#it took me a minute to figure out what song this is based on

[winxanity-ii]

LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?

ship: fashion designer!gojo x fem!model!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimualtion; p in v ; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 6.6k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀) A/N: Hey, bubbly-bear! just wanted to let you know i've moved from my my alt account to my main one, so i'm posting your request here…

Request:Hello! I had a lil gojo x reader idea but if you aren’t vibing with it please dont feel like you have to write it, or change it how you see fit! BUT I feel like Guess (ft. Billie E.) By Charlie xcx is so Gojo coded and I would love to see a fic based off of it if possible :)

p.s. mwaaaaahhhhh, thx you so much for being my first request, hope i did you justice 😩✨

This line from the song just stood out to me and i just had to write it:

I wanna try it, bite it, lick it, spit it Pull it to the side and get all up in it Kiss it, ride it, can I fit it?

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

"Turn your head like that—yes, perfect! Raise your chin a little more. Hold it!" The head photographer's voice cut through the organized chaos, every word precise and demanding. "Lighting! Can we adjust the back light, it's catching too much glare!" Another barked command as assistants scurried to fix the harsh spotlight casting an overexposed halo on you. "Makeup! Fix the lipstick; it's smudged." The pace had been relentless, as it always was on set. The camera had clicked, capturing each second of your endurance, but all you could focus on was the way your body ached.

Your feet, crammed into designer heels, screamed for relief, and your back burned from holding poses longer than it felt natural. You shifted your weight slightly, hoping no one noticed as the clicks of the camera went on like rapid fire.

"Alright, people, ten-minute break!" Finally, the head photographer clapped his hands, giving everyone the much-needed signal to stop.

A bell rang faintly in the background, and your shoulders slumped as you let out a groan.

You dropped the strained pose you had been holding for what felt like an eternity. You rolled your neck, feeling the tension snap and release in your joints.

The lights dimmed slightly as Kugisaki Nobara and Itadori Yuji sauntered over from the swimwear shoot, and you couldn't help but notice how their outfits screamed for attention—both in completely different ways.

Nobara was in a skimpy two-piece swimsuit, the top barely enough to cover her small bust, accentuating her slim waist. The delicate straps dug into her skin as she pulled at them, clearly annoyed, though the outfit highlighted her toned frame with every step she took.

The bottom piece clung to her hips, just barely covering enough to maintain some modesty, with high-cut sides that emphasized her long legs.

Despite the discomfort written across her face, Nobara moved with confidence, her slender figure not going unnoticed by the photographers still milling around.

She scrunched her nose. "This swimsuit is killing me," she muttered, fingers fidgeting with the ties around her waist. "Honestly, whose idea was it to make swimwear this uncomfortable?"

Yuji, in contrast, had an air of ease about him, rocking a pair of matching swim trunks that coordinated with Nobara's outfit—an intentional design that somehow made their shoot feel like a playful, couples-themed editorial.

His bare chest gleamed under the studio lights, each of his perfectly sculpted abs on display as though carved by a sculptor. His body was toned yet muscular, the kind of physique that didn’t need fancy clothes to stand out.

With sun-kissed skin and that infectious grin, Yuji could have made wearing anything look effortless.

"C'mon, Nobara, we don't have that much longer. Besides, you look great," Yuji said, his voice lighthearted as always.

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, says the guy who could wear a trash bag and still smile like it's no big deal."

You let out a quiet chuckle as Yuji gave you a wink before being called away to review some of the shots. He shot you a playful smile over his shoulder as he walked off, his broad back flexing slightly under the pressure of moving around in the hot lights.

"Ugh, I swear, if Yuji keeps this up, I'm going to barf," Nobara muttered, shaking her head as she sidled up next to you, arms crossed over her chest.

The two of you made your way toward the refreshments table, where the scattered models and assistants buzzed like bees around a honey pot.

You could feel the material of your own outfit shift as you moved, the delicate knitted vest you wore slightly hugging your upper body. It was all part of the 'clean girl' aesthetic your stylist had chosen for you—a knitted cream-colored vest over a crisp white blouse, paired with a pleated schoolgirl skirt that swayed with every step.

It was simple, yet chic—the kind of outfit that made you feel both elegant and casual at the same time.

Yet, despite its light, airy look, the long hours standing in the heels were starting to make your feet scream. The snug fit of the vest only heightened the strain on your tired muscles, adding to the sense of exhaustion.

Nobara leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming as if she was about to share the juiciest tidbit of gossip she had yet. "So, did you hear about Kaori and that photographer? Apparently, they got caught in one of the back dressing rooms."

You raised a brow, barely hiding your amusement. "Kaori? The one who's been eyeing everyone since day one?."

"Oh, and you didn't hear this from me," Nobara continued, lowering her voice even more, "but Sumi told me that Yuji's been getting cozy with that new model, Megumi. You know, the quiet one? Well, they—"

You groaned, cutting her off. "Don't you ever get tired of knowing all the messy things?"

Nobara rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk. "Never~" she said, before nodding toward the side entrance. Her voice took on a mischievous edge as she added, "Just like I know you never get tired of denying that your new stylist wants to fuck you."

You practically choked, your eyes widening as the words hit you. "W-What?" you sputtered, your face heating up. You let out a shaky laugh, then coughed, trying to gather yourself. "Stop saying that…"

Nobara's smirk only grew wider, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Oh, come on. The man practically undresses you with his eyes every time he's around. You can't tell me you don't notice the way he looks at you. The man's got designs on more than just your clothes, babe."

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you averted your gaze, unsure how to respond.

It was hard to deny that your stylist's hands lingered just a bit too long during fittings, or that his gaze seemed a little too intense when he adjusted the fabrics on your body.

The clean, tailored looks he designed for you always felt more intimate than the pieces he created for other models. But surely, it was just part of his meticulous nature, right?

"I-It's just professional," you stammered, glancing down at the drink in your hand, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the growing knot in your stomach. "He's focused on the designs, Nobara. That's it."

Nobara snorted, giving you a knowing look. "Yeah, okay. If by ‘designs’ you mean figuring out how to get under your clothes, then sure. But I mean, I'm not complaining. If I were in your shoes, I'd fuck him."

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over you both, and you didn't need to look up to know who it was. You felt his presence before you saw him.

There, leaning casually against the side of the refreshment table, was Gojo Satoru, the man in question.

His signature smirk played on his lips as those piercing, ice-blue eyes of his scanned over you over his shades, and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it lingered on your skirt.

"Ladies," Satoru drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too scandalous?"

Nobara raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing look before stepping back. "Oh no, nothing at all. We were just talking about your... designs," she said with a sly grin before stepping back. "Guess, I'll leave you two to it," she teased, nudging you as she walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone with him, heart racing as you met his eyes. His grin only widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"So..." Satoru murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in slightly. "Anything you'd like to confess?"

Your throat went dry, and you could only shake your head, praying that he hadn't overheard Nobara's playful remarks.

But judging by the gleam in his eyes, you had a feeling he probably had.

Your heart raced as you tried to compose yourself, swallowing back the nerves rising in your throat. You forced a smile, though it felt shaky at best. "I don't have anything to confess," you said, attempting to keep your voice light. "Is there anything you need help with?"

Satoru's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming as he straightened up, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. "As a matter of fact," he drawled, "you could help me with something."

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Before you could ask what he meant, two of Satoru's assistants appeared at his side, as if on cue, each one wearing the kind of professionalism that didn't quite mask the urgency in their steps.

Without explanation, they began to gently but firmly usher you toward the changing quarters.

"W-Wait—what's going on?" you stammered, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru, who followed behind leisurely, his long strides giving him an air of complete control. "Why am I changing? I thought my shoot was almost over?"

"Oh, nothing much," Satoru sing-songed, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "I just had a chat with the higher-ups about pushing up the date for a few of our theme releases. Ya'know, rearranging which models get which looks."

Your confusion only deepened, and you blinked owlishly, trying to make sense of his words as you were guided toward a small room at the end of the hallway. "But—what does that have to do with—"

You trailed off as you stepped into the changing room and saw the mannequin sitting in the center. It was draped in an outfit that made your breath catch in your throat. A short leather miniskirt, sleek and shimmering, paired with a crop bodycon top that clung to the mannequin’s torso like a second skin

The entire ensemble was a bold combination of black and silver, with metallic bangles adorning the arms and a choker embedded with silver and black accents.

But what truly caught your attention was the soft sheen of baby blue that ran through the outfit—a shade that was eerily similar to the blue of Satoru's eyes.

You stared at the outfit for a moment, taking in the platform boots that completed the look, their towering heels intimidating yet alluring. The whole ensemble screamed nightlife, clubbing, a world of flashing lights and pulsing music.

It was striking, to say the least.

The assistants wasted no time, setting down various items on a nearby table while preparing the room for your quick change. But you stood frozen, blinking again as realization slowly dawned.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an almost lazy amusement.

"You're joking," you muttered, half in disbelief.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

You glanced back at the mannequin, the black and silver catching the light in a way that made the outfit seem even more eye-catching.

The baby blue accents shimmered faintly, bringing your thoughts right back to Satoru, his confident smirk and those eyes that seemed to follow your every move.

The outfit looked like it had been designed for you—and only you.

The assistants were already moving around, gesturing for you to start changing, but your mind was still reeling. "You... moved up the schedule?"

"Had a feeling this look was perfect for you," Satoru said casually, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. "Wanted to see it on you sooner rather than later."

You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your chest as you stared at the mannequin once more.

The way Satoru's gaze lingered on you sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if this entire thing had been orchestrated just for his amusement, his design, his vision.

The assistants handed you the top, a fitted crop that shimmered in the light, the baby blue accents standing out against the metallic silver.

You reluctantly grabbed it from them as they moved off to remove the other pieces from the mannequin.

The room felt warmer all of a sudden, like the air had thickened, and you couldn’t shake the tension prickling at the back of your neck.

You lifted your gaze only to find Satoru already staring at you, his eyes locked on yours in a way that made your breath hitch. You cleared your throat, your voice shaky as you tried to break the spell. "Shouldn't you leave? I need to change."

Instead of moving, his lips curved into that trademark smirk that always made your stomach flip. "I'll have to stay and oversee things. You know, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. I can swoop in and fix anything if needed."

Your face burned, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words lingered in the air.

You weren't naïve. You'd worked with dozens of stylists before, all of them meticulous, always staying to make sure the fit was perfect. But none of them ever made your skin tingle the way Satoru did.

None of them ever watched you like they were imagining a thousand different things beneath the clothes. And none of them ever made you feel like you were burning alive from the inside out with just a look.

Heart pounding, you turned away, hoping to escape his gaze. You began undressing, slipping out of your current outfit.

Each movement felt amplified, like you could feel the air around you, charged with tension. You reached behind yourself, trying to steady your breathing as you fumbled with the zipper.

You could practically feel his eyes on you, mapping out your body, lingering on every curve as if he could see right through the fabric.

Your skin prickled, the sensation of his gaze making it hard to even think straight. Every breath felt labored, every second stretched too long.

As you reached behind to unclip your bralette, your fingers trembling slightly, you felt a pair of hands cover yours—large, warm, and deliberate.

The shock froze you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

"Allow me to help you with that…" His voice was low, velvety, and it sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

The world narrowed to that moment, the heat of his presence overwhelming your senses. His fingers gently brushed against yours as he unhooked your bralette, the touch feather-light but filled with an unspoken promise.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the room suddenly too small, too hot, with Satoru towering behind you, his hands so close, too close.

Every nerve in your body screamed in protest, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest as a low pulse of desire curled through your veins.

His hands slid away as he stepped back, giving you room, but the mark of his touch lingered long after he'd let go.

It left you breathless, the space between you charged with something dangerous, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air.

Satoru's smirk never wavered, his eyes still locked onto yours in the reflection of the mirror. "There..." he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "...All done."

You stuttered out a soft, breathless, "Thank you," barely able to get the words out before Satoru turned on his heel. His presence seemed to consume the room, but as he barked an order to one of his assistants, the pressure finally lifted.

"Adjust the lighting for the next setup! And I want the backdrop changed in five minutes!" Satoru's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. With one last glance over his shoulder at you, he strode away, leaving the room in a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as he was gone, it felt like you could finally breathe again. The air in the room cooled, the weight of his lingering presence fading, though not entirely.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the leather skirt up over your hips, the fabric snug against your skin. Satoru's assistant helped you with the bodycon top, tugging it into place, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric as it clung to your curves.

The outfit was bold—almost too bold—but it fit like a second skin, highlighting every line of your body in the way only Satoru's designs could.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of camera clicks, flashing lights, and endless posing. Hours slipped by, the sun gradually lowering as the shoot continued, stretching longer than expected.

Nanami Kento, the photographer overseeing everything, was a perfectionist. His no-nonsense attitude left no room for error, and his eye for detail was unmatched.

He had insisted on waiting for the natural dusk light, arguing that it would complement the metallic sheen of your outfit and bring out the best in the overall composition.

You had worked with Kento before. His bluntness and unwavering pursuit of perfection made him a tough taskmaster, but he was one of the best in the industry.

Shoots paired with him always led to increased success. His images captured not just the clothes, but the mood, the essence of the model wearing them.

He and Satoru were at the top of their game right now, the dynamic power duo behind many successful campaigns, and you couldn't deny how they both pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

"…And… that's a wrap!" Kento's voice finally cut through the endless camera clicks, sharp and definitive. The faint ring of a bell followed, signaling the end of the shoot.

You exhaled a long, relieved breath, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders.

The shoot had taken the remainder of the day, from midday to the last golden rays of dusk.

The combination of Satoru's exacting demands—making you pose in just the right way to show off the outfit—and Kento's insistence on perfect lighting meant you'd spent hours standing, twisting, and holding uncomfortable poses.

The tightness in your back and shoulders made it clear how long you had been at it. Your feet ached in the platform boots, and your muscles screamed for rest.

As the assistants began to pack away the equipment, the space slowly emptied out. The other models and staff had long since finished their own shoots and left, leaving only you and a skeleton crew behind.

The studio, once alive with chaos, was now eerily quiet, the low hum of final tasks being completed the only sound in the background.

You peeled yourself away from the set and made your way back to the dressing room, feeling the tightness of the leather skirt with every step.

The corridors were deserted now, with most of the team having wrapped up hours ago. The silence was almost jarring after the noise and flurry of the day.

You were exhausted, every muscle in your body protesting as you moved.

Finally, you reached your dressing room, the door creaking slightly as you pushed it open. The sight of the empty space—the vanity mirror now bare, clothes and shoes scattered—was a welcome relief.

The day had been long, but now you could unwind.

As you closed the door behind you, the quiet settled over you like a blanket, offering you the peace you desperately needed.

You stumbled into the room, barely keeping yourself upright as exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Practically dead on your feet, you began peeling off the clothes that had felt glued to your body for the last several hours.

The crop top slipped off first, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

You didn't care where it landed as you walked over to the couch in the center of the room, facing a large squared mirror. Each step felt like a weight being lifted from your sore muscles.

A cool draft brushed against your bare torso, making you shiver slightly as it passed over the sheen of sweat from the long day. Your fingers worked at the accessories next, unfastening the bangles around your wrists and dropping them carelessly.

The metal clanked against the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet space. You massaged your sore wrists, the cool air soothing the raw skin where the jewelry had pressed tight against you.

Your fingers then moved to the choker at your neck, tugging it free and letting it fall beside the rest, relieved to feel the soft touch of air against your throat.

Your mind began to drift, wandering somewhere far away from the chaos of the day. You thought about what you'd do when you got home.

Maybe snack on those yogurt bites you found at the grocery store earlier that week. Or maybe you can finally binge-watch that series you'd been meaning to catch up on.

The thought made you feel a little lighter.

Hell, you can even spend tomorrow doing absolutely nothing, you have nothing booked!

You were right in the middle of imagining your lazy day ahead, fingers working the clasp of your bralette, when the door creaked open behind you.

"Hey! I'm—" Your arms instinctively rose to catch your slipping bra before it could fall completely. Your heart raced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

You looked up at the large mirror in front of you, eyes wide, only to lock gazes with Satoru, lounging casually against the doorway as if he had all the time in the world.

"—undressing," you finished, your voice dropping to a shaky whisper.

Satoru's lips curved into a faint smirk, his gaze shameless as it raked over your disheveled appearance. He tilted his head slightly, looking over his shades at the scattered accessories and top on the floor. "You know," he said, his voice light with a playful edge, "you really shouldn't leave my designs lying around like that. It's almost disrespectful."

For a moment, you thought he'd bend down to pick up the items—his creations, after all. But instead, he strolled right past them, making his way toward you.

Your breath hitched, your body freezing in place as his steps closed the distance between you.

Satoru's eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were darker now, more intense as they followed the lines of your form.

He moved with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. And as he reached your side, standing just behind you, his presence loomed, filling the small space with the heat of his gaze.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the cool draft that had once been a relief now doing little to cool the flush rising across your skin.

Satoru stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him making the cool draft on your bare skin feel like a distant memory. His presence was overwhelming, filling the small room until all you could focus on was the warmth seeping from him and the way his gaze lingered on your reflection in the mirror.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, almost idle, "a lot of my best designs… they're not the ones I spend weeks perfecting." His words drifted through the air like a secret. He raised a hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against the faint indents the choker had left on your neck. The touch was barely there, yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. "No… the ones that really stand out," he continued, "are the ones that light up in my mind every time you fall into my vision."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in closer, his chest now just inches from your back.

The heat from his body wrapped around you like a second skin, and you watched him through the mirror, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes as he spoke.

His hand, warm and deliberate, trailed slowly down your arm, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt both comforting and dangerous.

"You're my muse," he said, almost as if speaking to himself, lost in the thought. "Every second I spend watching you, seeing you wear my designs, it's nothing but inspiration." His hand continued to drift lower, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding back up, pulling you just slightly, coaxing your body into his.

Your breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale as you were drawn back against him, the solid warmth of his chest pressing into your bare back.

Your gaze flickered to the mirror, watching the scene unfold before you—his hand resting lightly on your waist, his eyes tracing the outline of your form as if committing every curve, every inch of you, to memory.

You could feel his breath, warm and steady, fanning against your ear, and it made your head spin, your thoughts running wild.

"Every touch," he murmured, his lips brushing just above your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Every glance…" His voice dropped, becoming something darker, heavier. "I can't stop thinking about how perfectly you fit into my designs. Like you were made for them—or maybe… they were made for you."

His hand trailed down your arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and you watched him in the mirror, breath hitching in your throat. Then, his lips ghosted over your ear again, the warmth of his breath making you tremble as he purred, "But you know… I keep thinking about something else…"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you felt him shift closer, his chest now flush against your back. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and almost suffocating, and yet you couldn't pull away—you didn't want to.

His hands pressed against your waist as he lowered his voice to something almost sinful. "…How perfectly you'll fit around me."

The words slipped from his lips, dripping with raw, undeniable desire, every word reverberating through your skin, hitting you like a tidal wave. Your breath stilled in your lungs, heat coursing through your body as your mind raced.

Wait a minute—what's… b-but—

His arms tightened around you as his mouth hovered near your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you feel it too," he groaned, his voice low, growling with need as his fingers dug into your hips. "Tell me you want it… just as badly as I do."

Finally, your mouth seemed to catch up with your thoughts. "S-Satoru—"

Your voice once again falls away as Satoru's arms tightened around you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. You felt his chest rise and fall rapidly, pressing into your back, his grip around your waist possessive, firm.

Then, in a voice so raw, so desperate it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered, "Can I... have you?"

The words tumbled from his lips in a near whimper, laden with a hunger that bordered on pleading. His breath hitched, his forehead brushing against the back of your neck as if even he was losing control of the space between you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your mind trying to process everything, yet failing to hold onto any coherent thought. His words, the way they sounded so needy, left you breathless.

You watched him in the mirror, his reflection almost ghostly in the low light of the room. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as they lingered on your form, and his lips, parted slightly, looked dangerously close to speaking something sinful, something that would push you over the edge.

The room was silent except for his panting breaths in your ear. You could feel his need in the way his arms wrapped around you, in the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly into your skin.

"Say yes..." he breathed, his voice low and pleading, his lips now trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat with every soft, almost teasing touch. "Please... just say yes."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place as your mind blocking out everything else but Satoru.

The sound of him, the feel of him, the way his voice came out in that almost whimpering tone—it consumed you, leaving no room for anything else but him.

Finally, a breathless, barely audible "yes" escaped your lips, the word trembling from your mouth like a whimper, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of the moment.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Satoru. His wicked smirk grew, a gleam in his eyes as he dipped his head lower, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before dragging his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your skin.

The heat of his breath against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine, making your entire body tense.

"Good girl~" he purred softly into your ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before you could even catch your breath, he pulled you down onto the couch, his movements fluid and effortless. You landed in his lap, your back pressed firmly against his chest, legs bent and pulled up on either side of him, facing the mirror.

our thighs immediately began to burn from the stretch, the leather skirt you wore sliding up all the way, exposing the lace underwear beneath—the same light blue that matched the bralette you'd worn earlier.

The delicate fabric contrasted sharply with the heat of the moment, and your face flushed in embarrassment as your eyes caught the sight of a small wet patch there.

Your heart raced as you tried instinctively to close your legs, but before you could, he gently tapped your thighs with his fingers, his smirk never faltering. "Aht aht," he scolded lightly, his tone playful but firm, making it clear that he was in control.

His arms slid under your legs, lifting them slightly and pulling them farther apart.

The stretch made you gasp, thighs burning as he forced you all the way back against his chest, your body now fully reclined into him.

His grip was strong but not painful, holding you in place as his breath ghosted over the side of your face.

In the mirror, you saw it all—your legs spread wide, your flushed face, and Satoru's darkened gaze fixed on you, his expression one of total control. His was voice, low and teasing, rumbling against your ear. "Look at you... perfect," he murmured, holding you tightly against him, his arms securing you in place, his presence overwhelming.

The reflection showed more than just your vulnerability—it was the power he had over you, and the way he reveled in every second of it.

Satoru's left hand slowly trailed down your body, his touch feather-light at first, but purposeful. The cool air kissed your skin as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, his hand pressing firmly against your most sensitive spot without pulling the fabric to the side.

The sensation made your breath hitch, and your entire body tensed as his fingers began to move, rubbing slow, deliberate circles along your slit, teasing and drawing out every bit of tension you’d been holding inside.

His fingers trailed gently up and down, gliding over your skin as if he were mapping you out, testing your every reaction. He found your clit with ease, rubbing small, teasing circles that sent jolts of heat through you, the slow rhythm making it impossible to think straight.

Your thighs twitched, the stretch around him making the sensation even more intense. The heat of embarrassment flooded through you as your body reacted, and when you turned your face away, unable to watch the reflection of what he was doing to you.

Satoru clicked his tongue softly in disapproval. "Uh-uh," he murmured, his voice dark with command. "Eyes on the mirror. Watch what I do to you."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your gaze reluctantly shifted back to the mirror.

His hand kept moving, the slow rhythm intensifying, the way he touched you sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. His reflection was smug, pleased, as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open and focused on what he was doing.

It was an order, and disobeying felt impossible.

When his finger slipped inside you, your body jolted slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke inside you making it harder to think.

One became two, both pumping in and out of your clenching heat with a slow, deep rhythm. He kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place against his chest as he worked his fingers deeper.

His breath was hot against your ear as his grip on your body tightened, his voice a low groan as he spoke. "You know what I can't wait to do?" His words sent a new rush of heat through you, and he chuckled softly at your reaction. "I can't wait to taste you... spend hours learning every inch of my muse's body. Watching you come undone again and again and again."

The promise in his voice made your mind reel, the intensity of his touch and his words leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as your pulse raced.

A particularly well-angled thrust had your back arching, a breathy moan slipping free. "That's it..." he praised, curling his fingers so they can brush against your G-spot again. "You're so wet for me... So responsive."

His thumb joined the fray, rubbing firmer circles over your clit that had your hips rolling mindlessly to meet his touch. He worked you higher and higher, stoking the flames of your pleasure until you were teetering right on the edge.

And still, he demanded you watch. Compelled you to observe the wanton display you made, his dark gaze devouring you from over your shoulder.

"Come for me," Satoru growled against your lips, his fingers pumping furiously now. "Let go. Now."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. You shook and shuddered in his hold, a cry of ecstasy torn from your throat as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from your spasming body.

Satoru swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply as he continued his ministrations.

Only when you collapsed bonelessly against him did Satoru still his hand, drawing his glistening fingers from your depths. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact through the mirror as he licked them clean with a shameless moan.

"Delicious~" he purred, voice rough with satisfaction. "My perfect muse."

You felt weightless, the tension from the day—hell, the whole week—melting into nothingness as the lingering echoes of your orgasm left you in a daze. Your body felt loose, relaxed, like all the stress had finally evaporated, and for a moment, you simply existed, floating in the aftermath.

Then, you felt your thighs shift wider, and a small, confused sound escaped you before you even realized it.

Satoru's low chuckle filled the quiet room, dark and amused. "You didn’t think that was it, did you?" His voice dripped with mischief as his hands moved to adjust you in his lap. He shifted beneath you, pulling his pants down slightly as he repositioned you, pulling you higher onto his lap.

The movement pressed you closer to him, allowing you to fully feel him underneath you, hard and insistent. His hand returned to your underwear, the long digits returning to rub away at you.

The sudden pressure made your back arch instinctively, a small whimper escaping your lips from the mix of sensation—equal parts pleasure and the discomfort of being played with beyond your limit.

"Silly girl," he tutted softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His hand returned to your waist, the grip firm yet tender, as he tugged your underwear to the side, filling you in one stroke.

You both froze for different reasons—your legs trembled as you felt the stretch, trying to stay tethered because he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, while Satoru groaned, overwhelmed by the tightness that enveloped him.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

You let out a broken whimper, arms growing weak and giving out beneath you. You collapsed slightly forward, your forehead resting against his thighs as you tried to adjust, to find some relief from the pressure.

Satoru growled softly at the sight, his hands gripping your waist with more purpose. He pulled you fully down onto him, your hips flush against his.

"S-Satoru..." you moaned, your voice shaking, tears welling in your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming.

His hips jerked forward in short, deliberate movements, and your body responded, helpless to the rhythm he set. "T-that's right, baby, say my name..." he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hands guided you, pulling you back down with each upward thrust.

He lifted his hips to speed up the movements. You could only cling to his thighs, breathless and powerless against the force of his desire.

Satoru kept going, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer, filthy words laced with desire. His grip on your waist was tight, almost bruising, as he held you firmly in place.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—wet, slick noises and the rhythmic squelching with every movement.

The intensity of the moment wrapped around you, heightening every sensation, your body overwhelmed by the pressure building inside you.

Your second orgasm was approaching too quickly, the wave of pleasure rising fast, almost too much to handle. Desperation washed over you, and you tried to scoot forward, to slow things down, but Satoru's response was immediate—he went faster, his thrusts growing erratic.

You let out a choked cry, begging for him to slow down, but he only groaned in response, his pace relentless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and then it hit you, like you were thrown over the edge. Your eyes fluttered closed as the blinding pleasure rocked your entire frame.

Your body shook, every nerve alight as the intensity consumed you. You could hear Satoru cursing under his breath as you trembled in his arms, your body a quivering mess in the aftermath.

And then you felt it—the heat of him filling you, spreading through your lower body in a rush of warmth. Satoru let out a long, drawn-out groan, pressing himself flush against you as he reached his climax. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as he stayed close, savoring the feeling.

Before you could catch your breath or say anything, Satoru moved again. He pulled you back slightly, and you gasped, the sudden movement sending a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you.

His hands snaked under your thighs, lifting you carefully from his lap. He groaned softly as he watched his release spilling from you, leaking out as he admired the sight.

Satoru gave a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "What a sight to see," he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. One of his hands trailed down to your entrance, his thumb gently grazing over the sensitive skin.

He played with your sticky entrance, his fingers teasing, before pressing back to plug up the fallen release. Your thighs twitched in response, a shiver running through you at the sudden sensation.

You called out his name for what felt like the third time, your voice weak but pleading. "Satoru..."

He let out a tired but satisfied chuckle, his hand pulling away as he finally relented. "Fine, fine," he murmured, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. He settled you down on his lap again, this time pulling you close to his chest, cradling you as his arms wrapped securely around you.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his breathing slowing as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

The night grew quiet, the tension fading into a comfortable stillness, but even as you relaxed against him, your mind wandered.

As the night went on, you couldn't help but think: Nobara was fucking right.

A/N: lolol, sorry for the influx of smut guys, promise this won't be like an everyday thinjg.... 👀 anyways, hope this was up to your standards and wasn't too bad bubbly-bear, i tried my best to make it work to the song...😭

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … SLIM PICKINS ♡

track nine of the short n’sweet series. pairing: bountyhunter!rafe x reader. based loosely on the song slim pickins by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

maybe you were just understimulated and bored. maybe you kind of liked when he got jealous.

you sit at his side on a bench outside the motel room for a while when you bring it up. he’s stiff, got you pinned to his side with an arm around you like someone forced him to do it. you figured he was trying to bond, show affection — but still had that little fear you’d just up and run off. the two of you stare out over the desert and a horse whinnies in the distance.

“y’know i had a boyfriend ‘fore you stole me.” you tell him quietly. you try not to sound accusatory, voice quiet enough to do so but his nose twitches to turn up anyway.

“you…what?”

“on the barn. where i lived.” you begin, treading carefully and he turns to glance at you, curious. “he lived in the farmhouse the other side of the land. my age. we knew eachother since we were little, used to play on the tire swing in my garden. only recently he became my boyfriend.” you reminisce and rafes spine tingles and his neck feels a little hotter at the way there’s still a tinge of sadness to your voice after all this time of travelling with him. nothing was ever enough for you.

however, he’s got nothing else to do and he’s curious.

“yeah? what’s this boyfriend of yours like then?” he drawls, clearly unimpressed but you seem unshaken. rafe had talked to you in crueller ways before.

“brown hair… brown eyes. he was really generous, would do anything for my family. sometimes he played it a little safe i mean, he waited so long to even ask to kiss me but… he was sweet. i miss when men were sweet.”

“i can be sweet. i’m so damn good to you.” rafe blurts out, and you nearly laugh because of how irritated he sounds in contrast.

“you kidnapped me.”

“ugh— right, ‘cus— ‘cus it’s always my fault right? you know my dad made me— whatever.” he steams off into a lecture and you relax at his side, unbothered. it almost bothered him more that you didn’t react to his explosiveness anymore, especially at a moment like this. you were still thinking of him.

he sighs, petulantly and sits back in his seat too, rubbing beneath his nose, legs spread casually as he thinks. you figure that would be that, and you knew not to poke the bear. surprisingly, after a minute — rafe speaks again.

“if you could… if you could go back n’be on that barn where i took you from… would you… would you be there, with him?” he gets bashful and snappy, enunciating with a flat hand extended. rafe always talked with his hands and you found it interesting.

truly, you don’t know. to pose such a complex question after all the time you’d spent together made that line appear between your brows. he doesn’t have to look at you to feel you shrug.

several hours later and he’s got your face in a pillow, ass in the air. no matter what kind of day the two of you had, what kind of conversations bestowed upon you — if rafe needed to get his dick wet, that was exactly what would happen. he’s basically in your guts, and you’re sobbing so loud as your walls spasm around him that you’re sure the motel would receive noise complaints.

a coarse hand slides up your spine and grips the back of your neck as he pounds you before he slots around to the front to hold your throat off the bed, bicep bulging at the position. he talks, and it takes you a second to digest it. you’re not used to conversation out of dirty talk.

“did he ever make you feel good like this? that— that boyfriend of yours?” he grits his teeth. you shake your head, mouth too occupied with forming an ‘o’ shape as he hits a new spot and he lightly smacks your cheek. just hard enough to regain your attention. “yeah you better use those words—”

“no! no— he didn’t.” you pant like a puppy, a string of drool still attached to the pillow from your lip.

“uh huh. yeah i fuckin’ bet.” he chases you up the bed a little when you arch away, too sensitive and holds you down, continuing to rough house your sore pussy. “might’ve been good to you but he wouldn’t fuck you like this huh? wouldn’t make you cum this god damn hard.”

you respond something, but by this point it’s muffled — head dropped into the pillow suffocating all sound. gripping the hair at the back of your head, he yanks your head up and licks his lips, determined to hear you. “nah, speak.”

“too— mmph—”

“yeah?”

“too nice! he was too nice!” you wail, walls fluttering and he huffs out a smirked chuckle, jaw clenching as he uses you like a sex toy.

“mm. that’s uh, that’s real fucked up baby. just needed a big mean man to get you right, huh?”

rafe was fucked up, but he wasn’t often wrong.

[dolcekissy]

i love your work, and I was hoping / wanted to request something based off a song, i dont kno if you have heard it, but i follow someone, jus heard it and it reminded me so so so much of Rafe and having a tumultuous and borderline abusive relationship. it’s by the singer ashanti called rain on me the music video and song remind me of rafe to a T. would yoube comfortable writing a Drabble or One Shot based or similar to it? if not, it’s okay, i know DV is serious and not everyone would want to write about it. thank you!

yes i've heard of the song and watched the video, i can definitely see what you're saying. hope you enjoy!

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes unprotected sex, p in v, domestic violence, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of having a miscarriage. please read at your own risk.

─────────────────────────

for the past four years it's been the same with rafe. arguing, hitting, fucking, loving, repeat. you met rafe six years ago, immediately feeling drawn to him and his voice, the way he spoke with confidence but also nervousness, the eye contact he tried to keep with you, the way he wasn't touchy ─ very respectful of you and your boundaries. you remember the interaction like it was yesterday, the way your cheeks flushed a light shade of pink when he joked with you ─ meeting when you were both 16 at an event his father put together for Cameron Development.

the whole night you two were inseparable, laughing and talking, sneaking alcoholic drinks when no one was looking, stealing a cigarette from behind a drunk man's ear after he dared you to ─ giggling and running up to the roof of the building to smoke it together, coughing and choking while he laughed at you and patted your back. he kissed you when you were staring up at the sky claiming the cigarette gave you a buzz, your head was dizzy from both the cigarette and his lips ─ his lips were so soft.

you and rafe couldn't be apart. always with each other, at each others houses meeting family, sneaking out of your house just to see him even though you guys hung out all day, walking to the beach just to kiss, talk, laugh, staying until the sun kissed the water ─ hurriedly running back once your phone read 7 am. he was in love and so were you, you were his other half, his missing rib. he promised to marry you as soon as you both turned 18, get you a house in tannyhill, give you a baby right after. it was unrealistic but 16 year old you couldn't help but have hearts in her eyes.

he was your first everything. your first time, your first kiss, the first person you loved. the night he took your virginity you both were shaking, sweating, nervous ─ you felt so awkward, so stiff as you both tried to figure it out. he talked you through the pain, kissing you sweetly as he whispered apologies, shakily asking if you're okay or if he should stop, telling you how much he loves you ─ kissing the tears of pain that rolled down your face, moving the hair that stuck to your forehead.

obviously it wasn't the best sex, young and inexperienced, painful and scary, foreign and different but it was with him. with rafe. the person that made life worth living. the next two years were heaven on earth, the memories you created with him were sacred, every minute you spent with him giving you understanding of your purpose here on earth ─ marry him, give him as many babies as he wants, keep the house clean, be a good wife.

it was good, he was good, always knew how to kiss it better so you didn't question it when he slapped you after a disagreement ─ quickly apologizing and kissing your cheek over and over again as you blinked, brushing it off with a shrug and a smile, "it was an accident, right?" ─ fingers tugging on his hair as he ate you out that night to show you how sorry he was, later on stuffing you full of his cock so you understand how sorry he was.

that's when the cycle began, arguing, hitting, fucking, loving, repeat. you hate yourself for not running when you were 18 and he slapped you for the first time, hate him for manipulating you into believing him, hate yourself for running down to the courthouse and getting married anyway ─ the longer you stayed with him, the worse it got. you'd argue about something stupid, he'd hit you, apologize, fuck you, then stay between your thighs until you begged him to stop.

you hate yourself for still loving him after it all ─ allowing him to make you feel like this, losing weight rapidly, your hair falling out in clumps, barely eating and drinking, depending on his mood to determine the kind of day you have ─ constantly terrified it'll get bad again, flinching every time the front door opens, greeting him with a weary smile, voice soft just in case he's in a bad mood today ─ just in case his attitude is sour enough to beat you and leave you for a few days, just to come home four days later smelling like another woman and fuck you slowly, "make love to ya.", "put a baby in ya." just so you understand how much he loves you, even if he "slaps you up." a couple of times.

it was suffocating, debilitating, humiliating but you loved him. no one would understand, no one would understand how much you miss the old him ─ they wouldn't understand that you stay with him just in case the old him might come back to you, love you as deeply as he loved you before. so yes, you'll hide the bruises and the cuts on your face and body. yes, you'll wear sunglasses to hide the black eyes. yes, you'll lie to the nurses when they ask why there's a gash on your wrist. yes, you will fucking lie and say that you lost your fucking baby due to complications and not him beating you.

yes, you'll show up no matter what to the Cameron Development events and show off the rock on your finger, flash a bright smile, place your arm over his chest while you look up at him with the same eyes he fell in love with. the same eyes that are freshly healed after his last beating.

the same eyes that will be black and blue again tonight because you were too close to a man over by the bar.

─────────────────────────

[gotta-winwin]

watching him fade away | yjh

⭐ starring: jeonghan

💌 genre: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

💬 preview: It’s been 497 days since Jeonghan had awoken, only to realize he was completely alone.

tw/cw: post apocalyptic, conscious AI!jeonghan, abstract character death, fluff, angst, wounds, based on the song: watching him fade away by mac deMarco

🪽fic rating: pg 🪽word count: 1.8k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: writing this has been quite the journey- and there is no better time to drop this than for the angst olympics! i gift this to @diamonddaze01 as a tentative (+loving) beginning to what i'm sure will be many angst fics to come. don't sue me for emotional damage xoxo

this is a part of the angst olympics -- support other authors here!

SYSTEMS LOADING ….

“How might you need my assistance?” His perfectly crafted eyes blinked open. “My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs!” 

The bird blinked back at him, ruffling its feathers and slowly waddling away.

“Do you need assistance?” 

Silence. 

Jeonghan didn’t really know what to make of it. Had someone purchased him from his creators? Where were they? Why was he sitting, legs spread and back leaning against the wall, in the middle of a giant warehouse? 

“No assistance then.” The monotonous whirr of his system began clicking as he shut himself off once again. 

SYSTEMS REBOOTING …. 

It took Jeonghan approximately 4 days, 6 hours and 47 minutes to realize no one was coming for him. 

Taking his first steps outside, he allowed his scanning mechanisms to take in his surroundings: the splintering hole in the roof, the overgrown walls, the barren landscape. It took him another 6 minutes to realize he was utterly alone. 

And what was an assistant robot supposed to do with no one to assist? The question burned in his mind as his programming worked to figure it out. Who was he supposed to help? 

Cheep. 

Jeonghan looked down. A spotted brown bird had bumped into his foot, its beak lightly chipping away at the metal. He bent down to scoop it up, scanning its features. 

“Baby Wood Thrush.” He identified. “Do you need assistance?” 

And so it began, the unlikely bond between robot and nature. Jeonghan found his purpose in assisting the only living things around him, building shelter for the antelope, finding fresh water for the birds, fixing the warehouse roof for the owls to nest in. 

But Jeonghan quickly learned that the animals couldn’t speak, not in any language his programming could understand. It made Jeonghan feel incredibly lonely. 

SYSTEMS ON ….

Jeonghan had discovered his great affinity for the ocean in his second week as a newly repurposed robot. He couldn’t get too close – the first time he had run in head first, damaging his systems and taking days to repair – but he could sit by the many rocks along the shoreline, moving the crabs and turtles away from the tide. 

It made his chest ache as he trained his eyes on the horizon, wondering if there were people to help on the other side of the water. But maybe he was truly the only thing left of mankind, Jeonghan didn’t know. 

But he did know he was different now. Water had fallen from his eye sockets last night, when he had turned on to find that a windstorm from last night had knocked over the bird nests, taking with it countless eggs he had been nursing. He couldn’t understand how it had happened, but it had. Jeonghan felt weirdly alive. 

The multiple gadgets and cords that made up his physical state felt more like organs and veins, pumping blood through the vessel the creators had called JEONGHAN. Your friendly assistant robot for your everyday needs. But he was much more than that now. 

SYSTEMS IN CHAOS ….

A girl. 

Jeonghan’s mind short circuited as he walked back into the warehouse, arms ladened with fresh fruit and variously shaped sticks. 

“Who-” 

The girl turned to face him, and Jeonghan’s true purpose had never seemed so clear to him as it did now. He was meant to assist her. 

“Do you need assistance?” He asked like he was programmed to, his keen eyes scanning her body for injury. “You’re hungry.” He commented, spilling his armful of things onto the table and picking out the ripest apple, handing it to her. “Eat.”

She looked at him warily. 

“My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs.” 

She took the apple. 

“My name is Y/N.” She introduced herself, and Jeonghan slotted her name into his database. “Have you seen other people pass through here?”

Jeonghan shook his head, instinctively passing her a second apple once she had finished the first. “It’s been 497 days since I became conscious. You’re the first human to pass through.” 

Her lips parted. “497 days.” She repeated. “It feels like it’s been decades.” 

Jeonghan opened his mouth to reply and promptly closed it. He had a million questions to ask her but he knew none of it was his place. It wasn’t his job to question — his job was to assist, to accompany, to take care of his employer. 

“You’re hurt.” He observed once more, noticing the large gash on her right leg. “Let me help you.”

Maybe it was the calming nature of his voice or his pretty face, but she sat down without protest and extended her leg towards him. 

His heart (or lack of one) warmed at the sudden show of trust — that despite the broken world they had found themselves in, there were still pockets of humanity waiting to be found. 

SYSTEMS UP ….

In the next couple days, Jeonghan learned what the word banter truly meant. 

The girl was fast with her wit, cheeky with her words and unforgiving with his heart. He was sure he had a heart now, for it beat thunderously and quickly for her. 

Love was the one thing never programmed into him but he sure knew it now.

“Careful.” He reached a hand out instinctively to steady her, holding her as she regained her balance. “The sunset isn’t going anywhere.” 

He followed behind her as they jumped across the lake, using the rocks as a step bridge. 

“Quickly, Hannie.” She called, waving at him to quicken his pace. “I want to catch it when it’s still pink and purple.” 

“Sunset is 9:00pm tonight.” He informed her, collecting the information from his database. “We have 8 minutes.” 

“Still.” Her smile lit up their surroundings better than any ball of fire could. 

Fuck the sun, he found himself thinking. She was the brightest thing in this barren land and he felt honored to bask in her rays of light. 

“Hannie, look.” She pointed a finger up at the sky once they reached the cliffside. “It’s beautiful.” 

Beautiful. Jeonghan hummed in agreement, silently scrolling through his system’s database to log in a new definition. 

Note: beautiful directly translates to love, the look on a person’s face during the last legs of daylight. Her hair, blowing gently in the wind. 

“How did you end up here?” She asked him, reaching out her hands to intertwine her fingers with his. 

His lips curved into a smile, a natural reaction he couldn’t suppress each time she looked at him with her brightly lit eyes. His nonexistent heart beat - badum, badum, badum - in tandem with the swings of their connected arms. 

Love was a defect, a sickness for a robot, but with her Jeonghan didn’t mind. He would override his code in order to love her as many times as he needed to.

SYSTEMS DOWN…

He could hear the sound of his depleting battery beeping over the gentle rise and fall of her breath. 

Beep. Beep. Beebeebee- 

He flips the warning sign off with a reluctant hand. Oh, how he longed to trade in his expensive metal wares for real flesh and blood. His superpowered technology was utterly useless when it came to obtaining the one thing Jeonghan found himself truly wanting – time. Time with her, with the sky, with the world he had found himself falling in love with. Falling in love with her. 

“Do you love me?” She had asked him one night, as he held her in the rocking chair he had made out of a wilted tree. 

“Of course.” He had replied, because the answer was as clear to him as a math question was. 

“But you’re a robot.” She moved slightly away from him to cup her hands around his face. “A very real looking, very handsome robot, but a robot all the same.” A gentle knock against his chest showed that it was hollow. Empty. Void of anything that could ever produce love. 

Jeonghan knew it didn’t make sense. “I don’t need a heart to know I love you.” He whispered, pressing her hand against his chest, on the area where his heart would’ve been if he were real. “I love you with my whole being, my whole existence. Not just my heart.” 

She smiled, and Jeonghan silently thanked the universe for destroying humanity because it allowed him to meet her. 

SYSTEMS STALLING…

“I’ll go out once the sun rises.” She was lacing up her boot, a defiant look on her face. “I’ll find a battery, a charging port– something. We’ve still got time.”

Jeonghan could only weakly nod from his spot on the wooden chair, his powerless legs limp and useless. 

He could feel himself rotting from within, his nonexistent lungs rattling with each airless breath he took. 

“My love.” He whispered, and she turned back around to face him, halfway out of the garage door. 

“Don’t worry, Hannie.” A brave smile formed across her face, and god, did he love her for that. “I’ll find a way to keep you here with me.”

He nodded and watched her leave. 

Yet Jeonghan could feel it in his systems, the way parts of him were slowly shutting down as all the energy went to conserve his database. His brain. Everything that made him him. 

He was rotting. 

He was fading away.

SYSTEMS FAILING…

Jeonghan knew that the end was near. Sitting propped up against the brick wall of the warehouse, he clutched her hand in his limp ones, eyes roaming her face, lips parted in an attempt to comfort her. 

He was weakening and both of them knew it. 

“We can find the battery you need.” She brought up the idea again, something he had already told her was impossible. “You can’t leave me.” 

He wanted to tell her he didn’t want to leave her. Not like this. Not ever. He had a hundred thousand things to tell her. 

Yet Jeonghan couldn’t speak. 

“You can’t leave me.” She repeated, her eyes plainly showing the hurt she felt at his silence. “You can’t.” Tears tracked down her pretty face. 

Jeonghan closed his eyes. 

“No.” She protested, a warm hand reaching up to touch his cold cheek. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Jeonghan kept his eyes shut. 

“Look at me, goddamnit!” She yelled, shaking him. Her voice raised and broke. “Jeonghan, please.” 

He couldn’t. Jeonghan didn’t know when he had learned the art of selfishness, but somewhere along the way of loving her, he had become entirely selfish. He couldn’t bear the idea of her crying face being the last thing his database would ever recall seeing. 

God, he was selfish. For he wanted the happy version of her all to himself. 

“Please.” She begged again, her voice weaker this time around. “Look at me. Don’t leave me.”

His lips parted silently, releasing a breath that wasn’t his to breathe. 

“Please.” 

Beep. Beep. Bee-

. . .

SYSTEMS REBOOTING…

“How might you need my assistance?” His perfectly crafted eyes blinked open. “My name is J-E-O-N-G-H-A-N, your personal robot for everyday needs!” 

“Jeonghan?”

A girl stepped into his line of vision, her eyes rubbed raw from crying. 

“Do you need assistance?” 

Silence. 

“Jeonghan? It’s me.” The girl’s voice broke, and he couldn’t figure out why. 

“I’m sorry,” He stood up, scanning her face and entering her into his database. “What is your name?”

[yanderecrazysie]

MIRROR, MIRROR

“Who is the fairest of them all?”

Pairings: Yandere! Vil Schoenheit x Female! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, technically stepcest (but not focused on), suicide

Note: I randomly wanted to write this, and it’s very long compared to most of my works.

Vil Schoenheit glided down the long hallway, the heels of his shoes clicking against the marble floors as he hurried to his destination. He paid no mind to the town outside his grand windows, many stories below. It was insignificant compared to him.

He entered a dark room at the end of the hall, his cape swirling behind him as he spun around and drew the double doors closed. The room darkened even further with the absence of the hallway lighting, but Vil made no move to turn on the light. Slowly, a soft purplish glow began to brighten the room, emitted from a mirror on the wall opposite the doors.

The mirror was ornate, with curved, flowery metal sculptures curling from the mirror’s base to the edges of the wall. The glass shimmered and became cloudy, almost as if puffs of smoke had filled the room, but only on the other side of the reflection. Vil waited impatiently as a face came into focus. 

The face was a strange one, almost like a floating comedy/tragedy mask. Its initial frown curled into a smile upon seeing Vil, tilting its head in a small bow, “Your Highness, how may I assist you?”

When Vil spoke, his voice was confident and cold, as though he’d said this a million times before, “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

The mirror’s smile widened, “Why, you, of course, dear King.”

Vil smiled victoriously and turned around, leaving the strange dark room behind in an instant, bursting out of the double doors and entering the hallway once more. The mirror man’s expression faltered for a moment, as though doubt had consumed him for a moment, before he melded into the fog of the mirror. Quickly, the smoke in the reflection disbursed, returning to look like an ordinary mirror just as the doors banged shut behind the king.

This time, Vil turned his attention to the town below, a smirk curling on his lips as his lavender eyes focused on a figure in the town square.

“Still not enough to surpass me, Neige,” Vil snickered. He brushed the invisible dust off of his robes and continued down the hall.

—-----------------------------

“Have you drawn the water, Neige?” you asked, standing up from where you had been using the washboard to wash dark blue, priceless robes.

“Of course, sis!” Neige smiled with closed eyes, lifting the water bucket effortlessly. You smiled back at your brother, despite the stinging of your hands and the aching of your knees from kneeling for so long.

Neige took a seat in the dirt next to the washing tub and reached for the soaking robes, “Still cleaning Vil’s clothing?”

“It never seems to end,” you sighed, kneeling back down. 

Your brother took your hand and pulled it away from the washboard, “Sis, please, we officially turn eighteen in a few minutes.”

You shrugged, “What’s so special about birthdays anymore? Ever since Mom died…” Your voice became choked and died on your tongue. Tears threatening to fall, you turned away and pulled up the corner of your ragged sleeve to wipe furiously at your eyes.

The two of you were wearing rags sewn together and you were buried in endless chores, all while Vil lived a lavish life with a mountain of wealth that your mother, the queen, had left behind after her mysterious death. A death you had no doubt was at Vil’s hand, although sweet, sweet Neige suspected nothing of the man who had married his mother just a few short months before her demise.

“I saw the most beautiful girl when I was drawing water,” Neige sighed dreamily, “She sang the most wonderful song and her voice… it was so beautiful.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t hide your smile. If your brother, a sweet boy with his head in the clouds, found his love, you would support him. He deserved love more than anyone else you knew.

Neige began to draw in the dirt with his index finger and a rudimentary cake with a few candles took shape. He smiled innocently at you, “Blow out the candles, sis!”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling, and blew a gust of air at the dusty cake. Your breath was so strong that it blew away most of the cake’s shape and both you and your brother burst into laughter.

Laughter had become so unfamiliar to you- you weren’t sure of the last time you laughed. Neige’s laugh was like tinkling bells, as perfect as he was. Even though Vil kept him out of the spotlight and forced him to wear rags, he still caught the attention of beautiful girls and his kind nature shone through- more beautiful than Vil could ever hope to be, in your opinion.

—--------------------------------------------------

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Vil’s voice was as confident and cold as the day before. 

There was a silence that fell over the room as the man in the mirror lost his smile, “I must warn you, dear King, that there have been changes…”

“What kind of changes?” An edge sneaked into Vil’s voice as he demanded to know, “Who is the fairest of them all?”

“Neige LeBlanche is the fairest in all the land,” the mirror said reluctantly, as if it knew what this information would do.

Vil’s eyes were wild when he slammed a fist against the mirror, making the face inside it cower in fear, “Neige has surpassed me? Me?”

Vil dragged a hand across his face in disbelief. He had thought… keeping Neige in rags… even in rags, that boy had surpassed him?

“At least I’m the second fairest, right?” Vil practically begged the mirror, “Tell me it’s only Neige who threatens my beauty.”

The face in the mirror grimaced. 

Vil lost it then, “Who is it then? Who else is more beautiful than I am? Who the hell could it possibly be?”

“(Y/n) LeBlanche is the second fairest in all the land.”

Vil stared at the mirror blankly, rage giving way to confusion, “Who is that? Certainly not that mousy girl?”

“She has become more and more beautiful with time,” the mirror replied.

Vil lifted a painted thumbnail to his lips and worried it between his teeth. He had barely paid the daughter of the queen a second glance, always worried about Neige as his growing competition.

The king sighed. He’d have to find a way to get rid of them both. What a shame it was, to have to kill both children. What a shame it was, even more, that anyone dared to compete with his beauty.

He stepped back into the hallway, a shadow of rage crossing his face as he stormed his way to the throne room. Maids threw themselves out of the way, never having seen their handsome ruler this angry before and not wanting him to turn his wrath onto them.

Vil took a seat on the throne- the only place that truly calmed him. Yet, it had no calming effect today. He raised his pale hands and clapped them together twice. Immediately, three workers materialized, kneeling in front of him, waiting for his orders.

The king tilted his chin upwards, peering down at the worthless staff. It made him feel so much taller to sit upon the throne and a cruel smile made its way across his face.

“Bring me Rook Hunt.”

—----------------------------------------

“I don’t trust him,” you whispered to your brother. Neige sent you a disappointed look, as though you might offend the strange man leading you deeper into the woods.

He was an eccentric man, that much you could tell. He was strange- he walked strange, talked strange, looked strange. But your brother would never suspect a robber of thievery, so it was up to you.

“A baby bird!” Neige’s voice startled you, since you were so on edge. Your eyes softened at the sight of a soft-feathered tiny bird chirping helplessly on the ground. You looked up and spotted a nest of sticks and leaves in the tree branch above.

“Poor thing, let me help you,” you cooed, reaching down and gently scooping the little creature off the grass. Holding it cupped in one hand, you wrapped your other arm around the trunk and began climbing the tree.

You risked a look back at Neige and you let out a scream. 

The strange man’s knife stopped millimeters from the back of Neige’s skull. He looked as though he were struggling with himself. As Neige turned around to see what had frightened you, his face went pale and he stumbled backwards, falling over a rock and crashing into the ground, chest heaving in terror as the strange man loomed over him with a long, jagged knife.

You dumped the chick unceremoniously into its nest with its siblings and jumped down from the tree, “Don’t you dare touch him!”

The bob-cut haired man lowered his head, “I cannot, even if I wanted to.” He sheathed the knife on hip and reached a hand out to Neige, who remained frozen on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

“Who are you?” you demanded, “What are you doing, trying to kill my brother?”

“Your father…” The stranger began.

“Vil is not our father,” you snapped immediately.

“Fine. The king wants you both dead- his jealousy is unmatched. Yet, I cannot kill someone as kind as you two,” his eyes misted over, “I cannot kill either of you.”

You were shocked- you had never liked Vil and you knew he killed your mother, but you hadn’t expected this. He really thought he’d just make do with the LeBlanche family entirely, didn’t he? Well, you wouldn’t let him!

“Run!” you yelled at Neige, surprised by how loud your own scream was, “Get up and run!”

The strange man watched as you dragged Neige to his feet and the two of you disappeared into the woods. He turned around and laid a hand over the box the king had given him, tucked into his breast pocket. 

He pulled the knife back out of its sheath and headed off to the market. He would not bring the king either LeBlanche heart, but maybe a goat’s heart would fool him…

Meanwhile, you dragged Neige deeper and deeper into the forest, panic pumping adrenaline into your veins. You didn’t know where you were going and the plants seemed to grow crueller as you lost your way. 

Branches like clawed hands reached out for you, grabbing on your rags and tearing your clothing when you violently leapt back from them. And were those logs in the lake or alligators? They did seem to be making their way closer to you both, eyeing you as their next meal…

You were panicking now, breath coming in short gasps and heart pounding against your ribcage. You were running low on energy too, struggling to continue pulling on Neige, who had gone nearly-limp with shock.

“Wait!” Neige gasped. You stopped suddenly and your legs gave out, causing the two of you to crash into the tall grass. 

“What?” you asked raggedly.

“That bird, I think it wants us to follow it,” Neige said with the utmost sincerity.

You stared at him. Had he hit his head? Then again, a bright bluebird circled just barely above the treetops, as though it were waiting for you to stand back up and follow it.

“I think it’s thanking us for returning its baby,” Neige continued. You were still considering the fact that he may have lost his mind, but it couldn’t be worse than rampaging through the woods.

The two of you stood and began following the bluebird, both of you still shaking in fear. The trees thinned out, and the grass seemed to grow lighter, the sun shining more through these treetops.

“A cottage!” Neige pointed down at the bottom of a steep incline. Sure enough, a quaint cottage stood between two willow trees. 

“Do you think whoever lives here will let us stay?” you asked quietly.

“Only one way to find out,” Neige shrugged.

—--------------------------------

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Vil asked confidently, a smirk curling at his lips.

“Although your beauty is great,” came the mirror’s response, “Neige and (Y/n)’s beauty is greater.”

“WHAT?” Vil screamed, hands balling into fists, “They are no more! Rook brought me their hearts!”

The mirror responded by swirling into a scene of Rook leading you and Neige deep into the woods. Vil could see the doubt on Rook’s face from a mile away, and he let out a growl. “I don’t trust him,” came a pretty voice. For the first time, Vil allowed himself to look at you- really look at you.

The mirror hadn’t lied- you really had become beautiful. You were no longer the little girl crying at your mother’s bedside. You were a gorgeous young woman with a steely look of determination in your eyes. Vil watched, transfixed as you turned your back on Rook, even though you were suspicious of him, in order to help a helpless baby bird. He shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his head. “Skip past the part where that gutless idiot fails to kill them. Show me where they are now.”

The mirror shimmered and the image of a cottage swam in its reflection, before it showed a happy scene of you and Neige dancing around with a few small men. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your form, your smile, and your graceful movements.

He swallowed, “Ah, the dwarves’ cottage in the woods. They’ll be easy to find.” Somehow, he found it hard to be excited when he thought of what he was about to do.

—---------------------------------------------------

The longer Vil watched you in the mirror, the harder he began to fall for you. He told himself he was just waiting for the dwarves to leave for the mines, that he was just waiting for the chance to destroy you… but in reality, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

So when he stood across from you, in full magical disguise as an old man, he was trembling a little with desire. He could just reach out and touch you… But what would you say? You would just think he was a creepy old man, and that’s not how he wanted to come across right now.

“Can we help you?” you asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I was wondering who lived in this quaint little cottage,” Vil made his voice quaver, looking at you as innocently as possible.

“You seem familiar, somehow,” your eyes narrowed, “Who are you again?”

Neige appeared behind you and Vil held back a smirk, “Here, why don’t I talk with the man of the house.”

You looked offended but threw your hands in the air, “Whatever! Neige, he wants to speak with you.”

You disappeared into the house and Vil forced back the smirk even harder. This was perfect. He reached into his basket and pulled out an apple, shining red and delicious-looking. “If you show me the way back to town, I’ll give you one of my apples.”

Neige shook his head, “I’ll show you back to town, but you don’t need to give me anything in return.”

“I insist,” Vil’s eyes shone.

—--------------------------------------------------

“NEIGE!” your scream was like music to Vil’s ears. You ran over to your collapsed brother, pulling him off the ground to look at him. You looked up at Vil, who had transformed back to his normal self, “What did you do to him?”

Vil smiled down at you, having decided long ago what to do with you.

“I can bring him back from the dead,” Vil said calmly, “I know the one thing that can bring him back.”

“How?” you demanded, tears starting to spill over your round cheeks, “How do I bring him back.”

“First, you must do one thing,” Vil said, kneeling down to where you clutched your brother, “Marry me.”

“I’d rather die!” you screamed. You spotted the apple still clutched in Neige’s lifeless hand and snatched it, “This is what you used, didn’t you?”

“Don’t touch that,” Vil snapped.

It was too late, you had shoved the apple in your mouth and taken a huge bite. To his horror, you slumped, lifeless, over your twin brother’s body. 

“N-no, you wouldn’t really do that, would you?” Vil laughed shakily, “You’re pretending to make me give up the secret.”

You didn’t respond. Move. Breathe.

“Okay, you got me,” Vil’s voice went up an octave, “It’s true love’s kiss. He has a girl he loves, so we just have to find her and…”

Tears ran down his cheeks as he frantically shook your body, “Please wake up, please, I’m sorry!”

He turned you over and a thought occurred to him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. But still, they remained cold and blue, there was no gasp of life and fluttering of the eyelids like there should have been.

Of course there wasn’t.

You’d never love him.

—--------------------------------------

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

“You, Vil Schoenheit, are the fairest in all the land.”

Vil sank to the ground, grief consuming him entirely.

[b00tyliciousbabe]

hey i don’t know if you’re taking requests but if so can you write a bottom male reader x himbo Jordan Riki where they’re fucking at home after the game and Jordan is horny as fuck and wants to celebrate the win?

thank you so much :)

THIS EATS SO HARD! omds i love this. and of course, imma try my best to write. ENJOY!

update: my apologies to whoever sent me this request, life’s just been lifin’ - STREAM SUBMISSIVE BY DESTIN CONRAD!

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙

trophy

jordan riki x male reader

summary: for jord’ you’re the only prize worth playing for.

notes: AHHH! my first request. lowkey kinda exciting, but i went way off on a tangent. nonetheless…still spicy xx

song rec: ‘lite’ by downtown kayoto

a few minutes passed as you admiringly watched him pop champagne for the celebratory pictures. ‘Y/N!’ a young woman screamed. you turned back to see it was sienna, who was going out, with jordan’s best friend, jock. ‘omds! i ain’t seen you in forever, how’ve you been?’ hugging her, you match the excitable energy her smile expressed. it was so nice having someone who understood the pressure of being with a sportsman and how demanding it was. the championship was being held in scotland and thus, the NRL had paid for the entire team to stay in the most beautiful hotel. on the walk back, you and sienna spoke about your plans for the future, mostly on the topic of marriage. ‘i hear congratulations are in order, i am so happy for you and jock!’ you smile at her ‘took him long enough,’ sienna joked as she flashed the engagement ring. ‘i cannot wait, plus as my man of honour, we need to start prepping real soon.’ she says going into bridezilla mode already. ‘trust it’s gonna be the best day ever.’ you sigh stopping in your tracks, ‘what’s wrong, Y/N?’ sienna expresses concern. ‘I’ve just been thinking a lot about how my relationship with jordan,’ you start to tear. ‘sometimes i feel like he will only ever see me as his teenage crush, and not something more.’ you finally admitted and it was like a weight off of your chest. ‘Y/N, i completely understand, but jordan is obsessed with you, he’s always telling me and jock about how he’s just waiting for the right time to pop the question.’ her words were so comforting, and left you with a calming sentiment.

you made your way up to the hotel room, and as you opened the door, you were greeted with roses on the floor. you looked up to see the chiselled figure of your man lying naked on the bed and shimmering in the moonlight. ‘jordan, what is all this?’ you asked, stunned by his grand gesture. ‘i couldn’t celebrate knowing that i left my boy on his own’ he got up and began to undress you. towering above you, he lifted your chin to place a sloppy kiss on your lips. you’d never seen him like this before, dominant with his touch and so submissive with his heart. you pulled off your baggy jeans with one swift move, as you knelt down wearing a vest and boxers.

‘such an eager slut aren’t you,’ he spits into your mouth as you look up at him with bright eyes. ‘careful now,’ you whispered, teasing the underside of his cock with the tip of your tongue ‘i don’t have to suck you off.’ to which jordan snickered at your attempt to manipulate. without warning he shoved his dick inside your mouth. ‘ahhh,’ he breathed ‘much better.’ your lips felt so warm around him and he always appreciated how you were always there to use as his own. he began thrusting deeply, as the percussion of his balls slapping your chin made a beautiful symphony of pleasure alongside your gagging and slobbering on his rod. ‘fuck you look so pretty.’ He groaned ‘I could marry you rn.’ a request he subconsciously muttered under his breath. this sentiment was not lost on you and you stopped to deepthroat him fully, suctioning at the this base of his large dick. ‘SHIIIIIIIIIIIT.’ he grunted, holding your curls in adoration. jordan pulled you off him as you giggled with pride watching how he was entranced by the slick you painted on his pole.

you rise onto your feet, staring up into his eyes. wrapping your arms around his broad neck as he placed light spanks on your ass, kneading your dough with his big, coarse hands. jordan invaded your mouth, using his tongue to fast himself on your lips. his fingers spread your thick cheeks apart as he circled around your taint. ‘jump baby.’ he said deeply as his passion overcame him. you obliged as he placed you lovingly on your back, the bed of rose petals adorned your skin, making this erotic painting all the more romantic. your bf climbed onto you and raised your legs above your head. like a jigsaw, you molded them to fit onto his shoulders, with jordan’s piece knocking at your entrance. your pussy lips puckered at the prospect of getting wrecked, making it easy for him to slip in. ‘jord…’ you moan at how full you felt, signalling to him that he needed to go slowly. ‘easy baby, let me know if it’s too much.’ he reassures, adjusting himself inside you slipping in the last couple of inches. ‘I’m all in now love, I’m gonna go faster okay?’ He kisses your neck as you stroke his biceps.

he bowed his head into the crook of your neck, rutting into you viciously as you cradled his head. ‘fuck babe, fuuuck.’ you both scream ‘marry me…’ he mutters again, you clearly heard it this time. he continues pounding your pussy as his breathing gets deeper. ‘marry me already…’ slipped out as he moaned in ecstasy. ‘fuck yes, I’ll marry you babe,’ you matched his energy as he stopped in his tracks. he stared at you like a lost puppy. ‘shitttt, it wasn’t meant to be like this, i had a whole thing planned afterwards, we were gonna go on a walk, i was gonna go down on one knee and-‘ you cut your man off with a kiss that reminded you of the early days of your relationship. ‘I love you jordan, it doesn’t matter where we are or what we are doing, but i will never stop loving you.’ he started tearing up. ‘Y/N how am i the one crying when it’s you that ain’t gonna be walking for the next week?’ he joked to lighten up the mood. ‘aw babe,’ you whined, kissing him once more ‘if it makes you feel better, i can erase what you said from my memory?’ he smiled into yet another tongue dance ‘nah, don’t even worry about it sweetheart, imma fuck u so dumb you don’t even be able to remember your name.’ he threatened, pressing on your abdomen to feel how deep he was inside of you. his dick twitched as your slick hole was doing so well cockwarming him.

by the end of the night, he had dumped his load into 4 times, and while you laid on his chest, he couldn’t stop thinking about his win. not just the game or player of the season, but how he had won your heart. so while you were asleep , somehow so tired to the point you’d completely forgotten his proposal, he looked up at the ceiling and dreamt about your wedding.

@gayaristocrat dacre is up next ml <3 what typa scenario are we thinking?

[sunfairiess]

Request for John b: reader finds out she is pregnant and is scared to tell John b because they are still teenagers

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐨 | 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐛 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞

pairing: john b routledge x fem!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration I accidental pregnancy | fluff

synopsis: based on that request.

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, teenage pregnancy

wc: 1k

it's my first time writing based on a request, so i really hope i did well! i’m so sorry it took longer than expected, but i just had the worst stomach bug of my life and couldn’t do much <3

song rec: next thing you know - jordan davis ♡

it always starts like this. two lines, one pink stick or three in her case.

pregnant. she was pregnant. she didn’t plan for this to happen, who did anyway? getting pregnant while still being a teenager. when you’re a teenager you can’t even take care of yourself, how can you take care of another human being?

oh, she was so screwed. her parents were going to get a stroke at the news, not to mention her boyf- shit. her boyfriend. how was she going to tell him? was he going to be happy? was he going to leave her? she felt like the floor was swallowing her.

she breathed deeply, trying to clear out her head, but all she could think about were those positive pink sticks. she loved babies and obviously she wanted them in her future, but having one so early in her life felt almost like a mistake. she only had that thought for a second, but hell she felt so guilty.

“babe you done in there? dinner’s ready!” she heard him shout from the kitchen. “coming!” she quickly took the tests and put them in her pocket. looking at her reflection in the mirror before going out, she decided that everything was going to be okay, or at least she hoped, and that she’d tell him in a week. she firstly wanted to take some time to think about it on her own, and to also talk to her parents.

the night she decided to finally break out the news to him, he had just came back from a day with jj and pope. she had cooked dinner, in hopes to relax herself a little bit, but the whole time she was cooking, she was thinking about what to say to him, which made her even more stressed than before.

now, she was pacing back and forth in the living room of the château, while her boyfriend was mimicking and recreating some jokes and obviously stupid things jj made during the day.

“john b.” nothing. he kept going on and on about his fishing trip with the boys. not that she didn’t like listening to him, it just wasn’t the right time to talk about fishing. “john b.” nothing. absolutely nothing. did he became deaf in an afternoon? “john b! i really need to talk to you.” his head snapped back at her, silencing the second he heard her shout.

“okay- yeah, okay, let’s sit down.” she smiled thankfully at his words. he took her hands, as they both sat on the couch, turning their bodies so they could face one another.

they stood silent for a couple of minutes, him not wanting to rush her and her trying not to freak out for the thousandth time. she then took a deep breath and gave him a soft smile, rubbing her thumbs on the back of his hands. “i- uhm, i-, i’m pregnant.”

a strangled whine left his throat as his eyes widened out, like he had just seen a ghost. “you- you’re pregnant.”

she nodded along. “i’m pregnant.”

“and you’re a hundred percent sure? like totally and completely sure.”

“yeah, i took three tests just to be sure.”

“alright, and how are we feeling about this?” his tone was low, and uncertain. he didn’t want to rush anything. he wanted her to know that she was his priority and he was going to do anything to support her.

“i- i don’t know. i mean of course i’m happy, a baby is a blessing, but we’re so young. we have nothing figured out, or nothing at all anyway. i was so scared to tell you because what if you don’t want it? what if you leave me? i can’t bring up a child on my own. and what if you get bored of me? what if i’m not a good mom? or if you-“

“woah, breath, baby. take a deep breath with me, yeah?”

he inhaled and exhaled slowly, making her follow his rhythm. he placed both of his hands on her belly, like he was trying to create some sort of contact with the little one. he knew it was way too early to fully addressing it as a baby, but either way that was his child. it sounded so strange to say that. being a parent while still being so young was certainly not in his plans, but that was going to be his son, or daughter. he would have part of his blood in them, maybe they would have his hair or eyes, even though he hoped they would take after his mother. he would’ve loved a little copy of his girlfriend running and laughing around the house.

“listen to me, baby. i would love nothing more than having a family with you. you are it for me. i wanna marry you, and have a bunch of baby us makin’ a mess ‘round the house. i would never, ever, leave you or our child. he, or she, is my flesh and blood, and baby, you are the person i love the most in the world. if you wanna go on with the pregnancy, you’ll be a wonderful mother, because you’re kind, and gentle and so loving. i know i can’t offer you much, but i promise, i’ll try to be the best father this baby could ever have.” he took a small pause, looking at her in the eyes, this time even more serious than before. “you’re gonna carry them for nine months, so you tell me what we’re gonna do, and i whatever you choose to do, i will support you every step of the way.”

her eyes started to fill up with tears, feeling fortunate to have him by her side. how did she get so lucky, she had no idea. there was no doubt john b was going to be the most wonderful and caring father.

“honestly, i’d like to keep it. i wouldn’t mind having a little john b blabbering about surfing.” they both shared a laugh at her words.

“very well, mama. we’re gonna figure everything out, don’t worry. i got you. both, of you.”

john b wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. it was going to be hard, and frightening, but they were together, and they were going to figure it out. they always did.

[harryspurpleloofah]

I am not sure if you have seen the performance Harry did at MSG with Kacey Musgraves ("You're Still The One" by Shania Twain), but I would love a one-shot based off of something like that. Maybe the reader is also a singer and she and Harry have been secretly dating and that song is how they announce their relationship? And, of course, I would love for it to be smutty if you feel it. I LOVED "Elevator" and I am about to go and read "A Taste of You Instead".

Hii! Thanks so much for requesting I’d love to write this for you! As a massive Shania Twain fan I loved this show too I’ve seen it and LOVED it. Thanks for reading my work let me know what you think of a taste of you instead 💜 if anyone else has any requests would love to take more

Still The One

(Picture is not mine)

Summary: Harry and Y/N have been dating for a while now but the public has never picked up on it since they e been successful at keeping it low key. One day though Harry and Y/N plan a surprise for their fans at MSG.

TW: swearing, smut, p in v sex but reader is on birth control, nipple play, tit sucking, clit stimulation

The hum of the crowd echoed from the arena beyond, a low, electric thrum that seemed to vibrate through Harry’s chest. He sat on the edge of the couch in his dressing room, pulling on his boots and adjusting his jacket, though his mind wasn’t entirely on the preparations. His thoughts kept drifting to the moment that was fast approaching—the moment everything would change.

His phone buzzed on the table in front of him. He didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who it was. A grin tugged at his lips as he reached for it, his fingers swiping to answer before it could ring again.

“Hey, you ready?”

Her voice was warm and familiar, with a hint of teasing. He could practically picture her, her smile lighting up even over the phone.

“Yeah I’m ready. But I was just making sure you are. You still in?” Harry asked, trying to mask the slight edge of nerves that had crept in.

“Of course,” she replied with that same confident ease that made his heart race every time he heard it. “I’m almost there. Five minutes tops.”

He let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch as he ran a hand through his hair. “You sure? No backing out now.”

She laughed, the sound low and knowing. “Are you nervous, Haz?”

“Not nervous.” He paused, glancing down at his phone and the growing list of messages and show notes. “Just...figuring out how this is going to go.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end, and then her voice softened. “You know we’ve been planning this for months, right? It’s just a song, Harry. And it’s ours.”

His heart thudded at the words. Their song. The one they’d practiced in private, their secret duet that would be unveiled for the world to see. He rubbed his thumb over the phone’s screen as if he could touch her through the distance.

“I know. I’m just...” He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. “You’re a lot braver than I am.”

“That’s debatable,” she replied. “But don’t worry. I’ll be there in five.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you more. Bye.”

With the call ending, Harry stood up and walked to the mirror, adjusting his jacket one last time. His reflection stared back at him confident and ready for the show of a lifetime. But tonight wasn’t just about the music. Tonight was about her, about them finally stepping into the spotlight, together.

He stepped away from the mirror and turned toward the door. His pulse quickened at the thought of her walking in, her face lighting up as she stepped onto the stage, and how in just a few hours, the whole world would know.

The energy in Madison Square Garden was electric. Harry’s voice still lingered in the air as the final notes of his last song faded out, the crowd still roaring from the performance. He stood center stage, bathed in the golden light of the spotlight, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he took a moment to collect himself. The audience's excitement was palpable, the adrenaline of the show still buzzing through him.

He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, catching his breath, before leaning into the mic. The crowd quieted, the anticipation building in the air like static.

“Alright, alright, thank you so much,” Harry said, his voice warm and steady, yet carrying the hint of something personal, something more intimate. “It’s been an incredible tour so far, and I’ve had the pleasure of sharing the stage with some amazing people.”

He paused, glancing down at his shoes as he chose his words carefully. The crowd, sensing something was coming, leaned in a little closer. Harry smiled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked up. “But there’s one person I’ve been lucky enough to share this whole experience with… someone who’s very special to me.”

The murmur of curiosity rippled through the crowd, but Harry wasn’t ready to give it all away just yet. His gaze flickered towards the side of the stage, where you were just about to step out, your silhouette barely visible behind the curtains.

“I’m not going to give too much away,” he continued, his tone light, teasing. “But she’s an incredible talent, someone I respect deeply. We’ve spent a lot of time together on and off the stage, and I couldn’t be more excited for you all to finally see her.”

Harry’s gaze softened, a hint of affection in his smile. He cleared his throat before continuing. “So, without further ado...please welcome someone who is incredibly important to me, and someone who I’m beyond proud to have here with me tonight. Please give it up for the very talented, Y/N!”

The lights shifted, and the crowd erupted into applause as she stepped out onto the stage. As she walked toward him, Harry couldn’t help but smile. It was more than just the crowd’s reaction that made his heart race, it was the sight of her, stepping into the light beside him. The moment they’d been waiting for, where their secret was no longer a secret, and everything they shared would be known to the world.

She took his hand as she joined him on stage, her fingers brushing against his, the familiar warmth of her touch calming the fluttering in his chest. The cheers from the audience were deafening, but Harry couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. He squeezed her hand, trying to steady himself.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice low, only for her to hear.

She gave him a soft smile, her eyes full of warmth and confidence. “Course I am.”

And with that, they began to sing.

The familiar chords of "You're Still the One" filled the air, and for the first time, the entire world knew what had been hidden for so long. The connection between them was undeniable. Their voices blended together effortlessly, each note coming from a place of shared history, of countless hours spent together behind the scenes, rehearsing, laughing, and just being.

As they sang the chorus, Harry’s hand found hers once more, their fingers lacing together as they shared the mic. The crowd’s applause had faded into the background, the world shrinking down to just the two of them.

Her heart raced as she looked at him, her eyes meeting his for just a moment, the weight of everything they had hidden suddenly feeling so light. This was their truth. And in that moment, everything felt perfect.

“Thanks so much for having me tonight!” She shouted in the mic over the deafening cheers of the crowd, “I’ll leave you to it.”, she said to Harry with a smile before putting the mic on the stand and waving goodbye as well as blowing kisses to the people of the arena before disappearing backstage.

"Alright, alright," he said, his voice warm and light. "I know, I know…it’s a lot to take in, huh?" His grin widened, and the audience laughed, the tension lifting just a little. "But before we go on, I just want to take a minute. I know some of you might be a little…surprised, but I need to say this."

"Y/N and I have been together for a while now," he started, his voice steady and filled with affection. "We’ve kept it private for reasons that I’m sure most of you can understand, but the thing is…she means the world to me. More than I could ever really put into words."

He let out a small breath, “I’m not here to overshare or get all mushy on you, but I do want to ask one thing, and it’s important to me..please, show her the same respect and kindness that you’ve shown me over the years.”

The audience seemed to soak in his words, the mood shifting from one of curiosity to understanding. Harry smiled, his heart swelling with the quiet, simple truth of what he was saying.

“She’s an incredible person, and I’m so lucky to have her by my side. I just want you all to know that. It’s not any of her fault that she’s dating me and I am who I am and my life comes with some amazing perks that I am so so thankful for. But I think you can all guess there’s a bit of an ugly side to it as well and I don’t want her to see any of that just for the mistake of dating me.”

The crowd had settled down slightly now and fortunately it looked like most if not all of them were understanding what Harry was saying, some nods and cheers accompanying his little speech about her. He smiled before continuing.

“I would like to again remind you all to remember that everyone is a person even celebrities, and we thank you so much for all the love that’s been given to us on your part but we also request that you please don’t make judgements about anyone before knowing hem personally. Thank you so much.”

The crowd cheered along in agreement, a few people already cooing and recording the speech he was making.

“Right enough of the sap we’ve got a show to put on people!”, he grinned widely as the crowd roared for him. He gestured to his band to start playing, “Now Madison Square Garden I’ve got a great song for you so up on your feet and sing along if you know the words it’s Kiwi!”

The thunderous applause was still echoing in Harry’s ears as he walked off the stage, his heart racing from the sheer energy of the performance. His face was flushed, his curls damp with sweat, but he couldn’t stop smiling. The show had been a success, and more importantly, the weight of their secret was finally gone.

He pulled the towel from around his neck and wiped his face as he made his way through the bustling backstage area. His mind was set on finding her, his grounding presence, his partner in everything. And then he saw her.

Y/N stood near his dressing room, her arms crossed casually, but her face lit up the moment their eyes met. She looked radiant, still riding the adrenaline of being on stage with him, and the sight of her made his chest tighten in the best way.

“There you are,” he said, his voice low and filled with warmth as he approached her. He tossed the towel onto a nearby chair and opened his arms, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She melted into him, her hands resting against his back. “You were amazing,” she murmured, her voice muffled slightly against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her hips. “We were amazing,” he corrected with a grin. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, I mean that.”

She shook her head with a laugh. “You’re the one who had them in the palm of your hand all night. I was just along for the ride.”

Harry tilted his head, his gaze soft but unwavering. “You’re not just along for the ride, love. You’re the best part of it.”

Her breath caught at his words, and for a moment, the noise of the world around them seemed to fade. Harry reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering against her cheek.

“I feel so relieved.”

Her smile softened, and she nodded. “Me too. It’s a relief, you know? Finally being able to just…be.”

He studied her face for a moment, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Feels fucking good,” he murmured. His hand slid to her hip, tugging her a little closer, and his voice dropped lower. “You know what else feels good? Watching you out there, in that dress, singing like that…”

She gave him a teasing look. “Harry, you can’t keep it in your pants for one night?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Nope. Not when you look like that.” His hand wandered, brushing along the small of her back, then down to her ass. He gave it a light squeeze, his lips twitching into a smirk when she gasped. “I’ve been thinking about this since soundcheck. You know what you do to me, don’t you?”

“Harry,” she hissed “Someone could see us.”

“Let them,” he shot back, his voice low and thick. “We’re not hiding anymore, remember?”

Her breath hitched when he pressed her back against the wall, his lips ghosting over her jawline. “You’ve been driving me mad all night,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “You think I’m just gonna walk away after that?”

Her fingers curled into his shirt, her resolve slipping with every word. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it,” he said with a grin before finally capturing her lips in a slow, filthy kiss. His hands roamed freely now, sliding over her hips, her ass, pulling her against him so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his sweaty curls. “We should..probably go somewhere else,” she mumbled against his lips, though her grip on him didn’t loosen.

“Mm,” he hummed, trailing kisses down her neck. “Couldn’t wait that long if I tried.”

But he pulled back to grab her hand. “C’mon. Dressing room. Now.”

Her heart raced as he led her inside, shutting the door behind them with a click. His eyes were dark when he turned back to her, and the way he walked toward her, his shirt already half-unbuttoned, sent a thrill straight through her.

“Now,” he said, his voice rough, “where were we?”

She let out a gasp when his hands slid up her sides, slipping under her dress to grip her thighs. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he pressed her back against the wall of the dressing room.

“You looked so fucking good out there,” he continued, his lips dragging along her jaw and down to her neck. “This dress…every time you moved, I couldn’t stop thinking about what’s underneath.”

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice shaky but edged with want. Her hands moved to his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. She couldn’t focus enough to undo them properly—not with the way his mouth was working on her skin, his teeth scraping lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Hmm?” he hummed, the sound vibrating against her throat. “What is it, love? Want me to stop?”

“No! Fuck-don’t,” she shot back, her words more confident than she felt

He grinned against her neck, his hands sliding higher until they were just under the curve of her ass. “Alright love.”

With a firm grip, he lifted her off the ground, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The move sent her dress riding up her thighs, and the friction of his trousers against her bare skin made her gasp. He carried her over to the couch in the corner of the room, sitting down with her straddling him.

The position gave him full access, and he wasted no time letting his hands wander, slipping under the thin straps of her dress to push them off her shoulders. She helped him along, her breathing shallow.

“Fuck,” he groaned, leaning back slightly to take her in. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and the way her back arched into his touch made his cock throb against the tight confines of his underwear.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his eyes dark as they flicked up to meet hers, “you’re on the pill right?”

“Yeah-yeah I am.”

She reached down, her fingers deftly working to undo his belt. He helped her along, lifting his hips just enough to shove his trousers down, his boxers quickly following.

Her eyes dropped to him, her lips parting as she took him in. Harry’s breath hitched at the look on her face, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning up to kiss her again, rougher.

“Come here,” he whispered, his hands gripping her hips as he helped her lift herself over him. The anticipation made his head spin, and when she finally sank down onto him, both of them let out matching groans.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his hands gripping her tighter as he tried to stay still and give her a moment to adjust. But she didn’t wait, her hands braced on his shoulders as she began to move, slow and deliberate at first.

The way she rolled her hips had him biting his lip to hold back a string of curses. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said, his voice strained.

Her response was a breathy moan, her nails digging into his shoulders as she picked up the pace. The room filled with the sound of their bodies moving together, her quiet gasps and his low groans mixing in a way that made it impossible to think about anything else.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands guiding her movements. “Just like that. Keep going—fuck—you feel so good.”

She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his as she moved faster, the pleasure building between them. “Harry,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing.

His mouth was on her then, hot and wet as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her back arching as his teeth grazed her. The other breast wasn’t neglected for long, his free hand kneaded it, his thumb circling her nipple while his tongue flicked over the other.

“Always so good for me,” he murmured against her skin, his lips moving to the curve of her breast before sucking another mark into her flesh.

His fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, watching her face closely as her head fell back and her mouth parted.

“Harry,” she whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his lips finding her neck again.

With the combination of his finger rubbing her clit and his cock sliding in and out if her again and again, she found it easy to let go for him. She came with a guttural moan and he soon followed suit.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together on the couch, their heavy breaths the only sound in the small room. Harry’s forehead rested against Y/N’s, his hands lazily tracing patterns on her back as they came down from the high.

“Still with me, love?” he asked softly, a teasing lilt in his voice as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her face.

She gave a breathless laugh, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Barely,” she admitted, her fingers sliding over his chest, tracing the faint lines of his tattoos.

“Good,” he said with a smirk, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Means I’m doing my job.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “Fuck you.”

“Love you too.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Finally being able to be us.”

“Better than good,” he said, tilting her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “Having you out there with me, hearing the crowd cheer for you, knowing we don’t have to hide anymore..it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she leaned in to kiss him softly, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. When she pulled back, she grinned, her fingers lightly tugging at his messy curls.

Y/N groaned dramatically, burying her face further into his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, brushing his nose against her hair. “But I reckon we’ll both feel better getting home. You good enough to slide off me, sweetheart?”

She nodded, sitting up slowly with his hands steadying her hips. He winced slightly as they parted, the loss of her warmth immediate but softened by the sight of her fixing her dress.

He adjusted himself, pulling his boxers and trousers back into place before standing to grab his shirt. As he buttoned it up, he glanced over at her, catching the soft smile she sent his way.

He grabbed his car keys from the side table, “get dressed baby honey we’ll go home.”

She stretched but soon got up and put on her clothes. That night they got home and enjoyed each other’s company to the fullest along with Legally Blonde, two cups of hot chocolate and a beautiful atmosphere of relief and warmth.

[luulapants]

Luula! I saw your reblog post about taylor swift and billie eilish and audio processing with white girls singing pop, you know the one I mean? You tagged it with don't make me go sociolinguistics on your ass....

I am asking (out of sheer curiosity and genuine interest) please go sociolinguistic on their asses.

I want the explanation on why I don't understand rap...

Please thank you 🙏

Hey, anon! Honestly, good on you for asking the question.

The short answer on why you don't understand rap is pretty simple: it's because you don't listen to rap.

The long answer starts with this premise: all natively spoken human languages and dialects are created equal.

No language is easier or more difficult for an infant to learn - there may be a more stringent academic standard, but as for the basic language that people speak, any child can learn any human language with equal ease*. No language intrinsically sounds more or less appealing or sophisticated; any such judgment is based on how you were socialized to feel about the people who speak it.

(*the obvious exception to this rule is physical limitations, such as the ability to hear (Deaf children will struggle with vocal languages compared to sign) or a speech impediment (a language without 'th' will be easier for a child with a lisp).)

I don't know what dialect of English you speak, but I'm making a leap to assume it's a white dialect adjacent to Standard American English (SAE). If that's correct, try giving this a listen:

This is much easier for most white people to understand not because MC Lars enunciates better - he's speaking quite quickly - but because he's rapping in a very standardized white American dialect, which is probably familiar to you. Compare to this song by Denzel Curry:

This is slower - fewer words per minute - than the MC Lars song, but I'm guessing it was harder for you to understand, because Denzel Curry speaks Black American English (BAE), a dialect you probably don't understand well.

There's a prominent perception in the US, not said as openly as it once was, that BAE is "broken" English, or English poorly spoken rather than a distinct dialect. I can't tell you how many white people have told me they tried to watch HBO's The Wire but "couldn't understand it" because the characters "don't enunciate." The characters enunciate fine, but they speak a BAE dialect white people are rarely asked to listen to. I'll admit, it took me a little while to get my ear around that particular Baltimore variety, too, but after an episode or two of working at listening, I got the hang of it just fine.

That's sort of the crux of the matter, though: who do we believe is worth our time and effort to learn to listen to?

Most Black folks in the US could understand that MC Lars song, because most Black folks in America are biglossal - they speak both the BAE they grew up with and the SAE they had to learn in school. Black children are put at an enormous disadvantage when they are forced to learn a new dialect on top of their other school work. Non-English speakers get special supplementary classes when they enter school - BAE speakers are made to figure it out on their own. Then, throughout their life, they're expected to "code switch," switch dialects, when they need to be understood by a white person. Society tells them it's essential to put in the effort to learn to understand and speak SAE.

White people are almost never expected to even understand BAE. Most white Americans easily learn how to understand British English, though. Most will feel as though they didn't actually work to learn it, that it came naturally. There is absolutely no practical reason British English should be an easier shift from SAE compared to BAE, except that white British people enjoy a level of privilege that makes the effort of tuning one's ear feel expected.

There's something to be said about the fact that the things many rappers - Black rappers and rappers of other minority backgrounds - are rapping about will not speak to your experience. You may feel like you can't relate to Kendrick Lamar the way you can relate to Chappell Roan, but honestly how many white girls on tumblr are rocking out to "Pink Pony Club" who have NEVER been to the club? And how many more could absolutely relate when Lamar says in "PRIDE.":

Now, in a perfect world, I probably won't be insensitive Cold as December but never remember what winter did I wouldn't blame you for mistakes I made or the bed I laid Seems like I point the finger just to make a point nowadays

And, yes, there are references and turns of phrase that you'll need to go look up. We do that for all sorts of things. Did you read Shakespeare in school? Weren't there footnotes telling you what it meant? Have you ever looked up a list of words that are different in British and American English? Don't you know that Taylor Swift's "All Too Well" is about Jake Gyllenhaal even though he's never mentioned?

I will again refer to Claire Vaye Watkin's On Pandering, in which she observes that people on the periphery - social and racial and gender minorities - learn to appreciate the things that the privileged - straight white cis men - tell them is art. How many great works by rich white men have you stretched yourself to find meaning in, even when they don't really speak to you as a person at all? And why are you not willing to stretch that same way in the direction of the less privileged? Why can spend the time and energy to find universal meaning in the works of Dickens but not in the works of The Notorious B.I.G.?

The fact that you can't understand rap has nothing to do with rap and everything to do with you, your socialization, your values, and the culture you were raised in. You don't understand rap because you haven't learned how to understand rap. You haven't learned how to understand rap because you don't think it's valuable enough to justify the effort. You don't think it's valuable because you don't think Black culture and Black language and Black artists are valuable.

You don't understand rap because you don't listen to rap.

[pumpkinbxtch]

𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗰𝘃𝘀! ᯓᡣ𐭩

— leo valdez x f!reader

radiostar is playing… cvs by winnetka bowling league!

warnings: none a/n: based on a song that is one of my all-time favorites. This is because our Leo won the poll!

𝐋eo's hair fluttered in the wind as he urged Festus with kicks to go faster, all because he was running late, like really freaking late. The brunette bit his lip as he saw the time on the clock at the back of his bronze dragon's head, and sensing his owner's urgency, Festus let out a huff mixed with a metallic whine.

— She's gonna kill me — he exclaimed, and the mechanical beast growled, steering in an unexpected direction. Apparently, Festus wanted to stop, which Leo thought was the worst timing. — Buddy, not now!

Ignoring him, they ended up right in front of a CVS. What would the parking lot folks think? With any luck, they’d assume Leo had just hopped out of a monster truck, as the dragon's height was the only thing that might make sense to normal mortals.

— What? Is your paw hurting, man? This isn't even for you!

But that wasn't Festus's aim. Now, the dragon felt like the only intelligent being around, though there was no way to tell Leo, no time. He nudged him towards the automatic doors, hoping the son of Hephaestus would be smart enough to figure it out like he always did with Festus’s unspoken needs.

— But... — Leo started to turn around, and the dragon growled, puffing out a bit of hot smoke that made Leo close his eyes in resignation. All he got from that was something like, "Get going, man, hurry up!" So not knowing exactly what for, he went in anyway.

And, oh, god bless CVS.

Right at the entrance was a display with last-minute items. Leo grabbed a heart-shaped box of chocolates and some flowers and the boy ended up clutching them tightly to his chest as Festus managed the speed.

— Thanks, bro – ah! Slow down a bit, I want to get there alive!

Once again, the dragon ignored him, but at least Leo wasn't even later. He hopped off half a block away and walked with the gifts still pressed to his chest. His heart raced even more when he saw you sitting under a tree, reading with headphones on, noticing how you furrowed your brow from a distance.

— Oh, holy Hephaestus — Leo muttered a few meters from you, hiding the chocolates and flowers behind his back, trying to pull off a casual smile.

It wasn’t until his Converse shoes peeked out from under your book that you looked up. He was a mess, his hair all over the place, and you could tell he had taken the fast route, with leaves and trash stuck in his curly hair.

— Hey, babe — he said with a wide smile, trying to keep it casual. You shook your head with puffed cheeks, and he slumped his shoulders, knowing you were mad. But his despair didn't last long as he remembered his ace up his sleeve (or Festus’s paw).

Your boyfriend revealed the gifts and knelt to offer them as if they were the world’s greatest treasures. He had never done something like this, and it seemed fitting since you had just talked about something similar in front of the bronze dragon with a friend of yours. Of course, Festus had been in luggage mode at the time, so no one suspected anything.

— From me, to you, my sweet angel — Leo said with a radiant smile, his cheeks starting to blush. You smiled, took off your headphones, and accepted the gifts, smelled the roses and looked at the box of chocolates. Your boyfriend thought he was in the clear when you gave him a small kiss on the lips. But then, while stroking his hair and giving him another one on the cheek, you whispered in his ear.

— Tell Festus thanks, love. I forgive him. But not you.

[drurrito]

Are You The One? - One

A/N: I've been sitting on this idea for a minute. Some quick background on AYTO: it's a gameshow -- there's usually 9 or 10 couples that are matched based on compatibility. They have about 10 weeks to figure it out by playing games and going on dates. They pair off at "matching ceremonies" to see how many light beams they get to clue them in on who might be a perfect match. Anyway, here goes nothing--all mistakes are mine of course.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, Jerk!Vision lol

------------

No match!

Wanda stares at the screen, mouth agape and mind racing. Vis squeezes her hand.

"Wanda-"

"You're not my match," Wanda whispered, "you're not my match and we only have two matching ceremonies to figure everything out."

"That doesn't change what we have," he turns to her, taking both her hands into his.

"It changes everything," Wanda bites, "I wasted so much time with you," she runs a frustrated hand through her hair. Vis just stands there, arms stupidly hanging by his sides. Wanda thought she was winning this game by sticking with him. She ignored everyone's pleads for her to pick someone else the last few matching ceremonies. That one beam of light was her and Vis without a doubt.

Until now.

"My match is still here," she's quiet again. Vis looks like he's still processing. He's been extremely persuasive up until this point. Vis would just talk Wanda out of actually playing the game every time she mentioned talking with anyone else. To the rest of the house, he sounded like a broken record, but to Wanda--he sounded like her favorite song.

"So, that's it?" Vis mumbles, his face contorts into something like disbelief, he looks foolish.

"That's the point, Vis," Wanda doesn't spare a second glance at him as she leaves.

----------------

The house buzzes with conversation. Wanda is sitting on the patio alone, twirling her glass in her hand.

"Hey," Shuri slowly approaches the seat across from Wanda. After the Truth Booth, everyone gave Wanda some kind of sympathy. A hug, some words, tight smiles and other gestures that did nothing to stop Wanda's stomach from churning something awful. The guilt has been making her shoulders sag heavily since coming back.

"We've been crunching the numbers," Shuri starts again, Wanda keeps her eyes on the dancing glass in her hand.

"We think your match could be y/n."

That gets a side glance and cocked eyebrow from Wanda, "she barely talks."

"Because she makes you do all the talking," Shuri shoots Wanda a knowing look who only rolls her eyes in response. You were good at getting Wanda to talk on your group dates. It only took a few questions to spark a conversation among the whole group, actually. Sometimes you just shared a comfortable silence, it threw Wanda off so bad. How can you connect with someone without a conversation?

"Look, y/n has won two dates in a row with you, that's two more dates than Vis ever won. Plus, you guys haven't sat together at a matching ceremony yet. If it's not you, then it has to be Carol--but we don't have any more time left to figure this out. If some of our guesses end up being correct this week, then we can figure out the rest of the matches from there."

"So you want me to sit with someone that I have no chemistry with?" Wanda asks, trying not to sound less than amused with the plan.

"Technically, you don't have chemistry with anyone," Shuri says without missing a beat, it makes Wanda flinch.

"But," Shuri drawls, "now that Vis isn't helicoptering over you, there are a few days to see if something sparks between you and y/n before the ceremony."

Wanda shifts in her seat with a heavy sigh that all but burns her nose. Outside the island, finding love is hardly ever a team effort. But in this game, teamwork is key. While getting a blackout would have costed money from the prize fund, it would have crossed off a lot of potential couples. That one beam belongs to someone, just not to Wanda and Vis.

"Have you talked to y/n about this?"

"Told her before your Truth Booth," Shuri flashes a nervous smile, "if it's any consolation, she was also hesitant at first."

Wanda can't help but look puzzled. She chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before nodding slowly.

"Alright, I'm in."

------------

Wanda walks back into the house with Shuri. Everyone is sitting around in the living room, half of the group is gossiping about Bruce and Natasha sneaking off into the boom boom room for one last time. Shuri gives Wanda a parting glance before sitting down next to Namor. Half the room has paired off into new couples, Wanda realizes. Vis is nursing a bottle between Tony and Steve, Wanda doesn't look at him as she makes her way over to you. You're busy nodding along to whatever Thor is talking about, while Carol is leaning against you as she talks to Maria. Your eyes are on Wanda as soon as she fills in the space between you and Thor.

"Hey," you give a warm smile that Wanda barely notices over the burn of the alcohol in her throat.

"Hey," she rasps back to you.

"I'm sorry about today," you look frustratingly genuine as Wanda searches your eyes for a few beats, looking for a reason to be mad at you. She gives up, turning back to her glass to down the rest in one gulp.

"Yeah, me too."

---------

As it turns out, you're also good at having conversations. It only took one "and what about you?" from Wanda to get you to actually participate. Vis was seething from his spot on the couch until Tony tugged him away to talk with another group. Maria had to do the same against Carol's protests when she realized you and Wanda were trying to hit it off. Your housemates continued to leave until it was just the both of you sitting on the couch. Wanda never noticed. She figured the two of you were alone this whole time with the way you looked at her.

Wanda is listening to you talk about your favorite movie when she fails to stifle a yawn.

"Shit, it's late," you watch the clock in the kitchen, realizing that you can hear it's ticking now. The rest of the house is dead silent. Wanda thumbs at the ring on her index finger. Shit, where is she supposed to sleep now? All the beds are likely taken.

Except for one.

"Hey," your voice is gentle, "I can sleep on the couch, you take the bed."

"I'm not going to ask you to do that-"

"You don't have to," you take a breath, "I just want to give you space, if you want it."

Wanda's brows furrow, space? She thinks back to the night when Vis made out with Hope and insisted on sleeping splayed on top of Wanda afterward. Space was never an option with Vis, that's why she's looking at you like you just grew a second head. You wordlessly grab Wanda's glass to wash, your way of giving her some time to think it over. You're drying off your hands when Wanda walks up to the bar.

"What side of the bed do you sleep on?"

-------------

Wanda tries not to think about the fact that you like to sleep on the left side while she tries to fall asleep on the right, the side she prefers.

[hoe4sports]

“I wanted tall, I wanted green eyes”

Jessie Fleming x reader

A/N: mentions of symptoms of the flu. Denial of being gay. This is a part of my new Jessie series called 10x better. It’s based off of the song x10 better by Marielle Craft. There will be multiple parts.

-

You groaned as you ripped the paper out of your workbook before cramming it into a ball and chucking it towards the bin. It was close to summer, and the last month of College was wrapping up. You hadn’t really wanted to do college, but you didn’t have anything else going on so your parents pulled some strings to get you into UCLA’s prestigious engineering program going with a major in material engineering. The school had a decent track program where you had excelled into a good athlete. Luckily you had found yourself a bouquet of girls in class and in track who sticked together with you through the college years. The group of you went through all kinds of hardships together as you gradually turned into adults. That had led you to sitting with the girls at a table in the library‘s area specifically dedicated to group projects and talking.

«I cant for the life of me figure this out. It just won’t stick! It really makes no sense.” You huffed at Aubrey who looked just as lost as you did. Normally, you were a decent student. Getting good grades; mostly A’s and B’s but you had the occasional C+. It didn’t bother you at all, grades and school wasn’t what defined you as a human. “What part is it that your stuck on? Maybe I can help?” Your friend Mia suggested. You dramatically flipped your textbook towards her to let her see the materials you were struggling with. She read through the page quickly before taking off her glasses dramatically. “You are on your own kid, I barely passed the test about that part.” It left you with rolling your eyes as you huffed again.

«What about that boyfriend of yours? Isn’t he like supersmart? William or whatever his name was» Ella teased as you laid your head down on the table and covered it with the book. “Ugh” you said. “Ooo, trouble in paradise!” Amalia teased. You sat up and crossed your arms as you shook your head. “Guys, cut her some slack. Y/N, I have a friend who is really smart. She plays soccer with me, I could give you her number” Mia suggested causing everyone to shut up. You sat up interested. “I’m listening” Mia smiled. “Her name is Jessie, she’s the smartest person I know! She told me that I could always ask for help so I supposed I can lend you my favor.” “Deal!” You said as you handed over your phone for Mia to type in the number of your saviour.

—

You sat infront of the big mirror in your down curling your hair like a last minute touch up. Your boyfriend had blown you off once again for studying, so you had decided to hit up Jessie so she could help you study. William was always so busy, always studying or going to his little clubs. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, but he was just there. Life hadn’t handed over a boyfriend before college, so when William asked; you jumped on it. It wasn’t like people describe it. Like butterflies, romance and giggles. It was just like a friend that you would kiss occasionally. You had settled on the thought of you be a-romantic or asexual, it was painful to know that you were never going to experience the bliss, the romance and the tickling sensation of a relationship. It wasn’t something you wanted people to know, so you decided to keep it to yourself. It was the ugly truth, but it was still the truth that you had to deal with.

-

You sat in the library, waiting for this mystery Jessie to pull up. She was late, 13 minutes late. You hated people who were late, but you made an assumption that practice had ran late. You took a sip of your smoothie as you looked out of the big window infront of you. It was already dark outside, but the campus was buzzing. People were getting ready to push through the last few weeks of school before finishing college. Some of the students already had landed good jobs, some had gotten accepted into further studies, some had planned for a gap year and some people, like you, had no clue what to do. You just didn’t know what was in store for you. Your parents expected you to get a high paying job, but you just wanted to live. They wanted you to get married and have kids. You wanted to travel the world. You had talent in track, and you were pretty close to becoming an established runner in the 1500m and the 3000m. The expectations didn’t fit your dreams, but after all; you could chase your dreams once your parents had passed.

“Y/N?” A voice said behind cutting of your chain of thoughts leaving you to jump in your chair causing all the hairs on your body to rise. You practically whacked your head around somewhat resembling an owl as you turned to the girl next to you. “You are Y/N, right?” The girl said. “Uhm, yea. You must be Jessie? Mia’s friend?” You asked as you desperately tried to shake yourself out of the state of shock. “Yes, correct! I’m sorry for being late, practice went over and I had to shower so I wouldn’t stink out the library” she said as she turned into a shade of light pink. «I get it, i do track» you said as you gestured for Jessie to sit down in front of you. “Here, I brought you a smoothie as a thank you” you said as you pointed towards the cup next to her. Jessie politely accepted as she took a sip before beginning the session.

After a few hours of Jessie explaining the chapter tremendously, you were starting to slowly understand it. At least, enough for you to study the rest the following day. You were busy packing up your backpack with your books, MacBook and iPad when Jessie tapped your shoulder. “Wanna grab something to eat before bedtime?” Jessie’s suggestion was music to your ears as you loved food.

-

At the dining hall, it was pretty much empty. The large room was quiet, like all of the energies had gone to bed and left for the evening. It was a nice hall with tall walls and decent food. You grabbed a piece of pizza, some salad and a Pepsi Mac. Jessie grabbed Fanta to her Mac and cheese. Your conversation was flowing, and Jesse was quite funny. The sight of Jessie was adorable. She had this amazing aura that your soul craved to be around. Her freckles were cute, like a sky of stars in the middle of the night. And her eyes? Oh god, they felt warm and safe. The was she told stories enchanted you. She was the perfect woman, and that confused you. Not perfect like you wanted to be her, but like you wanted to be with her?

You were snapped out of your dreaming when Jessie called your name. “Hm? Sorry? I got distracted” You said as you took a bite of your pizza while waiting for Jessie. “I asked if you wanted to study tomorrow? I have practice at 5.30, but I’m free by 7” she said as you nodded. Oh god, did you seem desperate? Why were you like this? It felt like your skin was on fire. “Uh, yea, I have track at 5, but I’m free after 7” you confirmed as you changed the subject talking about how Mia had ended up falling asleep in a bush after a party during your freshman year.

After eating, Jessie insisted on following you back to your dorm. The walk from the community building to your dorm was refreshing. The chill spring air was crisp, cooling down your burning skin. It made your curled hair blow in the wind, just like in one of the dumb teenage movies you watched as a kid. The wind was however leaving you slightly cold as you had just worn a simple tank top with flowers printed on it for the day. You felt your body forcing you into a slight shiver, but before you were able to say something; Jessie had already wrapped her jacket around you.

When you reached your dorm, Jessie hugged you goodbye. She insisted on you keeping her jacket until tomorrow’s session which you honestly didn’t mind. You swung the door open as you waved after her and slipped into the dorm before flopping down on your bed with your backpack still on and your face looking up into the ceiling. Your skin felt even warmer now, it was practically boiling hot and your stomach was hurting. It felt uneasy, like it was tickling. It wasn’t a common feeling, and you were hoping that it wasn’t gonna turn into the y when you had plans with Jessie the next day.

“So, how was it?” Mia said as you looked into the ceiling. “Normal, it was studying” you said as you touched your burning cheeks with your cool hand. “Girl, you are blushing! Do you like Jessie?” Mia asked with seriousness in her voice. “I’m not blushing! Jessie is a friend, and I’m not into girls” you tried to advocate for yourself, but it turned out to be a miserable attempt of redemption. “You are not into girls? You came in her all smiling with stars in your eyes” she suggested as you sat up in your bed to look at her. Sure, Jessie was fun, kind, caring, sincere, smart. Pretty much all the positive verbs in the English language, but did that mean that you liked Jessie. “Besides my stomach hurts and I feel feverish, so I’m gonna go to bed miss noisy” you said as you took off Jessie’s jacket.

Mia raised an eyebrow at you. “Jessie’s jacket? You are not feverish; it’s called blushing. Your stomach dosent hurt; it’s called being in love. You like Jessie, and it’s okay! William is as interesting as drying paint” Mia finished as she grabbed her book and got cozy in her bed. “I don’t like girls! And William is tall and he has green eyes” you said as you hid your face in your pillow. Could it be that you actually liked Jessie? It wasn’t possible because you were aromantic. “Is that the best words you can use to describe him? Girl, get your ass down to earth! It’s okay to have a little crush! Mia continued as you buried your face even deeper down in the pillow. She had a point, but you were not sure. You felt like you couldn’t trust yourself. You ended up huffing in a respond hoping Mia would let you off the hook.

“I don’t know who you are trying to convince out of us two; but it’s not me.”

[unknownarmageddon]

Hope you’re not too mad

- finallyyy finished this kross one shot ive been working on for so so long yayy. i’m not really familiar enough with fanfic terms to know what to call this but there’s some kinda hurt happening

- this is inspired by and based around the song favorite liar by the wrecks - also!!!! this au, rental suits, belongs to me and @psycho-chair

It was maybe, ten pm? And it was raining. Raining hard. It clattered against metal, pooled at Killer’s feet on the fire escape below him, drenched his clothes.

          His hood covered his skull. He was crouched at a window. Water soaked his jacket and the hood’s fur drooped with its weight to cover most of his face. The scarce furnishing of the living room inside was barely visible past his own reflection, which was made more visible in the dark and obscured by rain. The glow of a single standing lamp cut through it from one of the room’s corners, otherwise it was dark.

             He lifted a wrist to knock rhythmically on the glass. Then he waited. He knocked again. He didn’t bother to try and force it open himself. The rain wasn’t that bad. And he actually wanted to see him this time, instead of just sneaking in. 

       It took maybe more than five minutes, but eventually a figure shuffled into the room. A light was flicked on and the rest of the room became visible.

      Suddenly the curtains were jerked the rest of the way open, and Cross was there, in front of him. Killer grinned widely and waved at the him. There he was. The guy that he was sitting out here for. Now he couldn’t help but love the rain.

     He saw Cross’s face soften. Which, wasn’t saying a lot, but Killer noticed. The magnet of his soul whirred faster with anticipation. He was so close. 

    There was a click as the window unlatched and Cross quickly pushed it open. 

“Hurry, rain’s gonna get in.” He said hurriedly. 

“It’s fuckin’ comin’ down out here.” Killer exclaimed, yet his voice carried a kind of thrill with it. 

      He put two hands to the windowsill and slid himself inside in one quick motion. The window was promptly closed and locked behind him. Killer’s soaked sneakers sunk into carpet, and the fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed. Killer shook out his sleeves. Cross’s apartment was warm, and the rain now became only a muffled sound in the back of his mind. 

“Evenin’ sunshine.” He greeted the other. The response he got was a harmless, yet tired, scowl. He grinned.

     Cross didn’t complain about how late it was. He used to, but he stopped after Killer’s visits became repetitive enough. 

     Though, he gave Killer a look he liked to interpret as him drilling him, wondering what he wanted, what he came here for. He always wanted something.

Killer grinned and replied “I jus’ wanted to see you.” 

     He also wanted somewhere dry to be and a couch to prop up his feet. And maybe something to eat, if he could manage that, too. But he didn’t say that. 

     Killer eagerly slid into Cross’s space, hungrily, intent on something, but Cross put a palm to his chest and pushed him away. 

“Dude, you’re soaking wet.” He said, mild amusement now making its way into his voice. 

Killer scowled and stuck his tongue out at him. 

     Killer unzipped his jacket and stripped it off, draping it messily over the back of Cross’s couch. He put one hand on the arm rest and half turned half jumped to flop down onto the furniture. He sprawled out on it like a cat, and when Cross joined him, he leaned his back up against him and propped his feet on the arm rest across from him. 

       Killer fished a lighter from his pocket and fiddled with it before lighting a cigarette. Cross turned on the TV across from them; it was a handful of years older than the newest model. A late night reality show neither of them actually really liked started playing. Killer flicked the lighter on and off absently as he watched, only to listen to the clicking and occupy his hand. The room started to smell like smoke. Though it’s not like it didn’t always already. 

They talked quietly about nothing in particular for two episodes of Cross’s show.

       “Surprised you didn’t just break in.“, “Y’know me, no promises.”, “How’s work?”, “C’mon, I missed you, baby.” 

Then,

“We should go to the coast.” Killer blurted suddenly. 

“Tonight.”

     He started, sitting straighter and pivoting to stare at Cross. The last bit of cigarette smoke trailed off limply from his mouth. 

       It had been an off, half-serious comment, but the more he dwelled on it the more he liked the idea. The more it became a desperate fantasy. The more excited he got. He hadn’t been anywhere outside the city in who knows how long. And he knew Cross had a truck. The drive probably wouldn’t be that long.

   And the thought of seeing the coast again, getting in that truck and getting out of this city for however long,

With Cross.

    He wanted to wake up in some dingy hotel somewhere with him.

     Cross paused. His face screwed up in skeptical consideration. “The coast? That’s like, a four hour drive.” 

“It’s, what, saturday? You could miss some work. We’d just go down and fuck around for a couple days and come back.” Killer persisted. He was not planning to let this go. 

Cross laughed dryly and Killer immediately knew he thought it was damn absurd. “It’s fucking ten at night.”

“It’d be worth it.” Killer pressed. “I swear.” 

“Would it?”

“With you? Anything’d be worth it.” Killer tried, grinning.

“I can’t miss work, I.. I don’t have that kind of money to just,” 

“I’ve got money.” Killer said immediately. Which, wasn’t the most true. And he knew Cross knew that. But he couldn’t know that. And whatever would help convince him. 

“We needa vacation. I needa vacation.” 

       Cross considered it, actually considered it, eyes on the TV across from them. He sighed in a rough almost-growl. Killer wondered if he felt the way he did, about escaping off to the coast. He hoped he did. God, he hoped he did. Or maybe he just thought it was stupid. That it was too late to drive that far.

    It was always like this. Killer persisting, trying to convince Cross, dragging him by the wrist. But hardly anywhere as far as the coast.

Killer’s lighter flicked open, then closed again.

     Cross’s eyelights darted up and directly met Killer’s dark sockets. His gaze was intense now. Burned hotter than it had.

The lighter clicked open.

“Okay,” Cross decided. “Fine.” 

     Killer’s soul churned.

The lighter clicked closed.

“Yeah? You in?” Killer asked almost desperately.

    Cross nodded. Just once, but that’s all it took. Killer’s grin bloomed wider, wildly. He had not on his life expected Cross to actually agree. He expected him to brush it off, shake his head. Say they couldn’t possibly. Say he was going to bed, that Killer should too. 

        Killer quickly leaned back over to grind his cigarette into the ash tray on the table beside the couch. Cross didn’t smoke, not hardly enough to need one, but Cross had shoved it into Killer’s hands one day and so there it stayed. 

“But don’t try anything stupid, alright? If we’re going this far we..” 

You 

“We can’t fuck it up.” Cross said. 

“Yeah, yeah, nothin’ stupid, you got it.” Killer agreed quickly as he bounced up off the couch. 

       Cross went uncharacteristically fast from the living room, through the conjoined kitchen, to his bedroom. Killer leaned on the doorway, watched Cross kneel on the carpet to shove pants and shirts into a backpack. He retrieved a wad of cash from a box that had been tucked under his bed and added it to the pile.  

       Killer retracted a moment in favor of the kitchen, where he took two canned drinks and a container holding some kind of unknown leftovers from Cross’s fridge. When he returned to the doorway Cross was slinging the backpack over one shoulder. He caught the drink tossed to him.

       Cross grabbed his jacket from its pile on the bed, hastily pulled it on, zipped, and jerked on the hood. They filed out of the apartment and Killer collected his own jacket on the way. Cross fiddled with keys in the vacant stairwell to lock his door, and as he was, Killer did his best to tie his soaked jacket around his waist. Then they were descending flights of stairs to the ground floor.

Pavement. Rain engulfed them as darkness closed in like an ocean. 

      Cross’s truck was parked where it always was. Doors were unlocked, opened, then closed as they piled inside. Cross slung his bag into the space between them. 

      For a moment they just sat in silence, there in the truck. Everything hung in the air. Cross gripped the steering wheel and scowled at the windshield. His chest rose and fell. Rain tapped on the roof, the windows, begging to be let in. The cab was barely flooded with light from a lone lamppost on the sidewalk. Killer pulled off the lid of his container, glancing down at his spoils. Leftover noodles. 

Killer looked back up and watched Cross. Waited.

He inhaled and keys met ignition.

         All Killer saw was the now-blurred stream of lights outside his window, but he was only focused on the promise of the coast ahead of them. He tipped the container up, dumping cold noodles into his mouth, then chewing, until the container was empty. 

         He leaned back, cheek propped on his hand against the window. He jostled with each bump of the cab. Droplets streamed across the glass.

“This is going to be a horrible idea.” Cross half muttered to himself. 

      When Killer glanced at him he saw his eyes were pinned to the road. Hands flexed on the grip of the steering wheel. 

“Relax, baby, trust me.” Killer cooed.

“Mm,” Cross hummed uncertainly. 

“Hey, if you wanna bail out and turn around we haven’t left town yet.” Killer said, making sure he made it sound almost like a threat, like they were back to square one and back in the gas station and Killer was planning to walk out with a pack of drinks. Like if Cross did it’d be his worst decision yet.

Cross paused a heartbeat, but shook his head and scowled harder at the windshield. “No,”

“And, think about it, all those parties I took you to weren’t that bad, were they?” Killer offered.

Cross’s knuckles clenched firmly on the steering wheel. 

“This isn’t just a party.” He murmured.

        As they drove, Cross was insistent on a budget. Killer obliged, and listened to Cross’s every condition. He went over how much he had brought, and decided they could get a room somewhere, food for two days, and gas. Maybe some things on the side if they weren’t expensive. Just what they needed, nothing needless. Killer nodded along as he repeated it, eyes just trained on the streetlights and the rain. 

       Cross drove all night. They only just reached the small coastal town that was their destination at around 2 am. When the rest of the world was long asleep. 

        It was a poor town with a small population. Out in the middle of nowhere, pressed up against the sea. Far from extravagant. Only filled with old battered houses and trailers, and the occasional board walk or dock or small shop selling who knows what. It was unkempt and overgrown, but not hostile, and Killer’s found it captivating for as long as he could remember. Even though he could barely ever get a ride out to it. 

      He had forgotten how much smaller it was than the city. Everything there was just tall buildings and concrete. But here, here you could actually see stars in the sky. 

       Killer awoke to an empty soda can hitting his shoulder.

“Get up, we’re here.” Cross murmured.

     Killer glanced around, rubbed at his face with his palms, and sat up straighter to peer out the window. 

“We’ll…” He searched, then gestured. “We’ll get a room at that place.”

    He had motioned at a motel, and it was just the same as the town it was in. Small, nothing pretty to look at. But it was cheaper than a hotel, Killer knew it well, and it was better than nothing. 

“There? Someone’s got to have been murdered there.” Cross observed monotonously.

“Makes it more exciting.” Killer offered. 

———

      Cross fished out his cash and pressed it firmly on the check-in desk. Killer leaned over it as they counted. The price for rooms had gone up since he had been here last, but they managed to fit Cross’s budget for two nights. Thankfully.

        Two keys were slid to them and they left the lobby.

        Their room was on the second of two floors. They walked up the stairs to it like near corpses, hoods covering their skulls. Killer moved ahead, glancing back at Cross. It was probably 2:40 am now. 

       Cross pushed room number 14’s door open, flicked on the light, threw his bag to the ground, took off his shoes, and promptly collapsed face first onto the only bed in the room. 

         It was a small space, furnished with a single full sized bed that had two tables either side, and an armchair in one corner. Each table had a lamp, and there was an old tv on a stand opposite the bed. The overhead light above them was dim and flickered periodically, like it was on its last legs.

         Killer kicked off his shoes and walked over to the glass sliding door that made up the back wall. It led to a balcony, and beyond it, Killer thought he could see the ocean. It was still raining, harder now. He could hear it. He grasped the handle,

He imagined hiding away in that downpour. 

“Don’t go outside,” Cross murmured. His voice was low, raspy. So Killer didn’t, and instead stared through the glass. 

     The sea was restless and turmoiling with the rain. Night’s darkness turned it into a vast almost-black abyss of nothing.

Cross murmured again. “C’mere,”

        Killer turned back to him. He was lying in a heap on the bed’s left side with his face buried in a pillow that he clutched with both arms. His jacket laid in a pile on the floor. Something in Killer pulled toward him, warmed him just by looking at him.

        Killer untied his jacket from his waist and it joined Cross’s. He slid under the sheets beside him. Cross shifted to his side to look at him. Killer looked back in turn.

“See? We’ve made it,” Killer whispered. 

    Cross hummed and pressed his eyes closed. Killer leaned his skull into his chest. He felt an arm partially go around him as he was eventually swallowed by unconsciousness. 

     Killer’s eyes flashed open. The room was almost entirely dark, save for whatever light could be scrounged from the balcony window. The lightbulb must’ve died. He slowly turned his head to stare at that window, not really actually seeing it. It was silent. His vision was fuzzed with the darkness and the smeared tar on his face. 

       He took a wandering glance and saw the shape of Cross’s body beside him, turned away on his side, shifting with his breathing. He closed his eyes again. 

    When he woke up the second time he was entangled with Cross. Cross had him wrapped loosely in his arms, holding him facing his chest. Killer’s leg lay sprawled over Cross’s, and a hand clutched his shirt. Everything was light now, golden early morning sunlight filtering through the sliding door and blue ocean sky was just barely visible from where Killer was. 

       He squinted against his newfound consciousness. It felt too early.

Cross was asleep. Killer was surprised he still was this late. But then he remembered the drive from last night. 

     Killer quickly shifted and let go of him. He just, laid there on his back a while. He didn’t see much; the tar ever-streaming from his eyes had smeared in the night like it always did. But he felt it. Felt Cross’s arm over his chest. Felt his other hand when he found it for a second among the sheets. It was all so warm.

      And for an instant he still thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Just for a moment. Just for a moment his soul was some semblance of still. 

    And it was so quiet. All he could hear was the waves and the occasional passing car. Nothing like the city. Part of him yearned for that noise again. But here, he was warm, and the sky was visible. And there was someone beside him. 

     He felt Cross shift. Cross’s eye sockets pried open and he squinted against his own newfound light. Killer beamed at him and he smiled faintly, tiredly in turn. Killer pressed back up against him, not as close this time. Cross closed his eyes again. And Killer never wanted to get up. 

     Eventually, Killer grew restless and he slipped out of the sheets.

      When he slid open the balcony door and stepped out onto it a breeze engulfed him. He wiped at his sockets with his wrist to clear his vision before hanging over the railing to look out at the sea. People already milled about on the beach below him.

    It was still warm, even outside and away from the sheets. And humid. Last night’s rain lingered in the puddles that hung on the railing. 

     When he came back into the room Cross stirred, barely awake again.

Killer greeted him. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty.”

Cross hummed. 

“Let’s go to th’ beach.” Killer decided as he stripped off his undershirt and pulled his jacket back on over his ribcage. 

    His lighter and cigarettes were dug out of his pocket and placed on the table at his side of the bed. 

     At first Cross just laid there, half asleep, watching Killer, with this stupidly fond expression on his face.

“You have shit all over your face.” Cross said with mild amusement.

     Killer huffed a laugh as he sat heavily down on the foot of the bed to pull his shoes on without socks. He was tying one when Cross stood up; and stretched out his arms while pondering the still-open balcony door a moment. 

“Really, first thing you wanna do is go to the beach?” He asked lightly, and Killer liked to think he seemed excited about the idea. 

“We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?” Killer replied. 

“Are we?”

      Cross had time to put on his shoes and grab his room key before Killer herded him out the door. Cross’s jacket stayed on the motel’s floor. 

       Killer led Cross, who was fully lucid now, to a small, stone tiled and weed-overgrown path around the back of the motel. Cover in the form of shade from the building hung over them. To their left was the chainlink gate enclosing the motel’s small pool, and in front of them was a wood-paneled fence. Sand spilled out at the bottom through the cracks in its boards. 

   Killer wasted no time; he immediately jumped the fence, kicking at it and pulling himself up to perch atop it.

“What’re you doing?” Cross called up to him. 

“Showing you what yer missin’,” Killer stated and dropped down the other side.

     He waited a minute. 

“Killer,” he heard his companion growl. But, Cross eventually followed, doing the same he did, and Killer took his hand to help him down. 

      During his last visits Killer learned quickly that they made you pay to get in at the actual gate, and every time after he’s made a point to find any other way of entrance that he could. The toll wasn’t absurdly high, but regardless it was high enough that he didn’t want to spend more money than he could help. And Cross would probably say something about it “not being in the budget”, too, and Killer couldn’t stand the idea of not getting to go to the beach while they were here. So might as well cut to the chase himself. 

      The ocean waves were louder now, and sand shifted under their feet. Killer breathed it all in. 

       The ocean was vast, only broken by the few sharp, large grey rocks that jutted out harshly from the sand in dispersed clusters along the coast.

       Killer quickly scrambled to pull his shoes off and now held both up by the heel in one hand. He spread out his arms enthusiastically, looking back at Cross, waiting.

          He was frowning back at the fence they had scaled, brows creased. But when he looked back at him and the ocean, Killer thought he was relaxed enough. More than he usually was, anyway. And his eyes sparkled ever just as he gazed out at the water. So Killer thought he’d take it. 

“C’mon, let’s go down to the water.” Killer said and started through the loose sand.

    Killer ran down to the edge, breached the wet compact layer just before it, and then his feet met sun-warmed water. Just in time for a wave to come in and sweep foam around his legs. 

“Get down here, pretty boy!” He shouted back to Cross, who lingered, up in the dry sand. 

Killer watched him pull off his shoes and pad down to stand at his side. 

    Killer eagerly went farther in, kicking at the incoming waves and disturbing the sand. A sea-misted breeze played with the fur of his hood, and the next wave that came in almost reached his knees. All while shadows of gulls chattering overheard dappled the water.

“So, we’ve just trespassed?” Cross commented when Killer turned to grin at him.

“Eh, fuckin’ who cares. No one monitors this place anyway.” Killer replied with the dismissive flick of his wrist. 

“If we get kicked out, it’s your fault.” Cross replied, though lightly, and Killer gave him a shove in the arm.

“Quit worryin’, nothin’s gonna happen. Trust me.” 

     Killer started wading through the water along the edge of the ocean, and Cross did the same just a few feet behind him.

     It was all a vast field of blue-green waves, warmed by the sun. Killer whirled to grin and kick a spray of water at Cross’s legs. Cross retaliated, but they were splashed by an incoming wave Killer hid face behind his arm from. He attacked his companion again, flinging up water with his hands at him. He thought he heard Cross laugh before he was smacked in the face by ocean water, which just made him laugh harder. Killer drank in the sound. 

        He jumped for Cross and wrestled him until they fell backwards into the waves. Killer’s grip tightened on his shoes so they wouldn’t get lost to the waves. 

    ��Both of their clothes were entirely soaked through now. But they laughed. Cross laughed, and Killer felt a little bit proud of himself. He’d done this. This was the break he was talking about. Part of that fantasy. And now it was real. 

       He didn’t hear Cross laugh often, not like this. Not enough. He loved it whenever he just, let go. When he got to see all of it. All of him.

          Cross pried away from the other to stand. Killer did shortly after, using Cross’s offered hand to pull himself up, and shouldered off his now-drenched jacket. He tied it around his waist.

          They retracted to trail along the edge of the water again. A glint of pink caught Killer’s eye and he bent down to dig a shell fragment out of the sand. He shoved it and another he came across into his pocket before standing to join Cross again. He tossed a third shell into the edge of a small oncoming wave and watched it land.

“You comin’?” Cross asked, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mouth. 

Killer jogged to catch up, flashing Cross a grin as he took his place beside him.

“I told you this trip’d be worth it.”

     Cross exhaled through his nose in a half-laugh. To think he was here, four hours away from his apartment, at a beach with the guy that flashed a knife at him the first night they met. But he was seeing the ocean for the first time since he could remember. And he admitted he was a bit fond of that guy. 

       They meandered about the beach for maybe another two hours as strangers milled around them. Killer lingered among the waves while his companion only really watched, amused, sometimes sitting by the sand. Killer was always drawn back to splash at him or try to drag him in with him. These efforts were only successful half the time, but that didn’t sway him. And it was worth it when they were. Cross would always tear back up, lighthearted danger in his eyes as he chased him. And so they would run after each other through awkwardly waist high water. Laughing. Laughing like nothing else but this mattered. Like nothing had ever happened, would ever happen. And Killer felt the warmth again, like he had that morning.

      Somehow, at a point they ended up close by the beach’s proper gate, where a stifled stream of visitors entered and exited from. Killer raised a hand above his brow and gazed at the entrance. After about a minute a monster who he gauged as an employee noticed him, then narrowed their eyes back at him, and just for a moment Killer’s soul whirred anxiously. He watched them wave down another employee nearby and say something to them, pointing right at him. Then his soul dropped.

        Both of these strangers started toward him, cueing Killer to swiftly pull back and turn around to rapidly bump Cross on the shoulder with his wrist.

“We gotta go.” He hissed. 

    He knew they recognized him now, like they’d had a bounty over his head from the many similar times before this. Either that or someone had seen them jump the fence and snitched. 

“What?” Cross replied, glancing over his shoulder.

“We gotta go, those guys’ve seen me.” Killer repeated.

“I thought you said they don’t monitor anything,” Cross said firmly.

“I didn’t think they would! I dunno what their deal is, but we ain’t gonna take any chances,” He pressed.

“Killer, you-“

“We gotta go, Cross” 

      Before he could argue more, say something, whatever, Killer tugged at his sleeve and ran for the fence, motioning with the quirk of his head. He already knew the people from the gate had to be following him, but he only glanced back at Cross to make sure he was. He saw Cross hesitate, but he inevitably ran with him. 

        When they were maybe two feet from the fence Killer heard one of their pursuers shout something, and he tore further ahead. Scrambling, he managed to pull himself back up over the barrier, but in his frantic escape his footing became uncertain and he fell the way down. 

“Shit,” He winced as he landed hard on his arm.

      As he sat up and pulled his shoes on, he wanted to glance over his shoulder, make for certain he was in the clear. But he knew all he’d see would be wood fence. And that didn’t make his breathing any less rapid. 

     Beside him, Cross dropped down heavily to join him on the other side of the fence. He quickly pulled his own shoes on and Killer stood up, scowling at nothing. He absently cracked his knuckles. His arm hurt. 

He cursed to himself. There goes the beach. So much for that plan. 

Fuck,

“God dammit.” He heard Cross curse. “If we’d actually gone through the gate,” 

      His voice was startlingly low, dangerous. He was not thrilled about this whole thing anymore. The ocean and the warmth, everything, that came with it was ripped away. He’d finally gotten out and Killer lost it just as soon.

“You wouldn’t catch me dead, that toll they make you pay’s a fuckin’ scam.” Killer snapped.

“Does it matter that much?” Cross asked.

Does it matter that much if we still lose it anyway.

“Yeah, it does. I’m not giving them shit.” 

“You probably woulda said something about your fuckin’ budget, anyway.” He added, in a huff under his breath. 

Killer exhaled before he traded his scowl for a grin he hoped looked confident. “Hey, there’s plenty else to do. Who needs the beach.” 

He said, as a dismissive.

Cross’s brows grew darkly uncertain and he focused on his shoes.

       The walk back was longer than the walk there. Killer was cold now, away from the warmth of the beach and in the shade of the buildings beside them, and he was hyper aware of how soaked his jacket was (he decided he preferred putting it back on to walking half naked through the street). And grass clung uncomfortably to his legs. And his arm hurt. 

       But he wasn’t particularly fazed. They’d go back to the room and dry off and then it’d be fine. This was far from the worst thing to happen to him. He’s had it worse. If anything, now that it was over, he was still riding the excitement of it all, of running, of jumping the fence before he could be caught. 

        He dared to glance at Cross, who was pacing silently by his side. He held his bare arms crossed over his chest, and his shirt was dark with sea water.

“You said nothing would happen.” Cross stated, hostility in his voice.

“I guess I was wrong.” Killer partially growled. But he wasn’t angry at him. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was angry at. 

“But that shit happens all th’ time, they’ll forget about us by next time.” Killer added confidently. 

     This wasn’t the first time he’s been confronted about jumping the fence. 

And, If there was a next time.

Cross just offered a firm “mm.” in response.

———

       Most of the sting that hung in the air faded by the time they made it back to the motel. Not completely, but enough. Thank god. It was starting to kill him. 

      The first thing Cross did when they got back their room was strip off his soaked shirt. Killer couldn’t help his eyes raking over his ribcage, and Cross gave him a knowing look with faintly colored cheeks, which Killer grinned at. Cross’s brows furrowed lightly in response. 

       The second thing Cross did was rummage through his bag and fish out fresh clothes, before he disappeared into the room’s singular bathroom.

Killer realized he hadn’t brought clothes. Or anything, really. 

        He toed off his shoes and padded over to crouch at Cross’s still-open bag. From it he scavenged a black t-shirt with some band’s telltale on it and a pair of basketball shorts. He held up and examined his spoils a moment, then stripped off his own clothes and pulled on Cross’s. The shirt was at least a size too big and he had to tie the shorts’ drawstrings to get them to stay up. He pressed his nose into the shirt’s collar; it smelled like it had been washed recently. And like Cross. Everything was warm again. 

          He located his knife where it had been concealed in his jacket and gripped the handle. Then he realized  he wouldn’t have anywhere to safely hide it in this new outfit, so back it went. A bit of him pricked anxiously like a needle at the notion of not having it. But it’d probably be fine, just for a day. Just for a day. 

      He was drawn to the far side of the room and shouldered open the balcony door to linger there. In a flare of spite he flipped off the beach, which remained unfazed, before the sand clinging to his feet caught his attention and he made an attempt to brush it off. After a minute he grew bored and ended up on his back on the bed.

      He propped himself up on his hands as the bathroom door clicked open and Cross padded out, drying his skull off with one of the motel’s towels. He wore a pair of jeans and a different shirt now.

      Killer sat all the way up before slipping off the bed and slinking over to Cross.

      Killer pushed through the towel, seeking his warmth. Cross turned away from him with very mild indignation at first, but Killer persisted, and he ultimately gave in to him when he kissed him. He held onto his tension, but he didn’t protest, and he tempted Killer with the hesitancy he gave when they pulled away. 

“Is that my shirt?” Cross commented. 

“Mmhm.” Killer kissed him again, now on the jaw by his neck, and Cross’s tension melted slightly.

    He eventually shifted, disrupting Killer’s touch, and looked down at him accusatorially. 

“What now?”

This was your idea, you should know.

Killer could probably come up with something.

      Their shoes and socks went back on, Killer retrieved his cigarettes, and then they were out of the motel again.  

       They found themselves on a board walk. Stores sat crammed side by side in a storied building to their left, and to their right a stirring sound held docked boats. Droves of civilians dressed in bright clothing crowded the area. They surveyed goods and snacked on refreshments sold at booths throughout the board. It was loud; everyone seemed to be talking or laughing or whatever else.

        Killer set his sights on the midst of the crowd, and waded through it with Cross beside him. In stark contrast to the beach, Cross kept close, pensive, hands firmly in his pockets. 

“We should get somethin’ to eat, yeah?” It’s prob’ly almost that time by now.” Killer suggested. Cross offered a stiff nod.

       Killer steered them over to the first decent place he saw. It was some bar, typical burger or sandwich place or whatever, and Killer had always known it to be expensive. But whatever. It’d be fine. Couldn’t be that bad. And expensive meant the food would be good, which they needed on a vacation like this. 

“Here?” Cross murmured skeptically as they approached.

“Yeah, trust me. This is the spot.” Killer offered confidently. He hoped he was right. 

        Killer pushed past the pub’s front door and slid into the first open booth he saw, which was tucked against a wall in the back. It was crowded. 

       When Cross picked up the menu and furrowed his brows Killer guessed his assumption was correct, and it was confirmed when he looked himself. Prime tourist spot, overpriced food. 

“I’ll pay you back.” Killer offered. It didn’t hold much weight, much sincerity. He said it so they could move on. 

“When have you ever paid me back?” Cross responded curtly.

       Killer repeated that it wouldn’t be that bad, that the food would be worth it, that they were on vacation and they should treat themselves, and Cross gave it up. So they ordered, waited, and then they ate. 

       Killer thought they should share an appetizer. Then a desert. The food was good, at least. It was really good, Killer thought. And Cross didn’t complain about it. So Killer became hopeful,  excited, even, that he’d been forgiven. 

      But, Cross still didn’t say really anything about it at all. He just scowled faintly at his plate and ate slow. They talked, and Killer still managed to make him smile faintly with a few comments. So he decided he’d take that. 

       When they left they continued their trip through the boardwalk. They passed booths, which they browsed. The air was warm from the sun again now that it’s light wasn’t obstructed, and a slight breeze played with their clothes. 

        At a point they were stopped. Killer saw Cross eyeing a popsicle stand. Killer glided to him and pressed up against him, grinning. He quickly located a wad of cash in Cross’s pocket and seamlessly slipped it into his fist. He danced back, proud of himself, and went for the stand. 

    He retrieved his spoils, then returned to Cross, and presented him with one of his prizes.

Cross looked at him. “You took money from my pocket.”

“Cross, it’s two popsicles.” Killer stated, and gestured with the one he held out at him. 

    Cross reluctantly took it, and Killer led them to a bench pressed against the water. 

      The collar of Killer’s shirt billowed gently against his neck with the wind as he sat. Cross stared off past him, absently, slowly licking at his popsicle. He had such an odd look of disconnection on his face. Like longing, almost. Maybe. 

“Let’s go back to the beach.” Killer blurted.

“Just to get kicked out again?” Cross replied.

“I know you want to, Cross. Let’s go back.” Killer pressed “Maybe if we go through the gate this time they’ll let us in.” 

“No, no it’s fine.” Cross murmured. “Not worth it.” 

“You’re lookin’ off like you just lost your puppy. Let’s just go.” 

“Killer, just drop it.” Cross sighed, his voice pricking with a sudden sharpness. 

So Killer dropped it.

——————

The rest of their trip felt like it happened in flashes. 

      They walked the boardwalk. Killer used the last of his cigarettes, so Cross bought him another pack. Killer thought they should go out on boat, so Cross rented them one for a few hours, even though neither of them really knew how to drive it. By the time they had gotten going the sun was already hinting at setting, because they had to allot for fiddling with how to work this thing. 

       Cross drove. They went nowhere in particular. The wind was much stronger, crisper, out on the water. It whipped in their ears and billowed their shirts. The sun cast everything in a bright wash. Like Killer was in a daze. He watched the glittering, swaying water. Watched Cross, too. Music played over the wind through a small, cylindrical speaker Cross had bought, too. Which was also Killer’s suggestion. 

       Killer sat on a bench against one of the ship’s sides while Cross stood at the wheel. He basked in it all. In the moment, he thought he’s never felt more alive. 

       Then, by evening, they were on the boardwalk again. It was darker, too, this close to the evening. Killer grew restless from not having his knife, and he compensated. He clashed with a few of the other passers-by because of things that were maybe a bit too small. Nothing severe, but Cross noticed. He felt the way he looked at him. The way he started feeling colder. 

       After another hour they were having dinner, where nothing changed. Like lunch had been, Cross was uncertain, but Killer assured him. The restaurant had a bar, and they drank some, too. Killer did, at least. Cross sat by his side, quietly, eyes on him. And like the food, Cross paid for everything. 

         Cross had grown reserved over the course of their outing, even. Talked less. Stayed tense no matter where they were. Eyes perpetually furrowed, shoulders perpetually tensed. 

“You don’t have to keep buyin’ shit! I’d be fine if you didn’t!” Killer said, almost shouted, after Cross had gone entirely quiet and strayed away as they were leaving the restaurant. 

“Yes, I do. You say that but I do. You didn’t even bring any money.”

“I said I had-“ Killer started immediately. 

“God, Killer, we both know that was a lie. You’ve been lying this whole damn trip.” Cross growled. “I know you’ve been chased out of that beach before, I know you don’t have money.” 

They both went quiet for a long time. No one passed them as they walked back to the motel. It was almost dark now. 

“I just wish you could leave it alone” Cross murmured, his voice vacant and cold.

“Hey, I got us out here, didn’t I? Got us out of that city?” Killer reminded him. As if he needed to be reminded. He could see the motel’s sign in front of them now.

“And I’ve still got pretty boys talking me home.” He added, letting the beer talk for a moment. 

“I drove, fucking, four hours, missed work, paid for all of this, because you said it would be worth it.” Cross countered. 

“Hasn’t it been?” Killer replied.

“Not anymore.” Walking up the motel’s stairs.

“I said we should go back to the beach.”

“I said you should drop it.” 

    Cross unlocked their room’s door. “God, it’s like you’re fucking with me. You told me to trust you, and I did. But you’re making it fucking hard.” 

“We can go back, tonight. The.. the gate’ll be closed by now, no one would bother us, really.” Killer said quickly, searching, stepping toward Cross. He wanted to salvage this. “We can still do something, forget about all that other stuff.” 

Cross’s voice rose “Shut up about the beach!” 

He stepped inside the room, Killer tentatively behind him.

“I have fun with you.” Cross said, standing in the middle of their room, eyes only on Killer. He had dropped the speaker he was carrying at some point, and it taunted Killer from the carpet. 

“I wanted to here, too. I thought maybe we really would get a vacation.”

He exhaled, partially growled, even. “…But I… I don’t know why I thought this would work. We should’ve just stayed home.” 

“I tried, okay!” Killer said firmly, his voice swelling with volume ever so slightly. “I… ‘s not like this is the worst we’ve had.” 

      But somewhere he knew Cross was right. This wasn’t the right time, right place. He’d rushed it, and fumbled to salvage it when it was already strained. 

But, god, he still wanted to make something out of this. He was chasing the warmth from the beach, from their first morning in the motel. Maybe even from those parties, when it was just them.

“We’re going back to the city in the morning.” Cross said sharply.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Killer tried, stepping toward him. 

      He was unsure. Maybe scared wasn’t quite the word, but he was panicking. He grappled for what to say, dove back to use what he always said as a crutch. 

He reached for Cross.

He saw him blur. Pain shot through Killer’s jaw, and his lip started to burn. 

    Cross’s breath caught in an inhale and his fist returned to his side. His eyelights pierced Killer like the sun, burning him. Part of Killer crumbled. 

       His finger went to his lip, where he found blood. Cross had given him a bloody lip.

     It’s just too bad Killer’s entire being was hardwired to lie. To be the way he was. He’s had to lie to survive for as long as he could remember. Old habits die hard, or however it goes. At least he hadn’t been lying about anything with Cross being worth it. 

      And he really didn’t understand why Cross was so pressed. Killer was used to jumping fences and getting chased out of places and lying about money. He should’ve known what he was getting himself into, coming here with him. Still letting him in every night. 

And yet, here Killer stood, tasting blood. Failing to make something of this. 

It’s too bad he was a liar. 

        Suddenly Cross had Killer by the collar of his shirt, his shirt, pressing a kiss aggressively to his mouth. It wasn’t soft, tender, like it usually was. It was forceful. Angry. Almost like he was strangling him, trying to suck the air from his chest. Tasting Killer’s blood, Killer tasting his own. But that just excited Killer more, but he still felt his warmth, all the same. 

‘Kiss me one last time.’

He had flown too close to the sun, chased the warmth too far, and was cast ruthlessly into his fire, burned to ash by it.

   Then, wordlessly, Cross tore away from Killer, picked up his bag, jerked a handful of clothes out of it, and threw it back onto the carpet so hard half of its contents spilled out. He vanished into the bathroom, door closing hard behind him. After a minute Killer thought he heard the shower running.

    The fire had melted Killer’s wings and he was plunged into the cold, infinitely daunting ocean. 

     He stood there stupidly for an eternity, hand lingering on his mouth. Finally he paced over to the bathroom door, raised a fist to knock,

    But he hesitated, and went back over to the balcony. 

     He whirled to stare at a wall, cracking his knuckles again and again even when they stopped popping. He took a step back toward the bathroom but only got halfway. He kicked angrily at the speaker sitting on the floor as he turned back toward the balcony door. 

     He’s never been so unsure of what to do with himself. 

      He considered slipping back behind the motel and jumping the fence, running down to beach and the rocks again, now dark and empty with the night. Wouldn’t have to deal with whatever this was there. And he almost did, fuck he almost did. 

He wanted to hide away. 

     Except it was raining again, and the motel was warm. And something kept him planted here, despite his instincts to run. He glanced back at the balcony door.

‘Don’t go outside’ Cross’s voice echoed. 

He wanted to hide away. 

     He eventually settled for sliding under the sheets, on his side and turned away from where the bathroom came out. He contemplated trying to sleep but instead he ending up just staring at the wall and empty bed in front of him. He was so tired. After a minute he felt like he was going to drown in that ocean and he shifted to his back, now listening to distant sound of running water. His blood buzzed, pounded in his ears, with everything that happened. The sheets and Cross’s shirt grew wet from the tar streaming now-harder from his sockets. He couldn’t tell if he was excited, pissed, or guilty. Or if he even felt anything. He couldn’t process it, register what it meant.

He tasted blood. 

     He’d been too fucking stupid this time. He’s never had Cross do something like that before. And he hadn’t said sorry. Neither of them had. Though, Cross probably didn’t expect anything less. 

      Yet, part of Killer was thrilled by the rush of everything. It was electrifying. Burning. He didn’t know Cross had it in him, and now he wondered just how much there was. How much there could be. The metallic taste of blood was electric in his mouth, fueling him.

And Cross had still kissed him. But not like he usually did. 

Killer turned to his other side. 

        After what had to have been an hour, it felt like a lifetime, there were soft approaching footsteps and the bed shifted as Cross laid down. Killer knew he had his back turned. He’s never felt so far away. Just like the night before, when the overhead light had died.  

     Part of him wondered if this was kinda how Cross felt. All those nights Killer had vanished through the window by morning. 

They pretended to fall asleep. As if either of them could sleep after that. Eventually Killer actually did, if you could even call it sleep. It was restless. In and out for most of the night. Too much in his skull.  

      Morning came not soon enough and Killer woke up tired. Woke up feeling alive. His lip was still bloody. 

     They drove back to the city as early as they could. Cross didn’t say much. Killer guessed he had gotten most of whatever he had out of his system that night. 

       Killer acted like everything was normal. Said the stuff he always says, acted the way he always acts. What else could he do? If this abnormality kept up for any longer he thought it might kill him. 

      And eventually, after a week or however long it was, they made up. Some semblance of it anyway. Moved on to something else. Cross still left his window unlocked sometimes, despite it all. And even later down the line, when it was dark and they were pressed close, just them and the alcohol that hung to their rental suits, they would talk about it again. And Killer would apologize, then. And he would mean it. 

      But, back in the present, Killer thought it hadn’t been that bad. They got to go to the beach. He got to go to the beach. With Cross. Like he always kind of wanted. So at least that was something. 

     Though, sometimes Killer thinks he can still almost taste the bloody lip Cross left him with that night.

[airybcby]

My top song on Spotify this year was Lunch by Billie Eilish! I spent 58,860 minutes on Spotify this year😭

OKAYYY that’s insane😭

if your top song was lunch by billie eilish i’d pair you with…

oliver aiku

જ⁀♡⊹｡° you need a seat? i'll volunteer

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event ♡

♡ content — oliver aiku x gn! reader, gn! reader, for once i used correct grammar & punctuation, party scene, drinking mentioned like once,

♡ synopsis — everyone at this party either wanted to be with or be oliver aiku, but he only has eyes for you

The party was a mess.

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d usually find yourself—a dimly lit room filled with people you barely knew, music so loud it shook the walls, and a haze of conversations you had no intention of joining. You stuck to the edges, clutching onto your drink like it was a lifeline, eyes wandering over the crowd.

You didn’t mean to notice him, but how could you not?

Oliver Aiku was the kind of person you spotted immediately, the kind of presence that demanded attention without even trying. He was surrounded, of course—people laughing at his every word, hanging on his every move in hopes he'd notice them.

He was magnetic, and he knew it.

But what caught you off guard wasn’t the way everyone gravitated toward him. It was the moment his eyes met yours.

You froze, heart stuttering in your chest as his gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to figure you out from across the room.

You only started worrying more when he started moving toward you.

The crowd parted for him like it always did for people like Oliver Aiku—effortlessly. And before you knew it, he was there, leaning casually against the wall beside you, his presence somehow larger than life even in the cramped space.

“Didn’t think I’d see someone like you here,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and just a little teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, “Someone like me?”

He smiled, and it was almost disarming in its sincerity. “Yeah. You don’t look like the type to enjoy this kind of thing.”

Oliver Aiku was a snake, and if you weren't careful he'd bite.

Fuck it.

“And what type do I look like?” you shot back, half expecting him to laugh and walk away.

But he didn’t. If anything, he seemed even more intrigued. “The type who watches instead of enjoying themselves,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “The type who doesn’t care what everyone else is doing.”

You shrugged, trying not to let him see the way he was getting under your skin. “Maybe I’m just not a fan of pretending.”

That earned you a low chuckle, and something in his expression shifted—less playful, more thoughtful. “Refreshing,” he said, almost to himself.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was trying to piece you together. And for the first time all night, you didn’t feel invisible.

“Oliver,” he said suddenly, offering his hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt introduction. “I know who you are,” you said, but you took his hand anyway.

His grip was firm, his touch warm, and his smirk widened at your words. “Do you?”

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure. Everyone knew who Oliver Aiku was—the player, the charmer, the man who could have anyone he wanted with a single glance.

But standing here, with his attention solely on you, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to him than the persona he wore so effortlessly.

And maybe, just maybe, he was wondering the same thing about you.

i could write for HOURS based on lunch but i decided to make it a cutesie little thing

i hope you liked it!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[bluewatersfairy]

homebody - l.b.

loosely inspired by homebody by kalin white (a/n: i've been wanting to use this song for a longgg time)

synopsis: requested by @bemybinarystar! two people meet by chance on an app that thrives on anonymity and begin an x-rated relationship with one another filled with late night video calls.

warnings: mature content, MINORS DNI!! depictions of sex work, mutual masturbation.

word count: 3.2k

•••

Melo grabbed his laptop and climbed on top of his bed, checking one last time that there were no tell-tale signs in view that would make him identifiable.  This had become a part of his routine and what was once him being cautious was now a natural habit.  He originally didn’t care, it never even crossed his mind, but she had told him he needed to, she didn’t want to know who he was.  That was weird for him to hear too, it reminded him of how different this relationship was.  If you could call it a relationship.

When he had first discovered her, he was doom scrolling on the type of site that was created for late-night rendezvous.  He’d convinced himself he was just curious, he’d laugh about it later and go back to the more traditional way of fulfilling his needs.  But then he saw her smile and he had to stop scrolling.  Her description was limited, her height, tag name, and that she was drawn to the anonymity of the site; tell me something good and maybe we can figure something out.

The only reason Melo had even caught her attention was because his profile looked like a cheap bot: 2 tall, 2 long, fire’n’ice, was all his profile said.  His request sat in her inbox for two days until he sent her another message, ‘you ever think about castles?  they got pretty ones by the lakes in lithuania.’  It was a bizarre opening, but it got him out of her requests and into her inbox.

They messaged back and forth for a full week before anything remotely sexual was discussed.  Melo liked that she wasn’t jumping at his every response and that it looked like she had a life too.  During that week, they hadn’t shared much about themselves, but he felt like she was investigating him, despite the very few questions she asked.  The first time he received the app notification that she’d sent him a picture, his palms started getting sweaty.  

He locked himself in his room, something that would become routine, laid back on his bed and opened her message thread.  It was a tasteful shot of her full thighs and ass peaky out of a red silk slip.  Her deep amber skin against the scarlet made him gulp.  It was so little, nothing he hadn’t seen before, but it pulled his interest and ignited his curiosity.  She had waited for him to see the message before she sent the follow up, ‘your turn…”

Melo had spent the next 10 minutes cleaning his floor and checking that nothing could be seen in the background from his messy room.  He spat in his palm and stroked his hard-on till it was raging and grown.  He held the base of his shaft with one hand and took a photo with the other before sending it through.  

That was two months ago and though neither of them had asked many personal questions, there was this unspoken bond between them.  She didn’t need him to say when he’d had a rough day, and he knew how she needed to be talked to.  He found himself thinking of her at the worst of times and turning to her when he needed a boost.  In return, he’d transfer undisclosed amounts of money to her account.  Again, this was something they hadn’t really talked about, it was an unspoken agreement.

Of course, she never expected him to be so generous.  

At first, she assumed that it was an attempt to impress her and keep her interested in him.  She had told him after maybe a week of exchanging racy pictures that she offered more, but for it to be fair to the other people she entertained, he had to pay a small fee that he felt reflected their time together.  The beauty of the site that she considered her secret life was that she got to choose her clients and could easily report and block people if they ever became aggressive or obsessive.  She’d always managed to attract men who exhibit something she’s attracted to, but she knew “fire’n’ice” was closer to her age and clearly in a high position, and that image was addictive to her.  

When he had first sent her a large sum out of the blue, she’d been 3 hours deep in official documents.  She imagined him in a similar position, probably in slacks and a white button up, trapped in his office thinking about taking her at his desk.  She’d quickly excused herself, citing lady problems, and clicked off to the employee bathroom.

Melo, who was standing in his kitchen heating up one of the several protein-based meals he had made weekly, received a message with 3 attachments.  She was spreading herself open for him, and had framed her tits in such a way, he just wanted to latch on.  He’d groaned loudly and abandoned his meal in favour of his room.  His cock was tight against his pants and the second he freed it, he felt the ache take over his body.  

He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured her, imagining how she posed.  He thrust into his fist and straggled words flew out of his mouth.  In the haze of the moment, he grabbed his phone and opened the camera. 

“Look at my fuckin’ cock, babygirl, look how hard it is for you.” He spat as he finished his sentence, needing more moisture so he could fuck his hand better.  “I bet you’d love to choke on my big fuckin’ dick, aye baby?  I’d fuck your face and finish all over your tits.”  

He paid no mind to what he was saying, he was just talking shit as he thrusted harder and faster into his hand.  His cum spurted all over his desk, some of it landing on his phone screen.  He swore and stopped the recording before bending over, his chest heaving.  He’d never thought to do something like that before.  She hadn’t even made a video for him, she’d only ever sent pictures.  What had she done to him?

The video worked in Lamelo’s favour in more ways than he could have possibly known.  She already had a growing soft spot for mr. fire’n’ice but that video sent him to the top of her list.  He was the first client she reached out to during the days and his sessions were always top priority for her.  It didn’t have much to do with the money, she was just drawn to him in every way a person can be to someone they’ve never met or even seen properly.  He even had her questioning if she should take a step back from her other clients and just entertain him.  

It was bad.  Unprofessional even.  But she couldn’t stop herself.

LaMelo was still checking his background when her call came in, popping up on his screen with her explicit profile icon highlighted with a red ring.  He pressed the green button and did one final adjustment to his laptop so all she could see was below his neck.  He always wore a black wife-beater so that his chest tattoo was mostly covered but so she could still get a good view of his toned torso and the ever growing bulge in his shorts.

“Hi pretty boy,” her ruby red lips pulled into a grin on his screen.  She looked like she was laying on her stomach, her tits pushed together under a slip of vibrant material.  

“‘Sup baby,” Melo swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, “you lookin’ edible.”

She giggled as she ran her hand down her neck before reaching somewhere off camera.  She was sitting up, he realised, before she brought something of a prop on screen.

“I was gonna say I found these today and thought of you,” she giggled again, “I know you’re much bigger, but you can’t tell me that’s not a close match.”  Melo smirked as he watched her twirl two rainbow lolly-cocks in the camera.  

“They not that girthy, you could still fit them in your mouth easy,” Melo felt his dick twitch as she rested her pouty lips on the tip of the lolly.

“Are you saying your dick won’t fit in my mouth?” she bit on her bottom lip and dragged her hand down her chest as she spoke.

“I’m sayin’ it won’t be easy.”  Melo’s hand moved to the bulge in his pants and he gently palmed it.

“I like a challenge,” she smiled, “I’ll make sure it fits baby, you know I’m a good girl for you.”

“Show me.” 

His voice was raspy, and his dick was hard.  She’d caught him at the perfect time and he knew she could tell just how desperate he was for her.  He didn’t care that she knew anymore.  Truthfully, he thought it showed how well they knew each other and how much he trusted her.  

“Of course baby,” she grinned before adjusting her laptop camera slightly.  

Melo watched closely as she spat on the tip of the lolly cock and used her tongue to glide it down.  Kitten licks and teasing kisses quickly turned into her pouty lips wrapped around the head.  The wet sounds her mouth made against the hard lolly did nothing but strengthen the pulse in Melo’s cock.  He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip before readjusting himself, watching as she pushed the lolly further into her mouth.  

“You’re such a good girl, baby,” Melo pushed out with his head leaning back.  He watched her through his eyelashes, picturing her wrapped around him.  His chest rose and fell at a steady pace and his skin flushed pink.  He was getting caught up in the thick of things, he barely processed her transitioning from the lolly cock to one of her dildos.

It was one they had purchased together.  It was a late night call, much like they were currently on, and she had wanted to find something a bit different for the two of them.  Her screen was shared with him as they scrolled through an adult website.  Every now and then Melo would point out one, whether he was being serious or joking was always up for interpretation.  

“I want something that’s like you,” she said sheepishly when Melo had asked why he was involved, “it’s like torture seeing such a pretty and big dick and not be able to ride it.”  

They’d found a dildo similar to his size and when it came in the mail a week later, Melo received a video of her putting it in her mouth, popping it out and pushing it between her tits.  She said she wouldn’t to anything else without him, but he was out of town and sharing a room so it would be a minute until he was going to be able to be alone with her.  It ended up being one of their better calls.  Melo could barely keep his eyes open by the end of it, he felt so fucked out and exhausted, you’d think she had actually been there to suck the soul out of him.  He’d jokingly texted her the next morning saying he had a sore wrist.  It wasn’t a complete joke though, many coaches commented on his shooting being off that day at practice. 

“Oh baby,” she moaned through the camera as she pulled the rubber cock out of her mouth, “touch yourself baby, show me how you stroke it.”

Melo was rock hard.  He hissed as he ran his hand up his thick shaft and circled his thumb over his throbbing head, spreading his leaked pre-cum so she could see it.  She spat on her dildo as he squirted lube on himself.  

“Follow my pace baby,” she instructed, “you know how much I love to push you.”

“I’ll do whatever you say baby,” Melo swallowed and began to stroke his dick as she jacked the dildo.  She switched between going fast and slow, bringing different sounds out of Melo as she encouraged him.  She moaned at every twitch of his dick and felt herself growing hotter and hotter with each stroke.

“Fuck,” she spat out as Melo had to let go of his cock, his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut, “you wanna cum don’t you baby?”

“I don’t wanna,” Melo groaned as he smacked his cock, “you just drive me crazy Ma.”  His eyes refocused on his screen to find she’d changed positions.

She was sitting now, her thighs spread so her pussy was on full display.  Melo cussed at the sight of it.  Even through the camera he could tell she was just as heated as he was.  She was visibly swollen and practically dripping.  She giggled as she slipped her fingers through her folds, a visible tremble running through her at the same time.

“Look how ready I am for you,” she moaned as she fingered her clit, “you’d stretch me out so good with that big cock.”

“I’d give you the fuck of your life,” Melo gripped his cock again, “have yo ass screamin’.”

She picked up the dildo from her side and rubbed the tip against her entrance, “tell me baby,” she hummed, “tell me how you’d do me.”

“I’d fuck you in so many ways,” he started to jerk his cock again.  “God, I’d fuck you into your mattress baby, giving you the deepest strokes of your life.  You’ve never had a dick like this.”

“No I haven’t,” she whined, pushing the dildo inside her, “you’d have to go slow with me, I wanna make sure I feel every inch of you.”  she let out a gasp of a pet name, her free hand gripping on to her tit.

“God just the sight of your cock makes me feel crazy,” her hips were moving against her hand, pushing the rubber cock in and out, trying desperately to match Melo’s pace.  If he could function enough to think of anything at that moment, he’d appreciate her commitment to making it feel like they were together, fucking.  But his brain wasn’t working anymore.  Everything that came to mind was nothing shy of filth. 

“It’s all yours baby, and you’d look so fucking good bouncing on top of it.”

She moaned at his words, her tits bouncing as she fucked herself harder.  

“This big fucking dick is all yours, whenever you want it, I don’t care where, it’s yours.”

His room filled with a mix of her moans, his heavy breathing and the sound of his hand beating his cock, slapping with how fast he was jerking.

“Oh and this pussy is all yours daddy,” she moaned loudly, “I’m all yours baby.  You can put that pretty dick whereever you want and use me for whatever you need.  I just need you all over me daddy, your big hands wrapped in my hair, around my throat.”

“I’ll slut you out baby,” Melo groaned as he chased her words, “I’ll make you cum so much the whole world gon’ hear.”  

“I’m gonna cum,” she all but screamed, “keep talking, tell me baby, I want to hear you.”

“I’ll fuck you from behind in the mirror, baby.  Smack yo’ ass and pull your hair and make you look me in the eye while you cum all over my big dick.”  Melo repressed a loud moan and swallowed hard.  “We gon’ fuck all night, baby, the second you cum, I’m sticking it right back in there.  I’ll make it so you won’t be able to walk in the morning.”

Melo watched her body react to his words and struggled to process the sight. Her chest was heaving, fucking the dildo in and out of her hole with her hand tight on her clit.  She swore over and over again until her words were nothing but moans and Melo saw everything reach it’s peak.  She pulled the dildo out of her and did everything she could to stop her thighs from clamping shut.

“Holy fuck,” she gasped with her head thrown back and her hands jammed between her thighs.  She collasped against whatever was behind her and Melo watched her spread herself open and squirt.  “Oh baby, I’m cumming so fucking hard.”

Melo just about double over, letting out the loudest moans and groans he’d ever made as his load spurted out of his tip.  He massaged his balls and watched his seed cover his lower stomach and parts of his laptop.

“Fuck,” he sighed as he leaned back and let his dick stand to its own want.  

For a minute, the two of them didn’t move, just panting heavily staring at one another.  Occasionally, he’d stroke his shaft and rub his balls at the same time to see if he had anything left.  She was the first one to move, laying back down to the position she’d been in when the call started.

“Every time I think we’ve reached our peak, you go and do the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she giggled as she put one of her fingers to her lips.

“Tell me how that pussy tastes babe,” he said, his voice audibly strained.  She smirked and put her fingers in her mouth, sucking them off.

“It tastes sweet and creamy,” she let her wet fingers drag down her naked torso to her nipples.

“You’re a fuckin’ problem,” Melo grinned and shook his head, reaching for the rag he washed for this call.

“I’m a problem?” she giggled, pointing to herself, “you’re the one who’s got me thinking of throwing all the policies out the window.”

“Policies?” Melo asked, suddenly brought out of his post-nut daze.  “What are you tryna say?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a shrug, “but don’t you feel it too?  Don’t you want to see my face?  Know my name?”

“I want all of the above, baby,” Melo pulled his laptop closer to him.  “Are you saying there’s more we could do?”

“I’m just thinking out loud here,” she hesitated, “you’re the first person I feel like I’d be safe sharing my secrets with.”  What was she saying?

It was a big confession, she wants to elevate things.  Melo couldn’t decide if it was his money or him but he really didn’t care.  He wanted to have her name and he wanted her to know his name.  But it’s unique, and she’d know exactly who he was if he said it.

Fuck it.

“LaMelo,” he rushed to say, spitting it out before he could think twice.  “I’m LaMelo.”

She smiled wide and he watched as she reached out to her laptop screen and pushed it back slightly.

“I’m Y/N,” she giggled.

LaMelo repeated her name, letting it pass through his lips to see how it’d feel saying it.

“So Y/N,” Melo smiled as he pushed his laptop screen a bit too, showing more of him, “if I offered to fly you out, would you say no?”

“Oh baby,” she smirked, “I’d be there in a heartbeat.  I want all that dick in real life.”

“Aight, bet,” Melo picked up his phone from beside him, “you give me a date and I’ll work out all the rest.”

[hissweetest]

only if you want to

pairings: john b x fem!reader

Info/warnings: anxiety, established new relationship, fem!reader but can maybe be read as gender neutral.

asks: open! 𝜗𝜚

a/n: based off the song above!! just thought it’d be comforting especially as someone who struggles with anxiety!!

“if you wanna love me, try to get inside my brain. experience is nothing compared to the nights I'm always up so late”

it’s the third time this week you’ve woken up in a cold sweat, anxious for no reason that you can recall. you feel bile rise in your throat and wonder if throwing up will make the feeling go away. you go to the small kitchen and get a glass of water, trying not to wake john b or jj. you thought sleeping on the couch of the chateau would help with your recent sleep troubles, but you clearly thought wrong. you leaned against the counter and chugged the water before lightly placing it in the sink.

everything seemed so fast yet so slow when you got like this. you felt a sense of impending doom but also felt like it would never end. you didn’t even notice your own crying until a tear fell onto your grey tank top, the water mark visible. you wiped your eyes and moved to sit on the kitchen floor. you figured it’s better than jj waking up to you crying on the couch near him.

you tucked your knees into your chest and tried to take deep breaths, but every breath you took felt like it just wasn’t deep enough. you felt your body tingling and put your head into your hands. you wanted the feeling to go away, how is it that rest is the thing that’s supposed to help and yet you can’t stay asleep for more than 3 hours? you were so caught in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the sound of footsteps out into the kitchen. Your ears were ringing and you felt unreal.

it wasn’t until he sat down by you that you noticed john b was awake, and in the room with you. you lifted your gaze but didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry john b, I didn’t mean to wake you.” your words were choked out, and if you weren’t so caught up in your own thoughts then maybe you’d feel bad for yourself. You felt his hand around your upper back as he pulled you closer to him. you could tell he was tired by his slow movement and you felt terrible. he broke the silence with a whisper. “wasnt you that woke me, just had to use the bathroom.” you knew it was a lie, but you also knew that his intentions were good.

you leaned your head on his shoulder and let out a shaky breath, tears still occasionally falling. “bee, i dunno what’s wrong with me..” your words were mumbled but understandable. you felt him shake his head as his hand came up to stroke your hair. “i know” is all he said. and yet, those two words seemed to make you feel slightly better. he didn’t invalidate you, he didn’t call you dramatic or say there’s nothing wrong. Instead he acknowledged it and let you know that he understands.

“wishing i still had my dreams. late night started, take up space. 'cause every time i try to remember, lack of sleep takes half my brain”

you couldn’t tell how long you guys sat there for, but he let you cry to him. he let you express the same things you expressed the night before, and the night before that. and he actually listened, he responded when it was right and stayed quiet when you needed him to. you don’t know how you got so lucky. your relationship was still so new you didn’t know how he was okay with dealing with this. how was he okay dealing with you?

he rubbed your shoulder before slowly standing up, you knew he wasn’t leaving the room though. he took down a plastic cup from the cabinet and opened the fridge. he poured a bit of milk in the cup before bringing it to the microwave and putting it in for a minute. you looked up at him and furrowed your brows. when it was done he took it out and handed it to you.

“it helps calm you down— my dad used to do it for me when i was younger.” you nodded at him slowly and gave him a small smile, even with tear stained cheeks and somewhat messy hair he thought you were gorgeous. you took a few sips of the milk before setting it down. he moved to sit back down, but this time directly in front of you. his hand moved to rest on your knee as his thumb rubbed back and fourth comfortingly. you felt terrible keeping him up, you felt terrible bringing all of these feelings you had into his home.

“you can go back to bed” you affirmed him, he only shook his head and moved his hand from your knee to your hand. “i need to know you’re asleep first” his words made you wanna cry again. you couldn’t fall back asleep, not tonight anyway. you didn’t want to keep him awake and waiting for nothing. “i can’t.” you murmured. john b looked up at the clock on the wall that was surly an hour behind and bit his inner lip.

“if you want, you could stay with me in my bed. if you want to, only if you want to”

“come lay with me.” his words were spoken in a quick whisper, but weren’t hesitated. you focused your gaze more on him now and furrowed your brows before slowly shaking your head. you spoke, your voice broken. “i’m not gonna make you do that.” you felt like such a burden. even if he didn’t show it, your mind told you that’s what you were.

“you’re not making me do anything. i want you to.” again, his words were sure. you thought to yourself, looking at the cup of milk that sat beside you on the floor. you picked it up and took another small sip of it before placing it back down. “only if you want to, though.” his voice slightly startled you that time.

you scanned his face for any expression of a lie, for any hope that you’d turn him down. but it wasn’t there, he really did care. he really did want to help you feel better. you looked at him and nodded. “okay.”

“if you want, you can go ahead and fix my head. if you want to, only if you want to”

he took both of your hands and helped you up onto your feet, leaving the cup on the floor to be picked up in the morning. he led you to his room and shut the door. he was touching you so lightly, almost as if it was something physically wrong with you. he was just too good to you. he let you take the side of his bed near the wall while he took the outer end. he pulled the blanket up over the both of you and wrapped an arm around your stomach while the other moved up for his hand to brush through your hair.

“i’m no doctor, but for you i’ll do anything i can to figure it out” his words were a tired whisper in your ear, but they were genuine. he’s only as young as you, only as naive as you. but he would still spend hours with you on the kitchen floor listening. he would still do anything he could to get inside your mind and fix whatever makes you feel like this. for you he’s willing to do it his whole life. the thought of that is what put you to sleep, and with a kiss to your temple he drifted off beside you.