

It was a kiss that said mine. 

When he finally pulled away, he settles his chin on your head, chuckling softly as your hands hold his shirt tightly, a pout on your lips. 

"You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with something fond.

You grinned. "Absolutely."

And from the way he looked at you, from the way his hands still lingered, you had a feeling Elias didn’t mind one bit.