#or maybe I can try and go fully sober from here. it was an absolute shit of a day

[lord-radish]

So I tried pot brownies for the first time on Saturday, and uhhhhh I'm not gonna do that again

---

I was initially being responsible, but I think I was trying to chase a fleeting buzz and ate way too much right at the end of the night. I woke up this morning in an absolute stupor - it took me about half an hour to crawl to the bathroom. My head was spinning and I felt really sick, and I couldn't stand up for hours.

I legit lost the whole day. I couldn't get out of bed once I got back from the bathroom. Even now, on the verge of 2am, I feel incredibly dizzy and lightheaded.

This is legit the most messed up I've been since last Christmas. I don't think THC is for me.

[gulliblelemon]

Love that you're doing these!

I hope I'm not taking this into an angsty direction, but I'd really love some

↻ FLIP FLOP on Where We Left Off

Only if you're inspired, of course! Otherwise just ignore.

Erm... it's gone in a angsty direction. Sorry! That fic is so angsty I can't believe I ever thought otherwise! BUT... I'll put it under a cut for you to read when you have the emotional capacity, and if you have any requests for a fluffier scene, I will absolutely do that 💜 (hopefully the fact that Wille is very, very in love will help, AND we know how it all ends now soooooo.... sorry... but I hope you enjoy it anyway).

Thanks for the ask! I've had a lot of fun with this today. I'm still answering these and these.

This is Wille's POV of the scene at the start of chapter 8 where he picks Simon up. It got... long.

As the car pulled up to the curb where Simon’s location was pinging, Wille scrambled out of the door before it had even drawn to a stop, his PO getting out and throwing him an unimpressed look as Wille rushed over to Simon’s side. 

“Simon?”

Shit, he looked terrible. Simon still had his phone clutched to his ear, his eyes sliding out of focus. Shitshitshit.

“Simon.” He said it more forcefully this time, and Simon blinked a few times and looked up at him, lowering his phone. 

“Hmm?” he said, his eyes still slightly unfocused.

Panic rose in Wille’s chest. What was wrong? Why had he called Wille when he clearly needed some sort of medical attention? Why was he out here all on his own in the middle of the night?

“Simon. Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

That seemed to snap Simon out of it a little, because he looked annoyed when he said, ��What? No. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.”

Fine was not a word Wille would have used to describe how Simon looked at this moment, but he did seem to be a lot more with it than he had a few seconds ago.

Undeterred, Wille instinctively reached out and gripped Simon’s face, turning it left and right to see if he could see any damage. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

A complicated array of emotions flickered across Simon’s face as Wille dropped it, already missing the feel of Simon’s skin underneath his own.

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. “I just fell. I’m fine.”

Wille wondered if he should ask any of the million and one other questions that that hadn’t answered. But Simon was already saying, more forcefully, “I promise.”

Wille waited for a moment, trying to assess how much he should press, but eventually he just said, “Okay. Can you stand?”

Simon nodded. “I think so.”

Trying not to think too hard about it, Wille offered his hands. It made his heart soar in his chest how easily Simon took them; and then he internally berated himself for feeling any sort of joy from this moment. 

With regret, Wille let go of Simon’s hands once he was fully upright, but Simon swayed forward alarmingly, causing Wille to reach out to him again.

“Whoa,” Wille said. Then a thought hit him, he hadn’t considered that maybe— “Are you—? Have you been drinking?”

Simon looked so offended by that notion that Wille breathed a slight sigh of relief. He wasn’t really emotionally equipped to deal with a drunk Simon.

“No! No. I mean— sorry. No. I’m just tired.”

Wille looked more closely now and could see that Simon’s eyes, whilst still a little bleary, were mostly just droopy. Dark circles smeared below them, contrasted by the telltale red rings from crying.

“Come on,” Wille said, pointing to the car. “We’ll take you home.”

He was surprised to see Simon shrink in on himself at those words. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Okay.” Confused for a moment, Wille frowned. Then an idea came to him, one he was sure was crossing several lines. But since Simon was, in fact, sober, maybe Wille could trust him to make the decision for himself. “Do you— Would you like to come back to mine?”

Wille really hoped that Simon couldn’t tell how hard Wille’s heart was beating. The idea of having Simon in his home was so exhilarating that he wasn’t sure he was schooling his expression very well at all. Luckily, Simon looked down at his feet as he nodded his head, and Wille could see a blush high on his cheeks. At least he wasn’t the only one having a physical reaction to this whole thing.

Nodding, Wille went to tell the PO to call ahead for them and then turned back to Simon. “Here.” With a shuddering breath, he placed his hand on Simon’s back, trying to ignore his heartbeat clawing up his throat as he tried to rein himself in. He just wanted to bundle Simon into his arms and hold him until everything else went away, but they hadn’t spoken in so long, and everything had been left on such bad terms. 

Guiding Simon into his seat first, Wille quickly rounded the car and lowered himself down, careful not to jostle Simon who still looked decidedly fragile. What on earth had happened to him?

It seemed Simon was content with the quiet as the set off, but Wille needed Simon to know that he was there, in whatever capacity Simon needed. That he’d do practically anything for this man that was currently shaking slightly in the seat beside him. This beautiful, wonderful man that he had loved so fiercely, and lost so spectacularly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” was what he said, instead.

Simon shook his head. “No. I— not yet.”

Did that mean later? Or never? Or not with Wille?

It didn’t matter. This was about what Simon needed. So Wille nodded and gave Simon some space as he drew in some wobbly breaths.

Wille watched his profile. The slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the curl of the hairs at the base of his head that Wille had always loved to run his fingers through. He was the most beautiful person Wille had ever known, and he didn’t think he’d ever not be in love with him.

What if this was it? His last opportunity to have any sort of involvement in Simon’s life? Simon had made it very clear that they couldn’t be together. So maybe this was Wille’s last chance.

Slowly, carefully, Wille edged his hand forward and onto Simon’s seat. One breath. Two— Then, miraculously, Simon’s fingers were curling around his own, holding on tight. 

Heart skipping a beat, Wille tried to blink away the prickling in the back of his eyes. This was all he’d ever wanted, and it was all so broken. But if he could just hold Simon’s hand, reassure him that he was there, then maybe everything could be okay. Wille squeezed his hand, hearing Simon’s breath catch, and then turned away, hoping with every fibre of his being that this wasn’t the end of their story.

[morganofthewildfire]

Daisy Jones & The Six Rant

Okay, so pardon anyone who follows me who has not read Daisy Jones & The Six because I am about to do a mini rant

So - I absolutely adored this book, and I've read it multiple times already in the past week, but I feel like I have a controversial opinion regarding Camila

I want to start off by saying I respect the hell out of her for how strongly she wants to protect her kids and care for her kids, she's an amazing mother... but I don't think she was an amazing wife

and I'm not trying to say billy was a good husband, because obviously he was not, he was a shitshow for a while there, which is part of my reasoning - I think their relationship was a tad toxic

take this scene for example: after the almost kiss with Daisy when Billy is remembering when Camila cheated on him with someone from high school, and they just never talked about it

they both claim the foundation of their relationship is trust, and how trust is what makes them strong, but I personally think their definition of "trust" is a little skewed

it's not trust to let your spouse go cheat on you and then just letting them have their "secrets"

Trust is having faith that they wont do things like that to hurt you

Believing that they’ll always choose you and always love you and never betray you like that

They both broke each other’s trust, billy when he cheated on her and when he fell for daisy, and camila when she cheated on him too

None of that is okay, none of that is “trust”, it’s bad to pretend it is

And then this part: when Camila goes and talks to Daisy at the end

She admits fully that billy is in love with daisy

Says it outright

But says that she doesn’t care and that they’re “strong and healthy” marriage is just better than that, not even taking Billy’s feelings into account

Shouldn’t you care that your husband loves someone else? Either for your sake or for his sake?

I would not be okay with it, I would have more self respect, and even if I didn’t I would want him to be happy if I was that in love with him

It’s also just always lumping camila and the kids together, maybe it’s a bit modern of an idea but billy can be an amazing dad and not love camila anymore, daisy can be an amazing step mom and they can all be happy, camila can find someone who actually cares about her the way she wants and not someone who stays with her out of obligation and guilt

And also it’s just very unfair to daisy

All of this is

Especially when camila essentially kicks her out of the band, not considering the fact that that’s really all daisy has, the band is her family

Daisy needed help yes, she needed to get sober, and that kick from camila was very beneficial for her, but it was selfish of camila at the same time

It’s just all very frustrating

and I do believe daisy needed to get sober before she and billy had an actual chance at a healthy relationship, they way she was during the events of the book would be bad for both of them, but that doesn't mean it would never work out

I think understanding is extremely important in a relationship, and daisy and billy understand each other more than camila ever really did; she understood what he was and what he was like, but at the same time didn't you know? idk it's very nuanced

i just don't think camila was right in that situation, and i don't think she should be praised for how she was as a wife - a mother, definitely, she was just doing what she thought was best for her kids, but it also really wasn't you know?

and I'm also not saying billy never loved camila, because he very obviously did, i just don't think it lasted when the strain of touring came along and when daisy came along. After all, I do believe that if you truly loved the first person, you never would've fallen in love with the second

I think Billy loved his kids, and the idea of a fully family, especially because he had no father growing up, i just think that loss is partially what kept him so devoted

anyway 😂 here's Daisy/Billy pictures from the show because i literally cannot wait to see them together

[flame-cat]

okay kim stans, now that I have your attention I'm dropping a fic idea that I'll never ever make. free to a good home. kisses kisses kisses <3

kind of smashing together a bunch of little ideas I've shown off and also kept in my brain privately for fun-having reasons. it's kind of just my dissertation on why kim is absolutely pathetic when you take down his walls. he's a tin soldier. nothing but thin walls and hollow insides. <- OUGH THATS GOOD USING THAT AT SOME POINT

so basically vague handwavey idea that I think its some time into like, the point a lot of the meta-fandom narrative has gotten to, some time down the line after a lot of the initial Mess post-martinaise smooths out into something that looks normalish, or at least isn't an immediate crisis. harry is on a sober streak, [the Hetero-Sexual Life Partners are at the very least not constantly trying to kill each other (kim has had a Talk with Jean, who is mostly just privately seething and malding now and feeling incredibly sorry for himself). ] <OR> [there was an Incident where Jean got really REALLY sorry for himself and made a whole fucking scene and basically tried to kill himself, heavily based on a fic i read (called Trigger Warning) it kinda woobifies jean a bit but other than that its soooo fucking good but tl;dr the jobwives have made up and ] kim and jean are kind of both Harry's partner in ways? jean is still a satellite officer but a lot of times he gets paired up with Harry and kim and they're kind of the nightmare blunt rotation right now.

soooo again handwaves somehow one of the old cases Kim's partner left behind that was left cold picks up a lead again out of the blue and Kim is. well. he's normally a workaholic but this is intense even for him. like Jesus. nobody at the 41st has seen him like this. he doesn't sleep for days on end. (maybe he picks up speed? from jean? he considers doing it in-game to improve his Performance so I don't think thats above him).

anyway rock meet hard place Harry finally gets the poor sod to take a god damn break and go home, he and jean can sort out his disaster area of a desk and cover for him. Kim obliges, goes home and- OH SHIT WHO IS THAT! uhhh its all very vague in my head here but tl;dr Kim gets jumped maybe? nd this was all some sort of like. Ploy? to uhh . idk I think maybe the moralintern is involved in ways. but uh eyes is alive and was an espionage and faked his death and is now like. idrk yet if He stabbed Kim or what, or why its all even. happening in the first place. and tbh its not important to me cause I'm never gonna write it, I don't plan to its just something to play with at night to fall asleep.

important bit is now Kim is Leaking Everywhere and well. doesn't exactly have time to call gotlieb. so. he stitches himself up (NOT THAT WELL) and trudges back to the precinct to report to pryce. understandably people are freaked out by the Blood and stuff. harry comes with Kim to the briefing. shit gets Revealed. Kim dissociate. harry is like uhhhh okay well his home isn't safe anymore. jean can he crash on your couch can you drive us there while I sit in the back with him. and jean is like. fuck. okay. and yeah Kim kinda comes back into it on the ride there, has a Teensy Weensy (HUGEBADMASSIVE) panic attack, eventually calms down enough to clamber out of the car and. jeans apartment is 4 floors up and there's no elevator. hell on earth. Kim refuses to be helped up but 2 floors up he trips and let's jean help him, then they get to the top and Kim is like. Jean. and jean is like what- ohgodyoureunconsciousnowokayharryopenthedoor. and uhhh the rest is pure self indulgent "the boys nurse him back to health mwah" but way messier obvs. like fully "ok I have to take out the stitches you did and restitch you, throw back this glass of whiskey and try not to vomit on me. oh well he passed out. at least he's not feeling it?" and yeah.

anyway there's a Conversation between jean and harry at one point because the through line here is that harry is trying to keep his Boys safe but he doesn't know how they can keep doing This *gestures to the cop thing* and so jean is like okay well are we gonna work the case without him orrrrr and harry is like I am NOT moving a MUSCLE until Kim is 100% okay. he stayed with me for 2 days after I got shot. and jean is like okay bye- and harry is like no listen. I don't. we are killing ourselves here. and jean is like yeah? point? and harry is like maybe we. shouldn't. and they have a whole argument about it but that wakes up Kim who eats shit trying to get up and they both like rush in to make sure he didn't fuck up the new stitches or bust his head open right, and Kim is like. okay conflict resolution time. refuses to back down until everything is explained in detail to him even if he's still loopy. anddddd tl;dr Kim agrees with harry and idk what happens next but there u go

[hot-take-tournament]

I’m too late to submit, but with the shenanigans happening with takes that dont harm anyone, I’m curious. Are there any takes that you decided won’t be in the tournament?

You're not too late to submit! If there's something you want to get off your chest, the form is still open!

But as for the other part of your question, that's something I've been thinking about as well.

Please read the whole thing - it's important, and there's a poll at the end because I need everyone's feedback.

From the beginning I wanted this blog to be a place where people can share any controversial opinion they have, and that hasn't changed. But at the same time, this is still a light-hearted tournament blog, and even though I've fucked up in the past, I always try desperately to make sure that no one ever feels uncomfortable on this blog because they see something potentially triggering.

And, even though it's been so long that I wouldn't blame you for forgetting, this is still technically a tournament blog, and there'll be a bracket with matchups at some point.

And there's no way I can include serious takes like those in a tournament bracket -

I'm not going to make you guys vote between mental health issues and homophobia, with the winner going on to face chicken smoothies in the finals.

I can't do that. I won't.

But at the same time, I also don't want to tell people they can't submit takes like that. Serious issues still deserve to be discussed, and from the beginning, I wanted this blog to be place where people can share any opinion on any topic, no matter what it is.

I've received a lot of takes relating to a number of very serious topics - including some extremely controversial takes on those issues, that many people would find offensive and/or triggering - and I think having a forum where people can share opinions, debate those takes and discuss more sensitive topics is important as well.

But I'm not willing to post those potentially offensive takes on this blog. I want everyone to be able to enjoy it.

So, here's the problem:

From the beginning I wanted this blog to be two things -

A place on the internet where no one would ever feel unsafe or unwelcome

A place where people feel comfortable sharing any opinion anonymously, no matter what it is.

And now I've come to the sobering realisation that those two things just cannot co-exist.

So, I've been torn for a while over how to deal with this - but now I think I might have thought of an alternative that I want to get everyone's opinions on.

I could create a side blog purely dedicated to submissions that I think are too sensitive for this main blog.

That way, people will still be able to submit and discuss those submissions - and anyone who doesn't want to see that kind of content can just block that blog and enjoy this one without worrying about seeing anything that they're not comfortable with.

When I say purely dedicated, I mean that other than an untagged master post explaining the purpose of the blog, it would only post polls and nothing else. It wouldn't be a tournament - just polls, like the ones we've been doing, except this time it would be about issues that should be taken seriously.

Asks would be closed, and all the polls would remain completely untagged other than a specific tag for the blog and any relevant content warnings. Also, there would be no posts from me, no pictures and no joke responses - just a simple 'Do you agree? Yes/No' for every poll.

It would just be a queue ticking along, posting maybe a poll a day at a scheduled time, and if you want to discuss those topics, you absolutely can - and if you don't want to see it, you don't have to.

Meanwhile, this blog can then be fully dedicated to goofy shenanigans and vicious ratios.

The only alternative would be just to update the rules and ban those kind of submissions outright - but I feel on some level that would go against the reason why I started this blog in the first place.

But I do want to get your opinions on this.

Please let me know what you guys think.

[bisluthq]

It’s also that if everyone else is drinking, your sober self might not have the patience to deal with drunk people. So even if you can have fun without alcohol, you might not be able to enjoy your time out with friends because you don’t enjoy hanging out with drunk people while sober

that’s very true but see my current mantra/philosophy is if I only like those people when I’m fucked up wasted then… maybe I just don’t like those people? I’ve had countless nights out or events where I rock up, fully intending not to drink or to drink minimally, and then I start interacting with the people there and I’m like “fuck it pass me the whole damn bottle” lol. And the thing is like obviously I know why I did/do that, because everyone was fucking irritating the absolute shit out of me and the alcohol makes them significantly less irritating, but the question remains like then… why was I or why am I even there in the first place? If I need to literally ingest poison in order to tolerate something then maybe I don’t need to be doing that something to begin with? Maybe the problem is what I’m trying to force myself to do right and not in fact my sober self? So my thing right now is if it’s people who actively annoy me unless I’m drunk then I’m not really seeing them rn or I’m choosing not to stay terribly long. I’ve also gone out of my way to try and make sober or mostly sober friends because fuck alone knows I need those right because again I think my main shared interest with the overwhelming number of my friends (who’ve come and gone and some have stayed), since I’ve been about 17 or so, has been drinking or otherwise getting fucked up in some way lol. Like no wonder I’m depressed right and no fucking wonder I get fucked up a lot if the main thing I can think of doing with my friends is… going to get fucked up.

Obviously there are some situations that are significantly more fun if you’re fucked up, and again I’m not ruling out putting myself in those types of situations. If I go to a festival like idk that I want to be the sober Nancy there. I think if I go to a festival then I wanna do what I’ve always done at festivals, right, which is get off my fucking face on shit and like see the music and the colors lol and mack on my boyfriend. However, if I’m at dinner and the only way I can tolerate said dinner is by ensuring that I have only the haziest recollection of getting home from dinner then MAYBE I shouldn’t have gone to the dinner.

I also know that I prefer my boyfriend when I - and actually he - are both sober. We fight demonstrably less. He irritates me significantly less when we’re sober. I irritate him significantly less when we’re sober. We don’t not fight at all lol like there are obviously certain things we both do that still piss the other person off, but like he’s overall significantly more fun to be around when I’m not fucked off my face. I also do think my exes overall irritated me less egregiously when I was drunk but that is, in fact, part of why they are my exes. Like I wasn’t questioning my relationship to alcohol in relation to them so much at the time, but in hindsight I’m like “isn’t it kinda messed up that I was looking forward to being a bottle in so I could drown out whatever the fuck they were talking about with the voices in my walls that the alcohol provided?”

But again, that’s just me and my little journey. I’m definitely not saying we should prohibit alcohol. I’m not saying you can’t drink to excess. I’m not saying you can’t drink every day. Do whatever the fuck you want. What I am saying is like ask yourself why and also ask yourself if it’s serving you tbh. Ask yourself if you’re drinking because you genuinely want a glass of wine or if you’re drinking because you want to get into some kind of portal to not fucking here and if that’s why - that’s been my why a lot of my drinking life - then maybe it’s a good idea to start making changes in your life so that your here doesn’t suck so damn much.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

SIX YEARS WAS LONG ENOUGH. Six years was the decided CUT OFF for one Clinton Francis Barton. No more will Leonard put up with his shit! No more will he live in UTTER FEAR. No today was the end, so maybe Leonard had pulled a few strings, and maybe forged one or two signatures (one of them being Clint's) but WHOSE TO SAY.

It all was worth it, or at least THAT WAS THE HOPE. That was the thought as he walked into morning yoga (late.) with TWO dogs in tow rather than the usual one. Right behind Luna was another dog, who almost seemed to KNOW who he belonged to and came wandering it's way over to Clint.

It had been a hard year, and Clint was STRUGGLING and Leonard had never been a fan of feeling HELPLESS. So he had taken upon himself to do whatever he needed to do to get Clint his own fully trained emotional support dog.

// i'm still sleepy so the tone is all over the place but listen listen listen. I just decided that with post beyond Leonard is just finally like NOPE NO MORE U NEED ONE so clint gets a dog because i said so.

@thefleetsfinest

The feeling still wasn't right to get up in the morning, as he tries to get back into the routines and the things that helped him before he fell, and that was a hard fall to handle. SIX YEARS. He was still too stunned with the fall that he hasn't managed to scrap himself off the ground yet.

It's with guilt that he was here, and he still hasn't been able to quit again. That seems to be a lot harder than he thought it was going, but he hates it. Hates every single long night that he can't handle it and swallow down the feeling dry and remain sober. Last time they docked anywhere he had smuggled his own finds in and the fact that his boyfriend knew all the hidey holes was no longer fun.

It was no longer kissing spots, but where he could hide his shame and wallow. Clint know how hard it was, and than when he had finally managed six months, it turned to a year and six years later. That was hard, and right now as he was sitting and staring at the wall?

Getting back on, and putting himself together. Going more than a week, more than two weeks and than even trying to get back to what he had managed. IT ALL SEEMED DAUNTING. So much more daunting the black emptiness of space, the one that caused shivers down his spine, space the thing feared by him and. . . . Where was he?

They had been over this before, over the years when it was their days, yoga and mediation days, that sometimes other things and other people came up. That he couldn't. . . . ASSHOLE MADE HIM GET BACK INTO DOING THESE ⸻ And he isn't even showing up.

Clint's about five minutes away from doing anything, stewing in bitterly about Leonard not making it. He barely even hear the door slide open, he rarely did anyways and Clint scoffs ready for whatever excuse was coming.

EXCEPT ⸻ there's Luna, which is absolutely one of the better perks about his friendship formed with the chief medical officer. He suppose there are other benefits, but point stands. He missed dogs and Earth ground. Dogs, and than there's another one. A small-to-medium size black and white dog, looks like border collie, following and. . . .

He doesn't know what to thinks or say, ❝ I definitely got some sleep, so I can't be hallucinating. ❞ Not the best thing to say, but there were no illusions to be had here. He was trying, and it was hard; and he had to be honest before he got worse, had to quit, before it caused him real trouble. Before he created more trouble for himself.

❝ Who is that? ❞ ⸻ Clint knows that Leonard cares about how he was doing, let him get away with a few things, and it's not because of the doctor thing. It was the friend thing, the sobber buddy thing which he wasn't sure when he's not what hi sober was suppose to look like.

He definitely feels himself start to choke up as the border collie goes right up to him, and the dog is happy as can be, licking his hands and face; and it's kind of overwhelming in that way that dogs could be and loving/accepting in that immediate way.

Clint swallows, and if he thinks Leonard say what he is about to say he may cry. And he has managed to keep a minimum of who he cries in front of and how often, to which that minimal was one maybe a once a year.

[selfcarecap]

Drunk [p.p]

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

summary: Drunk you isn’t as good at hiding your crush as sober you.

warning: alcohol, cringe that comes from drinking (although this is very much a glorified version of being drunk) which is why you shouldn‘t do it, not smut but alluding to it (no smut while drunk, but sexual references and touching), bit of angst I guess, the words "penis parker" make an appearance...

This is a fictional reader drinking for you so you don’t have to do it in rl :)))

word count: 3k

-this is a repost of an old fic-

It’s the sixth time that Peter’s interrupted his swinging tonight, only to see you’ve texted him another song that they’re playing at the party.

The party that he couldn’t go to.

He was supposed to be your plus-one to some celebration in the neighbourhood. Peter’d said yes originally, but in the past few days it’s like the crime rates have been going up exponentially. Going to a party when he should be saving the people of New York? Nope.

You’d been all pouty when Peter gave a rather lame excuse once again, but you weren’t mad at him.

Together with Ned and Betty, you’d still gone to the party and right now it feels like you’re deliberately trying to make Peter jealous.

You keep texting him, they’re playing this song, they’re playing that song, until Peter gets notifications so often that he thinks you must be texting him every single song they’re playing.

He would rather be singing all those songs with you together than anything else, but he couldn’t just leave the streets to the criminals with a clear conscience.

So when another message pops up, (they’re playing his favourite song. great.) he quickly types an answer.

I get that I’m missing out, you didn’t have to text me every single song

He quickly adds a laughing emoji, but the previous message still sounds as passive-aggressive as Peter felt when he typed it out.

You don’t reply immediately and Peter mutes his phone.

The silence is deafening. He pictures how you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, happy that Peter finally replied, only to see a message like that.

He concentrates on being Spider-Man fully, but as soon as he’s sure that he’s done for the night, he texts you to notify him when you’re home safe.

You don’t get the message and he assumes your battery must have run out.

He also sees the reply you sent him after his message earlier;

Sorry

When he’s the one who should apologise to you. For that, and also to make sure you’re home, Peter goes to your place, knocking on the window after he’s changed into his normal clothes.

You’re all glammed up, looking like you just came home. Absolutely gorgeous.

Your face lights up when you spot Peter, you open the window for him, letting out a loud, “Peter!” You shout, are you drunk?

He tries to calm you down, “Shh, your parents will kill me if they find out I’m here now.”

“They’re gone for the night, you can chill.”

“So you’re just here, drunk on your own?” he asks.

“I’m not drunk,” you declare, giggling, then giggling even more at your own laugh. Cute. You don’t seem too far gone, luckily. He’ll still gladly take care of you.

As you stretch down to your shoes, not reaching them from your sitting position on your bed, Peter sits down on the floor to help you get them off; not taking into consideration that you’re wearing a short skirt…

He tries to concentrate on opening your shoes and sliding them off, and he gets the first one without looking up.

But before he gets to the second one, you lie down on your back, your legs moving forward slightly and Peter can’t resist a quick glance.

He swallows when he sees the lace panties smiling back at him from between your thighs.

Wait is that the print of your p-

Someone up there is trying to torture Peter for sure, what did he do to them?

You sit up abruptly and Peter fears he’s been caught, but you talk about the exchange of texts earlier.

“Oh Peter! I‘m sorry that I annoyed you earlier, I didn‘t mean to,” you pout, regret in your eyes.

“What?” Maybe with the state you’re in, Peter can brush his earlier mood off.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have been texting you every two minutes and disturbing you while you were helping May out,” your eyes start watering, unreasonably, and you might be drunker than Peter originally realised, “It’s just that they were playing all your and our favourite songs and it reminded me of you. I missed you so terribly and I wanted you to know that.”

Oh damn, that’s cute. Peter thought you’d been mad at him for not coming. But it’s the opposite.

These Instagram pages always say stuff like, get you someone who texts you even when they’re surrounded by other people, not just when they’re alone and bored. You did exactly that, and Peter still snapped at you.

You give him teary puppy eyes, your arms going around his shoulders, “Do you forgive me, Pete?”

“Of course I do,” he rubs your back, “Do you forgive me?”

You pull back, a soft smile on your face,  “Always.”

He hugs you again, feeling your tears drop down on his shoulder.

“I was just missing you and not realising that you were just doing the same.”

“Yeah, I missed you,” you say once again, in your drunken stupor.

You wipe your tears away and squeeze Peter’s cheeks, placing a sloppy kiss right on his lips with an exaggerated mwah sound.

Peter freezes. That might’ve been the best moment of his life, but you’re drunk and don’t know what you’re doing.

Before he can comprehend what you’re doing now, you pull off your top clumsily, now only in your bra.

“Mh- oh god.” Peter doesn’t know what to do so he sits down on the floor, turning his back to you.

“Peterr, I need your help!”

“You can change on your own,” he says as calmly as possible.

He hears a huff from you and a clicking sound a few seconds later and you fling your bra through the room. Peter tries not to look at where it lands.

“Can you give me clothes?”

“Yeah, where from?”

“The dresser, dummy,” you giggle.

“Uh what do you need?”

“A t-shirt and more comfortable underwear.”

He hears you undo the zip of your skirt and he can guess what’s next. He ignores that the thin piece of lace lands right next to him.

Without paying much attention to your collection of lingerie, he just takes out the first cotton panties he sees. “Do you want shorts?”

“No, they’re uncomfortable. I’d usually sleep without a shirt too but since you’re too scared to see me naked, I’ll put on a shirt.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you,” Peter says, trying not to go crazy with you being naked in the same room as him and all.

“I know, hey can I have my clothes now? My nipples are cold.”

Along with an oversized shirt, he scoots back on the floor, his back still to you, until he bumps against your legs.

He reaches out to pass you the clothes behind his back when he feels something soft, “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to touch your boob!”

“That was my leg,” you take his hand. Peter doesn’t realise what you’re doing until he clearly feels a nipple, “This is my boob.”

He stays lost in the new feeling for a split second, before pulling his hand back.

“See, you’re scared.”

“I’m not.” He’s not scared of seeing you naked or touching your boob. Okay, he’d be nervous. But you’re not sober and he’s scared that you wouldn’t want to do any of this if you were. He'd obviously want it.

Your knees knock against his back and he guesses you’re pulling your panties back up, Peter’s mind more focussed now that your most vulnerable part is covered again.

He feels your foot nudge the back of his jeans, “The last song they played before I went was Apple Bottom Jeans and that for sure made me think of your ass. If Captain America didn’t have that title already, I’m sure people would be calling your cake America’s Ass,” you giggle quietly and Peter blushes.

“My head is too big for this shirt,” you say after a few moments.

“I’m sorry but I can’t help you if you’re still half-naked.”

“I’ll cover up my boobs,” your voice is muffled by the shirt over your head.

Peter turns around reluctantly, your hands covering your nipples, and the sleeve-hole of the shirt laying atop of your head.

He helps you manoeuvre your shirt onto your body and he’s glad it’s long enough to at least cover your ass.

You lie down on your back, legs dangling off the bed while Peter goes to your bathroom, rummaging to find products to take your make up off with.

When he comes to your room, he thinks you’re asleep as he carefully sinks down on the bed next to you, make-up wipe ready in his hand.

You suddenly jump, “Launching attack!”, flipping Peter onto his back and straddling him, a playful smile gracing your features that’s wiped off your face when Peter says, “Could you get off me, please?” He’s just an innocent guy, why do you have to be a horny drunk?

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, are you mad at me again?”

“That’s not it, I’m just not sure if you’d be doing the same things if you were sober, so you can’t be sitting on my lap and stuff.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do anything sexual with you, the opposite, actually. But he can’t like this.

He wonders if you only drank something because you were third-wheeling with Betty and Ned, and wanted a distraction. He really should’ve gone with you.

“Do you want me to remove your makeup?”

You nod and angle your face towards him, closing your eyes, looking calm again.

After about twenty minutes of you complaining that he’s either too rough or too gentle with the wipe and moisturiser, your face is glowing and clear again.

“Do you want to get something to eat? I once read this trick online to get rid of a hangover, I don‘t know if it works because I‘ve never been drunk but we could try.”

At the mention of food you jump up, running to the kitchen already.

Peter feeds you hydrating food, different fruits and makes you drink half a litre of water.

“You‘re such a good caretaker, can you always take care of me?” you ask, an extremely charming smile on your lips.

“Of course, I‘ll always take care of you.”

“Pinky promise me!”

“Pinky promise.”

You kiss his cheek lovingly, “Love you, Petey.”

And no matter how drunk you are, that was genuine.

“Love you more.”

When Peter’s tucked you in and said goodnight, he disappears into the living room, lying down on the sofa.

You follow him and lie down right on top of him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not sleeping alone,” you pout, “Please?”

“Okay, but I’ll sleep on your floor.”

“But I want to cuddle.”

Of course you get what you want and soon you’re spooning on your bed.

Even though you seem thoroughly tired now, you’re still not ready to go to bed.

Your ass keeps pushing back against Peter’s crotch and he’s scooted so far back that he’s pressed into the small gap between the wall and the mattress.

“Come here, Pete. I’m trying to thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that. Cuddling is enough.”

You turn around to face him, making room for him. “Okay, I’ll leave Penis Parker alone, then.” Peter turns red but you don’t notice, throwing your arm over his chest and pulling him close.

Within seconds, you’re out like a light and Peter’s thankful that you’ll be back to normal again soon.

-

You wake up, limbs tangled with Peter’s. You know better than to worry that you slept with him. But it takes a few more moments of fully awakening to remember what happened last night.

Oh God.

Peter stirs when you try to get up and you pretend to sleep again.

Whatever he says, deny deny deny.

You wait a few more minutes, but all he’s done is hog the blanket and gently started snoring, looking like an angel.

He was also an angel to you yesterday, so you don’t want him to see your presumably messy hair and hungover state.

Climbing out of bed and into the shower, you freshen up quickly. You make breakfast, lucky that you have the ingredients for Peter’s favourite recipe.

You want to thank him for putting up with you yesterday and taking care of you so well.

You remember going to that fun party with Ned and Betty. How the only thing it was missing was Peter. They had plenty of good music and good drinks that were so good that you didn’t even notice how much alcohol was in them. Your head is only now starting to hurt as you remember how much you actually had.

You remember how you texted Peter and he was annoyed, but he came to your place through the window - wait, your memory must be weird here - anyway, Peter came to apologise and look after you. You’d for sure been a handful, so a nice breakfast is the least you can do to thank him.

Not too stable on your feet with that hangover, you decide not to risk it all by bringing the food in on a tray. As you walk back to your room, you see Peter rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, looking tired, but he still asks you first.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m good actually, nothing major, thanks to you feeding me,” you smile, sitting down with him.

“Oh you remember?” he smiles back at you sleepily.

“I told you I wasn’t that drunk! I remember how you came here, helped me change, remove my make-up and fed me,” you summarise, hoping he won’t go in on the details.

“Yeah, that’s it really.”

“So to thank you for all that, there’s a really delicious breakfast waiting-” he jumps up, already in the kitchen before you can even stand up to follow him.

*

It’s been a few days since that all happened and Peter’s back at your place.

He’s been thinking about all the things you said, and did, when you were drunk. And everyone knows drunken words are sober thoughts.

But since it happened, nothing has happened between you two. You’re friends, like before. Even though Peter was aware that you were being influenced by alcohol, there had been a little hope blooming in him all night, that you’d continue to openly show your affection towards him, but that was not the case.

Now he needs clarity.

“Hey, so, I know you said you remembered everything that happened the other night, but.. there are some things that you did that you didn’t mention, and I wanted to ask you about that. So first you-”

“I remember everything. I know I gave a very sparse summary, but that was just so neither of us would be embarrassed. But you’re right, we should talk about it. So sorry for… corrupting you?”

He chuckles, “That was not the problem, it’s just I didn’t know much effect the alcohol had on you and if those were your real thoughts or not..”

“The feelings I showed towards you were real, but if I’d had the guts to confess that I like you earlier, I would’ve approached it differently. Guess drunk me didn’t really give a fuck.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Peter says and leans forward to press an unexpected kiss to your lips.

You’re too surprised to kiss him back and he stops, readjusting himself, coughing awkwardly, “Sorry did you not- I uh,”

“No, no I’m sorry. I know that you were really nice to me when I was drunk, but I thought you were just saying that stuff to not hurt my feelings. So.. you like me too?” You haven’t comprehended the situation fully yet, but a smile blooms across your face anyway.

“Yes. How could I not?”

You take it in fully now, feeling drunk again because... is this real?

Finally both understanding that yes, you fucking like each other, you inch closer to each other again, both grinning like crazy.

Straddling him, with both of your valid consent this time, you start kissing him like you’ve wanted to all your life.

He kisses you back eagerly, his hands wandering under your hoodie, but politely staying at your waist. That’s before he pulls away, hair messy from you grabbing at it and even after your ten-minute make-out session he seems nervous.

“Tell me if I’m like making you uncomfortable or something but I have a question. That night you were very,” he scratches the back of his head, “Sexual. Was that just cause you were drunk or...?”

“I don’t remember every single thing I said or did so if I did something embarrassing then it was just cause I was drunk. But otherwise... I’ve had a crush on you for ages so…”

“So?” he asks.

“I’ve thought about having sex... or generally doing anything sexual with you a lot.”

“R-really?”

“It’s not just guys who think about it.” You shrug, going to kiss at his neck while he lets that information sink in. “What about you?” you wonder.

“Every day for about 4 years- I mean not every day. Not four years. But yeah definitely, I have.” He’s red as hell and can’t quite look you in the eyes.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about that... it’s hot, you’re hot.”

”You’re hotter,” he says, starting to kiss you again.

“What do you wanna do about it? Like, no pressure, never, but if you wanna do something sexual, I’m down.” Peter says, trying to sound more confident.

“Honestly, I really want to have sex with you right now but I think we should wait just a bit. I don’t wanna make that decision when I’m horny.”

“You’re horny right now?”

(He can be oblivious at times.)

“Yes, Peter.” You don’t have to ask him if he is, as you can feel his hard-on pressing into your thigh. You don’t mind it, as you know he’d never make you do anything you don’t want.

“Maybe for today we can just enjoy finally being with each other and go with the flow?” you suggest and he nods eagerly.

For that day you do nothing but kiss for hours, exploring each other with hands and mouths, comfortable the whole time because there’s no pressure. There never is with Peter.

You go to sleep that night, excited about your future together.

[pastafossa]

so this is something i came up with for myself but it is very easily adapted, so: please consider a night out at josie's with the boys, and matt getting absolutely flustered as hell out of seemingly nowhere and having to hide it. why? because he can hear you singing along to the music in the bar under your breath, softly enough that it's doubtful anyone else can hear you. bonus points if that abrupt fluster is when he realizes he's caught feelings :) - thenerdlordparade

HOW do you always have such GOOD IDEAS? YOU JUST dajfkladnfeajwfkle

ASK AND IT SHALL BE DONE. ❤️

--

He’s comfortably tipsy at this point. 

And it’s not… it’s not like he’s hammered, so drunk that his senses are completely thrown into a tailspin. Instead, it’s just enough to take the edge off, to loosen some of the aching tension in his shoulders and along his spine, to let him lean into you a little more than he probably would if he were sober, to let him laugh a little harder.

A night out—with you, with Foggy, your boys—was exactly what he needed after this week, this too-fucking-long week of blood and failures in court. It doesn’t matter that the music is a little warped—speakers about thirty years past their prime—and the beer is too warm, because it’s good tonight. He’s… happy here, with his friends, people he cares about. There’s even a warm, pleasant hum coming from somewhere, faint but soft to his ears, even with it hidden beneath the dull scuff of pool cues across felt and the sniffling of the guy with the cold over in the corner booth.

He shakes it off, trying to drag his senses back inwards, back to the booth where Foggy’s—well, he’s a bit less sober than Matt is, and the story he’s telling doesn’t make a lot of sense but there’s an otter and a net involved and Matt’s missed too much to understand the context. But it’s not enough, too many distractions around him from the buzzing of the overhead lights and the rattling a.c.—and that hum, from where?—so he shifts his awareness out, searching for you up where you’d gone to get more drinks from the bar. If he can’t focus on the booth, maybe he can focus on you instead. 

And yet as he sorts through stimuli, digs down to find you, that pleasant hum slowly resolves into something more tangible, something warm and breathy. And the realization hits him. It’s—

You. 

You’re… singing.

Foggy waves a drunken hand in front of him. “Matt, are you—you ok, man? You look—”

“I,” he fumbles, composure slow to return, his senses still fully honed-in on you where you stand at the bar, shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah, I-I’m fine, what were you… what were you saying?”

He’s not sure you’ve even noticed what you’re doing and it’s so quiet, so low that he knows it isn’t something meant to be heard by anyone around you; there’s certainly no one, other than him, that would be able to hear it. Your lips are hardly moving, each word dropped so gently your breath barely stirs the sluggish currents of air, soft notes carrying to him like dandelion seeds on a breeze. 

You’re singing here, of all places. You’re comfortable and happy, unintentionally gifting him this warm hum that works like a balm on his soul, and a faint snatch of your scent drifts back to him. Affection surges up, overwhelming and sudden, and the strength of it leaves him off-kilter, the ground lurching beneath his feet because he just wants… 

He wants more of this: this bright spot of warmth and joy after weeks that are too long and bloody, this moment of musical notes hummed out in grungy bars. He wants to know if you would sing like this anywhere else, whether you’d sing louder or stay quiet as you go about your day. Wants to know if he could pick up the sound from blocks away, let the contented, quiet lilt of it lull him and lure him back to somewhere safe and soft. He wants—

Oh, he thinks, a heavy breath shuddering through him like he’s just taken a blow to the chest.

He wants… you.

“Why do you look like you just got hit with a brick?” Foggy says blearily, squinting at him. “Your cheeks are red, dude.”

“I’m fine,” he says roughly, licking his lips and trying to put on something like a straight face even as his heart begins to pound. “I just—”

“You ok, Matt?” you ask, three beers in hand.

“He’s not fine,” Foggy declares, taking your proffered beer. 

“I’m alright,” he manages, putting on something like his usual smile, normalcy grasped by fingertips as you shrug and slide back in beside him. “Just… distracted. Long week. Keep going, Foggy, you were… talking about otters.”

“What about otters?” you laughed. “What’d I miss?”

And Foggy, more than happy to have an additional audience member, launches into the story again. You’re listening, Matt can tell—even as the current song ends, and rolls onwards into the next with a burst of static.

Your lips quirk, and this close, the sensations become so much stronger: the shiver in the air currents, the rustle of your shirt as your lungs expand, and then, under your breath, the notes start up again. 

He might tell you how he feels, eventually, when the time seems right. But here, for now, he simply soaks you in, warmth and hummed lyrics in dark and dreary places… and he leans a little closer.

[luimagines]

Hey, could we get the boys kissing the reader please?

Masterlist

Absolutely!

If the reader gets to give the boys kisses, it's only fair that they get kisses in return!

Fair warning, these are more or less platonic.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

“Twilight I think I died.” You blurt out one day.

Twilight stops what he was doing and tilts his head on your direction. “Run that by me again?”

“This is all a dream isn’t it?” You gulp and pull your hair a bit to feel something. “Did I die? Am I dying? How do I know you’re real?”

Twilight pauses and puts his things down. He walks toward you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Before I met you, I got hurt...bad... And I had a dream.” You say.

Twilight then bends down and kisses you nose.

The action stuns you and you blink in an attempt to process the absurdity of it.

“Did that ever happen in your dream?” Twilight bites his lip to keep himself from smiling. This was supposed to be serious- you might have been having a crisis.

“No?” You answer with a small child like shake to your head.

“Then you’re not dreaming.” Twilight answers simply.

“Is that how that would work?” You reply.

“Do you want it to?”

“Yes.” You nod and walk with Twilight to help him out with his earlier chores. “I don’t like thinking of the alternative.”

“It’s you’re dreaming I’m sure our group is more than wiling to find ways to induce your awakening.”

“Like what?”

“Throw you off a cliff? Set you on fire? Get the cuccos nice and angry-”

“I’ll take your method over that thank you very much.”

Wind

“It can’t be that bad.” You roll your eyes and put your hand son your hips. “Why do you hate it so much?”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Wind explained. “If I went back home and they found out I did this, I would never be able to live it down.”

“Would you do it for a Scooby Snack?” You ask instead with a teasing grin on your lips.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Please don’t make me.” Wind whines. “I’d do anything.”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s not my idea either.” You sigh and cross your arms instead. “But the faster we do it the faster we can get it over with. It’s not like we have to talk about it ever again.”

“No please-” Wind gets onto his knee, saying your name and crawling to you that way. “-You’re my last hope. Don’t let this be the end of it.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Wind grabs your hands places a clumsy kiss on your fingers as he pleads. “Can’t it be anyone else? Please! Please, please please please please!”

“Oh my goodness! OK! I’ll go talk to Time and Twilight and see if we can get Legend to do it or something.”

“Yeeees.”

Hyrule

“My everything hurts.” You whined and rolled over, grasping your side in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure there. “Was I stabbed? I feel like I was stabbed.”

“You were, in fact, not stabbed.” Hyrule kneels by your side and lifts your hand to access the wounded area a bit better. “But you did land really harshly on the rock below us. So try to take it easy for a minute, ok? We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

“Who is this we you speak of?” You sigh as the pain lessens and take a deep breath, trying to sit yourself up. “I just see you.”

“Yeah, Wild is on his way over, so it’s about to be we.” Hyrule snickers.

“I see... Thank you ‘Rulie.” You smile a bit and loosen up your muscles. “How did I even fall to begin with?”

“Bad bomb placement.”

“Ah.” You say, as if that answers your question. “Well that explains everything then.”

Hyrule looks up at you and sees your face. “You’ll be ok.”

“I mean I hope so.” You shrug and Hyrule leans in to place a small kiss on your forehead.

“Wha-”

“Magic enhancer. Good for one extra minute of healing time.”

“You’re a dork.”

“You love it.”

Warrior

“I hate this.” You groaned as you walked through the dungeon. “Why are we here again?”

“Because we have a mission to clear the darkness and this is a hotspot. We clear this area and then we can move on to the next until we’re all done.” Warrior shrugs, fully understanding the sentiment but not wanting to ruin his reputation.

“This suuuuucks.”

“I knoooow.” He snickers.

“You’re making fun of me but I know you feel the same way.” You tilt your head back and look at him by shifting your eyes.

“Yeah but you don’t see me complaining.”

You groan louder in response, purely out of spite at this point and shove him slightly by the shoulder.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” Warrior asked teasingly.

“I want a sick prize at the end.”

“I can wager in a kiss.”

“Not from you.”

“No?” Warrior laughs louder and spin on his heel, walking backwards as he talks to you just a little ways ahead from where you are. “Am I not worth enough?”

“I have only the highest of standards.” You deadpan. 

“I’ll have you know that my kisses are completely worth it.” Warrior twirls his hand upwards for fan fair.

“Doubt it.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Doubt it.” You grin.

Warrior rolls his eyes but lets you catch up to him before leaning over suddenly and kissing on your hair line.

“Cheap shot.” You snort and push him away. “You’ll have to do harder than that. I bet the prize at the end is cooler anyway.”

“Tough crowd.”

Time

“Time, would you be a dear and help me out with one little thing?” You called out, fighting one of the knots that kept your bag to Epona’s side but Twilight was no where to be found so it’s not like he could help you.

Time looked up and saw you struggling with the bag and the rope that held it in place. An amused smile crossed his face and he got up to make his way over to you.

You huff and stomp your foot when it refuses to let go just in time as the man himself makes it to your side. “What seems to be the problem?”

 “I can’t get my bag out!” You whine. “Twilight does such ridiculous knots and I can’t figure it out.”

“Let me see.” Time rolls his eye and steps into your space, checking at the problem in front of him.

It was way more complicated than Time would think Twilight would purposefully do. It looked staged.

Luckily he knows his pup well and managed to get it untangled with seconds.

“How?” You frown and pout. “How did you do that? I thought I would have needed to get my knife or Legend to get rid of the spell.”

“Twilight doesn’t like spells or magic in general.” Time smirks and sees the opportunity in front of him.

You reach out your hand to take the bag with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah I know. Thank you, I was getting frustrated.”

Time grabs your hand with his free hand, bringing it up his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. “A hero’s work is never done.”

“A-ah.” You blush with wide eyes. “Right.”

Wild

“I have no idea where to go from here.” Wild sighs and places his hands on his hip, keeping the wooden spoon angled away from his clothes.

“What’s up? Need help?” You stand up and walk toward him.

“The stew needs something. But I don’t know what.” Wild huffs and chews on his lips as he thinks.

“Salt?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” He picks up his slate and takes the rock out, chipping small pieces off before stirring to dissolve it.

He brings the wooden spoon to his lips to taste it but he doesn’t seem satisfied with the result. “It’s better but not enough.”

“Can I try?” You offer and move closer to the pot.

He sighs and gives you the spoon with a bit of the broth. It’s delicious as expected but he’s right. A bit lackluster.

You smack your lips together and move it around on your tongue and try to figure it out. “Maybe Goron spice? Not enough to feel obviously but anything spicy tends to heighten existing flavors.”

Wild thinks about it before going through with your suggestion. He stirs for a hot minute before his eyes light up at the taste.

He spin to you with enough force to startle you, but before you can move away he grab your face with his hands and brings you forward giving you a whopping kiss onto your forehead. “That’s just what it needed. Thank you!”

You wobble for a moment when he pushy you away but you smile regardless. “You’re welcome.”

Legend

“And here we have the best of the rest, Mr. Fancyprance Mcfickle Bottom.” Legend knelt to the ground after speaking and place a kiss on the back of your hand.

“I take it back. We’re doomed. We’re never going to be able to sneak into the gala.” You lament and take your hand out of his gasp.

“How dare you doubt my acting skills.”

“Can you at least try to take this seriously?” You stress. “This is a big moment for the kingdom, if one thing goes wrong tonight, we’re all going to pay the price.”

“It’s not like any one going to die if we don’t do well toni-”

“Did you not read the note?” Your stare widens. “I can’t believe you. There’s going to be an assassination attempt. It’s why we’re even going to begin with!”

Legend pauses as he considers your words before sobering up and standing taller. “Alright. From the top. This is what we have to do.”

“Thank you.”

Four

“Ok, I have no idea where you’re taking me, but it better be good because I’m a lot less graceful when I’m blindfolded.” Four said over his shoulder as you guided him through the underbrush.

“Just trust me.” You grin. “You’re going to love it.”

“I hope so.”

You giggle and continue to push him ahead. “Ok, wait here I’ll be right back. Don’t take it off just yet.”

“You are so lucky I trust you.”

“Good.” You dash off and grab a small parcel that was hidden in a hollow tree truck.

You run back to him and pull his hand in front of him, placing it gently on top of his palms. “There. Open your eyes and open the box.”

Four grips the wrapping and takes the blindfold off with one hand. “What is it?”

“A gift silly!”

“Ok, yeah, but what’s inside?”

“Open it and find out!”

He smiles and gently rips the paper that covering the little box, eyes widening as he recognizes the design within. “How did you get this?”

“I save up for it. It’s a thank you.” You bite you lip and take a small step back. You’re beginning to feel a little flustered by his reaction even if you think you have no reason to be.

Four drops the paper wrapping and opens the box. “You got me this?”

“Yes. I thought we established this.”

Four beams and doesn’t even open the box all the way before he runs at you and practically tackles you over. “Thank you!”

“You’re wel-”

Four take the breath to plant a big ol’ smooth on your cheek, silencing anything else you were going to say.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” 

It’s the happiest you’ve seen him.

You can’t even get your thoughts together before he give you another hug and dashes away from you to enjoy his gift.

Or brag about it to the others.

You wanted to avoid that, which is why you brought him all the way out here beyond the camp...but you can never really tell what he’s going to do next.

You smile regardless and touch the spot on your cheek.

At least he likes it.

Sky

“I have no idea how you do this Sky.” You gulp and lean over marginally over the edge. “I hate free falling. How is this a fun thing to do?”

“It’s not so bad when you can trust your loftwing to catch you.”

“I don’t have a loftwing. You keep using that word and I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’ll be fine anyway. The water will catch you.”

“That’s not remotely as reassuring as you think it is.”

“You’re over thinking it. Stop thinking.” Sky laughs a little as he gets closer to you.

“Easier said than done.”

“Trick yourself then.”

“How?”

“A distraction would be a good start.” Sky hums.

“And how to suppose I distract myself?” You deadpan.

Sky shrugs before leaning over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. It stuns you enough that freeze on your spot and Sky takes the opportunity to spin you around by your shoulders and promptly shoves you off of the cliff side.

He dives in right after you when he sees your head pop out of the surface, laughing as he goes.

[gingersnaaps]

untouchable

keishin just can't stand the thought of anyone else being your first.

wc: ~2.5k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, alcohol, corruption of innocence, virgin!reader, mild misogyny, possessive ukai, masturbation, fingering, teasing, friends to lovers but fucked up, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @seita and their collab! also i probably fucked up the characterization but oh well

i don't want minors interacting with my content

To Keishin, you’ve always been untouchable.

He’d grown up alongside you - seen you go from your pretty pigtails to your grown-up bob, watched you turn from a schoolgirl into a woman. And through all those years, he’d always thought you were beautiful in the way that spring flowers are, all soft and sweet and dewy, your expression dripping innocence.

You’re pure. Unblemished. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean he’s never admired from afar.

He almost hates it, these urges he gets. Keishin sees your stupid Instagram posts, your Facebook updates - in fact, he’s practically inundated with photos of you. He can’t escape the pictures of you in your summer skirts, grinning cheekily and holding up a peace sign, or the ones of you in your sundresses, the fabric lightweight and loose, cascading over your body in ripples.

And sometimes, after spending a few hours with you in person - maybe at a concert, maybe just catching up with you as friends - these urges he gets are too much for him to control, too much for just a cold shower to tamp down. He’ll lay his head back against his pillow, groaning in relief as he palms him cock, guilt gnawing him raw as he strokes himself to thoughts of the soft swell of your breasts, the barest brush of your hand - every exposed bit of your skin that he can conjure from his memory.

He always gets this empty feeling in the pit of his stomach after.

Keishin will reprimand himself, muttering about how creepy it is, how wrong it feels, how he’ll never do it again, but soon enough, he’s seeing your pictures all over his feed again, and you’re inviting him to some new outing.

He knows it’s not right, but he can’t really stop himself, either.

So when you call him up just days later, giggling and chatting his ear off about some new amazing discount at this local bar - look, Keishin, I promise it’s not far - going on and on about how he should join you in celebrating your latest raise at work, a wave of nausea sweeps over him. He should say no. He should make up some vague excuse, awkwardly laughing, brushing off your invitation while promising to make it up to you.

But it’s just been so long since he’s seen you.

He clears his throat, and his voice comes out dry and a little unsure on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah - I can go. See you there, [y/n], okay? Take care.”

Keishin hangs up the phone with a click before you even get a chance to respond, his hand unsteady and trembling.

-

He gets there before you do.

His fingers drum nervously against the tabletops, eyes scanning above the sea of overdressed, garish bargoers, looking around for any sign of you. It’s hard to make out faces among the crowd, all finer features clouded by the smoke and mirrors that dim lighting creates, but he’s looked at you enough times to be able to tell you apart with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” your voice greets, pressed close to his left side. “Never been to a bar before or what? Just relax, Keishin. We’re here to have a good time, right?”

He startles at your sudden appearance, flinching slightly. “Right,” he responds, a smile tugging at his lips.

He beckons the bartender over, ordering a few drinks, and you get settled into a routine of easy conversation. It doesn’t take long for you to get woozy, alcohol flooding your system as your cheeks flush and vision blurs. It loosens your tongue, loosens your wallet, and before long, you start losing track of the time of the drinks you order. All you know is that it feels good to let go, to lose yourself in the light-headed headspace you’ve found yourself in, the kaleidoscope of people around you dissolving until indistinguishable, walling off the rest of the world from just the two of you.

If Keishin’s going to be completely honest, though, he’s not really paying attention to what you're saying.

He’s paying attention to the men around you.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he could swear that half the bar is leering at you, eyes following every movement of your body in ways that are absolutely unacceptable. He’s not an idiot. He knows what those other guys are thinking about; he knows how their dicks are straining in their fucking pants, how their thoughts must be wandering, he knows because he’s been there before.

Because even in the middle of a bar, surrounded by debauchery and alcohol and sluts, you look absolutely angelic. The halo of hair around your head looks so, so soft - he wants to stroke it, kiss it, use it as a handle to maneuver you around for him - and suddenly he’s consumed by thoughts of how much he wants to be the one to force you down around his cock, choking and sobbing, how much he wants to smear his cum on your gorgeous face and ruin you before anyone else can get to it. He can’t tear his gaze away from you as you shift closer, wobbling on your stool, completely oblivious to the way everyone else’s eyes are undressing you.

He knows you’re not doing this on purpose. You can’t be, no matter how many times you wiggle your ass on the bar stool, no matter how far up your thigh the hem of your skirt rides up. You wouldn’t tempt others like that. You’re just not that type of girl - you’re innocent, so open and guileless - you would never.

Keishin isn’t going to let anyone else fuck that up for him.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before some sleazy man comes along, his hands groping at your body, mouth whispering sinful words into your ear, and the mere thought makes him shudder with revulsion.

No, if anyone is going to wreck you, it’s going to be him.

When you eventually get too drunk, words slurring and half delirious, he catches you in his arms and leads you stumbling back to his own car. He revels in how peaceful you look with your eyes lidded with fatigue, clinging onto his arm as he drives back to his apartment.

He takes you inside with him.

“K-Keishin..” you mutter. “Where are we?”

He shushes you softly, carrying you to his off-white bedroom of popcorn ceilings and peeling wallpaper, of warm lights dimmed low and an eerie silence that suspends your surroundings in stillness. Laying you down on his half-made bed, he tenderly brushes aside the hair that frames your face as he crawls on top of you.

“I’m taking care of you, baby.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion at his pet name, but your mind is still too woozy to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words.

But even a drunk girl like you knows that something’s not right when warm, calloused fingertips reach beneath your skirt and slip under the hem of your panties. You instinctively flinch away from his touch, trying to close your legs back up, but he brings a knee up between your thighs to rest at your cunt.

“Please,” you whisper, sobered from the rush of dread that runs tingling down your spine. “Please, Keishin. We’re friends.”

He ignores you, pressing down on your cunt until you’re squirming beneath him, his gaze softening as your breath hitches with desperation. “You don’t have to worry. I’m gonna make this virgin cunt feel so good,” he breathes. “Gonna show you just what real sex is supposed to feel like.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle yet insistent, lips and wet tongue probing your mouth as if he’s trying to pry you apart and open you up. You can taste the alcohol on his hot breath, puffing lightly along your jaw as he trails his mouth further down, dragging his kisses sloppily down the crook of neck to where it meets your collarbone.

You tell yourself that it’s gross, that it’s overwhelming, but it’s impossible to hide the way your clit throbs against him as he flicks his tongue out to tease at your sensitive nipples, a moan almost involuntarily slipping from your lips. His mouth curls into a playful grin, teeth scraping roughly against your tits, and brings up the palm of his hand to cup your pussy.

“See?” he says. “This feels good.”

You cringe at his words, desperately bucking away from his touch, but there’s nowhere left for you to go - one arm cages in your small, frail body, the other strokes at your clit through the fabric of your panties, his mouth is sucking and nipping at the soft flesh of your tits - he’s everywhere, drawing patterns across your skin with lips and tongue, tracing feather-light circles on your pussy until you feel that desire in your cunt pulsing with need. “No,” you whimper quietly, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. “No, it doesn’t.”

Keishin ignores your weak protests, because he’s much too fixated on the way you look spread out beneath him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to see you this debauched, a flush riding high on your cheeks as you turn your head away in embarrassment, your hips bucking needily into his waiting hand, hair mussed and pupils blown out with lust.

You’re not the same girl he used to idolize, now that he’s seen you like this.

“I wonder how tight your pussy is,” he muses. “It hasn’t been tainted, right? Except for when you’ve touched yourself.”

Now there’s a sight he wants to see.

He withdraws from between your legs, but he moves his large hands to pry at your thighs and hold you in place. “I want you to do it for me,” he orders. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

You feel so fucking vulnerable in this position, legs forced apart and your glistening cunt bared to his hungry gaze, completely at the mercy of his whims and fancies, your body gone almost limp with fear at the thought of what he could do.

So you follow his directions like a good little girl.

You reach a finger to the entrance of your cunt, but the angle is awkward, and when you shove it inside, you’re barely able to feel even an inch of stretch. It’s frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating to be so helpless in front of Keishin, but you swallow the shame and begin to roughly thrust a finger in and out of your dry hole, even when the ache in your cunt is screaming for something much bigger - much more satisfying - to fill you up and satiate the need throbbing in your pussy.

He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Not good enough?” he asks. Keishin can tell from the pained expression on your face, from the slight twitching of your hips every time your stubby fingers brush against your g-spot, even though your face is turned away from him, and he knows what you’re really asking for with your panting and whining.

You’re asking for him.

Sweetheart, he’s more than okay with teaching you how to do it properly.

He moves your cramped hand away from its pathetic attempt at satisfying you, bringing a thumb up to rest at your clit, relishing at the way it pulses with need after just a few light circles. “More?” he asks.

Guilt is written all over your features, your eyes darting away, fingertips curling to grip at his sheets as he presses down more firmly. The twinge of stimulation sends white-hot arousal rushing to your cunt, your brain becoming hazy and unfocused, and the only thing you can think about is wanting more, more stimulation, more of his soothing words whispered in your ear, more of his deft touches and long, thick fingers.

“Mhm,” you whimper quietly. “Yes.”

Keishin stops the movement of his thumb, the warm palm of his hand resting against your throbbing clit. “More of what?”

You shake your head, embarrassment seeping into your veins. You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it.

He dips a finger into your cunt, teasing at the entrance before trailing light, soft touches up and down your folds. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation written across your face. “Touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, malice glinting in his eyes. He wants to hear you say those filthy words, wants his precious, innocent best friend to beg him to do the things he’d only ever dreamed of.

“My…” you trail off, eyes now hazy and unfocused as you blink back tears. “My pussy. Want your fingers inside my pussy.”

What a good girl.

“Knew you could do it for me,” he growls, slipping his finger deeper into your twitching hole. “When you want something, you have to learn to ask for it.”

He doesn’t hold back now, adding another thick finger inside to stroke and pet at your sensitive walls, pressing up against your g-spot firmly as his thumb rubs steady, even circles on your clit. The stimulation comes crashing down like a wave of relief for your sore, aching hole, his fingers playing with your cunt better than you ever could, reaching deeper inside you, stretching you out further, making you cream around his skilled digits until your hole is left fluttering and fucked out.

You barely have the energy to resist when he pulls out his cock, painfully hard and leaking, and fits it to the entrance of your pussy. He pushes in slowly, gently, his deliberate movement a facade of tenderness, stretching you out until the pleasure pulsing in your core becomes almost unbearable from how unhurried he’s fucking you.

“Holy shit,” he says, swearing under his breath. Keishin wishes all the other undeserving men at the bar could see you now, sprawled out on his bed like his own personal fuckdoll, your eyes rolled back into your head, gasping and moaning as he breaks in your virgin cunt. He knows he’s fucking you better than any other man ever could, wrecking you in ways you’ll think about years in future when you close the blinds and dim the lights and slip a hand between your legs.

And as he finishes, groaning in pleasure as the waves of an orgasm wash over him, he pulls out of your slippery cunt and watches as his thick spurts of cum land all over the soft, smooth skin of your chest and stomach, marking you as his.

You look so beautiful painted white.

No, maybe beautiful is the wrong word. You’d always been so pure in his eyes, so clean and untouchable, but looking down at your quivering form, he begins to finally see what he’d been to blind to all along. For the first time, he sees how slutty your tits are covered in his cum, how they’re almost pushed up to your chin when you’re lying on your back. When he squeezes at your thighs, your ass, your waist, the excess flesh spills over in all the places that make you perfect for fucking.

You’re not innocent anymore, he realizes with a sense of twisted satisfaction. Not after this.

You’ve been ruined, haven’t you?

if you enjoyed this, please reblog or just drop by my inbox to say hi!

[technowoah]

since I'm a gremlin I can ask for a c!Schlatt angst fighting with reader while he's drunk and the reader is just fed up with dealing with him and goes "IF YOU LIKE SO MUCH TALKING YOU DON'T NEED ME I'M LEAVING!" and just walks away and he realizes the shit he's done?

(the same anon who wasn't prepared to be heartbroken-)

Heartless

Somehow you find your way back to Schlatt again and it never goes as well as you think.

- c!schlatt x reader

- angst

- anon!requested

- part 1 to this story

⚠︎: swearing, angst, alcoholism, mentions of dying, c!quackity makes a appearance, hopefully this is sad enough yall-

An// i decided to make this a part 2 to Have a Heart! So I hope you enjoy love!

The night is still cold and dark as you begrudgingly walk back to one of the buildings that was put up to replace whatever L'Manburg was there before. 

After Dream's word you had still contemplated going back to Schlatt. He doesn't deserve what you do, but you still end up walking along the Prime Path back to the drunken man. You had no end goal and that was a problem. You probably were going to be embarrassed that you came back to him. You couldn't let Schlatt die, from either the hands of someone else or let him die from himself.

You eventually found yourself in front of the metal doors that led into endless hallways of offices nobody occupied. The offices that had wine and cigarettes for Schlatt to smoke just in case he decided to have a meeting in a room that isn't the official meeting room. 

Walking down the hallways you saw that most of the doors to each office were open and most of the alcohol and cigarettes were taken from each room. You peaked inside every room to see if Schlatt was in there, but something in you told you not to because you weren't prepared. What were you going to say? Stop drinking? Because you're sure he'll know he's not going to stop. You want to try to save him.

You slowly opened a door to reveal an office that looked an absolute mess. The small refrigerator was knocked over and all of the wine off the shelf was either shattered on the floor or gone. There were cigarette butts on the ground and lit a cigar, there were also papers and folders all across the room.

You whispered as you walked around the lit room "Schlatt must've been in here."

"Sure as hell he was!"

You spun around to see Quackity looking disheveled as ever. He had a bottle of liquor in his hand, his beanie threatened to fall off of his head and his suit now only a white button up with his dress pants still on.

"I've been running around this goddamn place trying to keep that ram man at peace! He's gonna drink himself to death." Quackity huffed while looking around the hallway.

"I know." 

"That's why you're here huh?"

You sighed at the realization. "Yes it is. I don't want him to drink himself to death. Death isn't what I want."

"Well, it's too late for that." Quackity faced away from you not wanting to look you in the eyes.

You stayed silent until Quackity spoke up again.

"You want me to take you to him? Wanna see him one last time before he dies-"

"Don't say that!" You rolled your eyes 

"Are you fucking kidding me? It's inevitable Y/N! His body is now 70 percent alcohol and his lungs are filled with smoke!" Quackity laughed in disbelief. "I don't want him to die! But its fucking inevitable. Either from someone else or-"

"Himself." You finished his sentence.

"Exactly!" He opened his mouth to speak again but apparently decided against it.

Quackity began to lead you out of the office and down the long hallway you two walked slowly not even knowing where Schlatt was in the whole building. You and Quackity made small talk.

"I hate this. I had to find this liquor and deliver it to him and now I can't find him."

"I came here to try and save him from himself and you're here feeding the problem."

"What else do you want me to do?" He grunted.

"Stop him!"

"If I stop him he's gonna be even worse so-!" Quackity threw up his hands in frustration as you two kept walking.

"I actually have something to tell you." Quackity spoke up after the silence.

"Quackity! Ah there you are!" Schlatt came around the corner behind you both and you turned around to meet the man you both have been looking for stumbling down the hallway.

"Ah you bitch! I thought I told you to leave!"

"Here we go." You rolled your eyes.

"Hey Schlatt! Here's the Liquor you wanted!" Quackity tried to liven up the situation by reaching the bottle out to Schlatt.

"He doesn't need it."

"Yeah I do, who are you to tell me what to do!" Schlatt yelled, not even taking the drink out of Quackity's hand. 

"Schlatt just calm down-"

"No! They made a mistake and they cant even do what I fucking say! They'll keep coming back to me, against my wishes!" Schlatt interrupted Quackity while flailing his arms around.

You stood still not wanting to hear him anymore. Ever since he won the presidential debate the first couple of months he's been sober with only a few drinks here and there. Now he's a full on alcoholic, only damaging himself and his presidency. It's a sad sight to see and you don't want to see it, so you can either run away and know it's still there or fix it and never see it again. 

"Schlatt I want to help." You hesitated before stepping forward.

"Same here Schlatt." Quackity agreed with you.

"You, you! Aren't any help!" He pointed directly at you while trying to keep himself upright. 

"How aren't I any help!?" You yelled back. "I've done everything for you and now you're digging yourself a grave Schlatt!"

"You think you're the best thing ever huh?! Im fucking fine! I can stand on my own two fucking feet!"

Schlatt wasn't standing up straight, he was stumbling either backwards or forward. His body threatened to fall onto the marble floor and he couldn't even stand up straight. His speech was slurring together as well you could barely understand him.

You finally responded to Schlatt. "Schlatt you're stumbling around like- like I don't even know what! I can't understand you and you just need to stop!"

"You're so useless! Not useful to me or my presidency! I can stand up straight and I'm completely fine shut the fuck up!" He yelled while leaning to the side.

"I'd rather die alone! Without you or Quackity." Schlatt yelled again

"That's what you're going to do anyways." Quackity whispered under his breath.

Schlatt kept babbling nonsense as his back slid down one of the walls as he sat on the floor. Head pulled to the side. It was a sad sight to see, you hated to see this man drink himself to death and apparently Quackity, who was looking at the ram man the same way, standing silently next to you.

"Schlatt this-"

"I dont fucking care what you think! You're the worst person I've ever met! You both made my life hell and that's why Im fucking drinking my life away so I wont see any of you're fucking faces!" Schlatt tried to stand up but failed in doing so.

He continued talking. "I am the best thing that happened to this country! I saved both of you from a tyrant! And you thank me by driving me into this state!" 

You felt your eyes threatening to spill tears the second time today.

"Schlatt that isn't me that's doing this shit!" 

"How the fuck would you know?!" 

"I can't. But Ive done every fucking thing for you! You cannot say I haven't!" You yelled back as he rolled his eyes with a rebuttal already on the tip of his tongue.

"Sure as hell I can! I have fucking proof-!"

"What proof?!" You interrupted his babbling even though he kept going.

"I- I!" he stammered not having a rebuttal this time.

"You're incapable of doing anything Schlatt let someone help you for fucks sake-"

"I'd rather die alone than sit here and be lectured by the likes of you!" Schlatt yelled.

"You are going to die alone, old man!" Quackity spoke up. "That's what they're trying to tell you!" 

"You shouldn't be giving me a lecture! Im the mother fucking president! I should be talking, but apparently its not fucking work-" 

"IF YOU LIKE SO MUCH TALKING YOU DON'T NEED ME I'M LEAVING!" You interrupted him and stomped down the hallway for the second time today.

As you walked down the hallway you heard a faint "wait" from Schlatt on the floor. You stopped and looked back to see Schlatt looking at you with some sort of realization in his eyes. Quackity was standing over him shaking his head.

"You know what? I don't even know why I helped you. Probably for power, but I don't need you for that." Quackity walked away towards your way. "Go ahead and die alone like you said old man." 

Quackity caught your gaze and he smiled and shook his head again. He finally reached where you were standing and started talking to you.

"Maybe this isn't a good time, maybe it is. But I am joining Pogtopia. Wilbur said he needs a lot of people for this to work so consider this an invitation." He gave you a thin lipped smile and walked past you giving you a good look at Schlatt, laying fully on the ground.

"Y/N wait, just hold on for a second." Schlatt said while on his side, not even bothering to look at you.

You didn't say anything and followed Quackity's path, down the hallway and out of the door. Behind you, you could only hear the distant groans and pleas of the drunken man behind you. You tried your best to help and that's all you could do. But you couldn't watch that man die.

Taglist: MCYT Imagines: @annshit @bobaducky @malfoysslutt @alec-lost-bee @egorldevi

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee 

[songbirdstyles]

bang a gong.

summary: you’re tired of being a virgin, and when you meet harry at a bar, he’s more than happy to help you out.

warnings: literally all porn, very little plot. fingering, m+f receiving oral, dom!harry

word count: 11.1k

listen to while reading: bang a gong (get it on) by t. rex

You should say - for the record, or perhaps to maintain your dignity - that this is never the type of place you’d generally be caught in.

If you hadn’t been dragged from your faux pretense of nonchalance after you got dumped, you never would have come. It wasn’t like it was a serious relationship - barely two months - but it was your first since graduating college and perhaps you thought, maybe, you were in with this guy for the long haul, but he didn’t agree. You suppose it was a silly thought (your friends had told you not to expect too much from a former frat boy, anyway.) And it did prove to be, anyway, dissipating the second you woke up to a text saying he didn’t reckon things were working out, and could he please have his hoodie back?

Whatever. You hadn’t been too sad but your friends insisted you needed to let go of him and that is exactly why you’re here, pressed into a booth at a high end nightclub you can’t afford, your friends and the randoms they’d pulled from the dance floor packed so tight that you can feel your thighs sticking to the leather seats and to each other. You hadn’t intended on drinking anything because the prices of the drinks would absolutely kill your bank account, but that, according to your friends, is exactly why you’re here - meet rich guys who frequent here, to have drinks bought for you with false promises of a night of fun, before leaving them high and dry while you are thoroughly drunk.

A good concept, in theory, and it was enough to tug you off of the couch and dig through your closet to find a suitable dress to wear. Perhaps you’d support it more, though, if you had any experience in seducing guys at all - the entire night, you’d merely been grabbing the extra shots your friends had gotten from the guys they’d located.

“Aren’t you having fun?” your friend asks, and you turn to look at her from where she sits next to you. The music is thumping some song you can’t recognize and it rings in your ears as you raise your eyebrows at her. Speak louder, your eyebrows say, and Natalie leans closer so her lips are nearly brushing your ear. “I said, are you having fun?”

Are you? Well, you’re not sure. Even if you’d done nothing to earn the two shots you’d downed, they did taste better than the cheap bars you and your friends frequented on weekends. And it was entertaining, watching guys nearly twice your age seriously believe they’d end up between the sheets with your friends later. So you shrug, bringing your hand to fan at your neck, trying desperately to alleviate the heat burning at your skin. “It’s alright.”

It’s good enough for Natalie and she turns back to Valerie, whose legs are swung over the lap of some 50 year old who had got you all your second round of shots. His hand is pressed to her waist, fingertips digging into her skin through her dress, and it makes your stomach churn to see, so you drop your eyes to the table, where you’ve been picking at your screen protector for the past 15 minutes.

It’s times like this you wish you were a lightweight but you barely feel tipsy, and you’d like nothing more than to rip away your inhibitions and go out and dance against some guy who you’ll never see again, but you find it too awkward to do while practically sober. You bring your eyes up to scan at the dance floor - God, there’s so many girls with the same ideas you had, presumably. The demographic of this club is rich old men and broke, early-20s girls and you don’t know how much you really like to be one of them.

Though you can’t deny that the drinks are good.

“Stop thinking so much!” you glance back at Natalie with your brows furrowed. You hate the way she can practically feel what you’re thinking because you’d have been more than happy to tug at your screen protector until it peeled off of your entirely-too-vulnerable phone but she’d never allow it. Never let you sit here, in this booth, while everyone else is having a good time. Sometimes you appreciate it and sometimes you don’t and you aren’t quite sure of how you’re feeling about it now. “You know what I think?”

You can’t fucking hear her and you lean your head in more, awating her response as your narrowed eyes look around the crowd on the dance floor again. No one catches your eye but nobody catches your eye here, either, and you reckon you’d have better luck roaming the streets of LA to find someone worth your time.

“I think you should go get laid,” Natalie tells you, and you exhale, a humorless smile turning your lips up. “I’m serious! There has to be some hot, rich guy here. What, did that guy fuck you so good you never want anyone else again?”

The thought of being pinned under any guy that your eyes are glazing over could make you gag, but you reckon she may be right. Unbeknownst to your friends, you’d never fucked anyone and you hadn’t necessarily felt the need - you’d done just about everything else under the sun, and not a single guy you’d given a blowie to, or who’d fingered you, had ever been able to find the spot that made you squirm more than anything. So you’d never quite understood why having someone’s dick inside of you was such a big deal but you can’t deny, now, that getting it out of the way does sound quite nice, solely to boost your self esteem after getting dumped by a graduated frat boy named Logan.

There wasn’t much of a bigger blow to your ego than that.

You tug your gloss-coated bottom lip in between your teeth, dropping your eyes back down to Natalie’s, and she widens her eyes at you in a way that further encourages you to get the whole virginity thing out of the way. It’s not like it matters, anyway. “Maybe,” you tell her, entirely too quiet compared to the music pulsing through the club, and she smiles, leaning back in the booth. You’re not sure if she heard you because you can’t hear whatever she says next, but it doesn’t matter - you’re already pushing your way out of the booth, calling excuse me to where Alexa is leaning close to the man she’d found (and he’s, by far, the most attractive of any of the three guys your friends had located, but Alexa has always been the best at finding the hottest guys, and you’re nearly positive she actually will end up fucking him tonight.) She leans forward so you can climb behind her, awkwardly in your heels, and you tug at one of her curls as you clamber out of the booth.

Working your way through a crowd of people to the bar is a skill you’ve all but mastered and at a club like this, it’s a lot easier than you’d expected. There’s less people dancing than you’d thought though you shouldn’t be shocked - it certainly isn’t like the usual clubs you go to. And so, you push your way through the people dancing to the bar, and there’s a few people spread out on the barstools. You scan the back of them - you can’t see any of their faces, naturally, so you merely judge from their hair, and you take a few steps forward and settle yourself onto a stool besides a man with messy brown curls, a pint of beer in front of him.

When you peek at his side profile he certainly looks younger than you’d expected - hardly older than you, if at all. And that’s a score for you, you figure. You’d much prefer to lose your virginity to someone who doesn’t seem like they could be your dad. But he is wearing sunglasses and that’s a bit weird - certainly not a dealbreaker but odd enough to make you wonder.

You aren’t sure what to say - should’ve listened closer when Natalie, Valerie or Alexa were seducing their men for drinks - and for a moment you sit in silence. 

It’s only when you turn your head to take another look at him, at the sunglasses sitting at the very top of his nose, that the silence between you two is broken, and his head tilts ever so slightly towards you. “What’re you looking at?”

God, his voice. You’d always had a thing for British accents and his is better than most, deep and raspy and slow, and you shift on your stool. And it sounds just a bit familiar but you can’t exactly pinpoint where - well, it doesn’t matter. If things go further between you two, tonight, you surmise he’d forever be the sexiest voice you’d slept with.

But you can’t get your hopes up. After all, the sunglasses in a dimly lit, fancy club is enough to make you just a bit suspicious of what type of person he is, and you refuse to hand over your V-card to a weirdo.

“Just wondering what your glasses are for.” Figure it’s best to figure that out before you let this get any further. You don’t want to waste your time. And you pointedly glance up at the ceiling, eyes darting around the walls of the club. “S’not like there’s much light here to protect your eyes from, is there?”

He chuckles, then, and you raise your eyebrows. “Guess I just don’t want people to see me,” he tells you, and when he turns to face you fully your eyes scan over his face and - God, he really does look familiar. And he sounds familiar. Have you met him before? No, you don’t think you could ever forget someone like him.

But - well, maybe. You weren’t necessarily known for having the keenest of memories.

You smile at him, brows creasing together. He certainly does seem to be a mystery and you’d love to uncover it in more ways than one. So you lean forward, resting your arm on the bartop. “Seems like the wrong kind of place, if you don’t want people to see you.”

“I reckon it’s working - you’re the first person to talk to me all night.” A hand - a large hand, you note - goes up to his hair, fingers brushing through his curls, and your eyes follow its path in a way that certainly isn’t anywhere close to subtle. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

Is he flirting with you? You’re not quite sure but God, you hope so, because so far he keeps getting better and better to you. So you turn to completely face him and you can see the small smirk on his lips, as if he knows what he’s doing to you without even having to try. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

You can see his eyebrows raise as he picks up his beer and takes a sip. Your eyes can’t help but follow every movement he makes and you don’t care if you look desperate - truthfully, you are. You hadn’t even seen his face in its entirety but you suspect your friends would be impressed if they could see the sort of guy you’d located. Even if you leave this club and never see him again, you’re not sure you could ever forget the way he’s making your stomach flip just with a small quirk of his lips.

When he’s set his drink down again and brought his wrist up to wipe at the beer still lingering on his lips - is that a Gucci watch? - he tilts his head at you, curls flopping, and then says, “Tell me yours first,” so you do. And he nods slowly before telling you, “My name is Harry.”

Harry. 

Your mind is whirring because suddenly the pieces are coming together - and you hadn’t been in your One Direction phase for a few years but you certainly know who Harry is. And the fact that you’re just sitting here, right now, talking to him in a club filled with too many other girls to count, seems like an accomplishment in itself. But you don’t want him to know you know, though surely he must assume you do, so you nod in the same fashion he did, as if you’re content with what he’d told you.

“Harry,” you repeat, as if testing the name out on your tongue. He spins his stool slightly so he’s facing you and your knees knock into his slightly. And then you raise your eyebrows at him, reaching down to tug your dress down slightly where it’s been riding up on your thighs, and you don’t miss the way his eyes follow your movements. “Are you going to let me see your eyes, Harry?”

Harry laughs slightly and then stands, and you look up at him, confusion blazing in your eyes. Is he leaving? God, you hope not. You don’t want your experience with him to be over before it's begun, no matter what it ends up being. But then he motions, with one finger, for you to follow him and you’re standing so fast your head is spinning, and you trail after him as he leads you through the crowd of people, and you crane your neck to try and see where your friends are but you can’t see them anywhere.

It’s fine by you, you decide, as Harry stops in front of a small, darkened booth towards the back of the club. You’re surprised but positively overjoyed that it’s empty - seems like the perfect type of table for anyone looking to get lucky. And, Christ, you are.

You slide into the booth and Harry slides in right next to you, leaving hardly a few inches between you two as he rests his arm against the back of the booth oso he can face you, and, beneath the table, your ankle links with his. You give him a moment to see if he’ll pull his foot loose from yours, but he never does, and it makes your heart race.

“Gonna take off your glasses for me, Harry?” you tilt your head forward - where you’d moved to is closer to the source of the music and it’s harder to hear, all of a sudden, but you can’t bring yourself to pretend that’s why your face gets so close to his. His breath smells like beer and mints, and you can see the smirk spreading further across his face. “I’ve been dying to see your eyes. Bet they’re pretty.” And you’re not quite sure where this confidence is coming from, because you’ve hardly tried to seduce anyone like this, but you’ll lay it on thick for him.

He’s different.

He chuckles and you can feel his breath, hot against your face. It sends a shiver down your spine and you hope the instinct was imperceptible. “Take them off for me, then,” and you do, reaching up to pull the glasses off his nose, and you can tell - just by the feeling of them in your hands - that they’re more expensive than anything you’d ever held in your life. 

As if everything before this wasn’t proof enough that you truly were talking to Harry Styles, sliding the glasses down his nose and meeting his eyes really validates it. You can’t help the way your lips part as you reach down to rest his sunglasses on the sticky table and you hope you don’t look as amazed as you’re feeling.

God, you have to be dreaming. The guy you cherry pick from the randoms sitting at a bar is - him. And you’re sitting with him, his fingers dancing across your shoulder blade where his arm is thrown lazily over the back of the booth, your ankles intertwined.

16-year-old you never could’ve believed it, but 22-year old you is having the time of her life.

“You look a bit shocked,” Harry murmurs, barely heard over the pounding music, but you hear it as clearly as if he’d yelled it in your ear.

You shift your mouth closer to his ear, so close that you know your lips graze his skin when you tell him, “Prettier than I’d expected, s’all.” It’s then - with a start - that you feel his other hand drop to your knee, pressing circles into your soft skin. You could nearly moan at the feeling and you know, suddenly, that this’ll definitely go where you want it to, assuming you don’t fuck it up.

And you won’t. Won’t let this opportunity go to waste.

“Ah.” When he tilts his head ever so slightly your lips are hardly a centimeter apart and with one shift forward you could close the gap, press your mouth to his, slip your tongue into his mouth. Force this into exactly the direction you need it to go, feel his hands drop to your hips, pulling you into his lap, cock hard against your core where your dress is riding up your hips.

As soon as you start to lean in, to make every fantasy you’ve had a reality, you feel two fingers, harsh against your shoulder, and they don’t belong to Harry.

You glance up, eyes narrowing at whoever had disrupted you, and standing in front of your booth is Alexa, wearing a small smile reeking of both excitement and guilt. And you can’t bring yourself to be mad at her for interrupting you, even though you want to, as she drops your phone onto the table.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she calls above the music, and you roll your eyes, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to move your head closer to his. In your ear you can hear him groan softly as your chest presses against his, and you can feel his arm that had been over the top of the booth drop to wrap around your waist - exactly where you’d wanted to feel it. “We’re gonna head out. Are you going to come?” The question is innocent but you can tell she already knows the answer as her eyes drop down to Harry’s arm, secure around your waist, fingers rubbing patterns into your hip through your tight, black dress.

“No,” you tell her, and Harry squeezes your hips in approval. “No, I’m gonna stay.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s then that Harry turns his head to look at her, effectively pressing your bodies closer than you’d thought they could go, and you can see the exact moment Alexa recognizes him - the way her eyes widen and her lips part into a smile. You’re not sure if she’s simply shocked that she’s seeing Harry in person or if she’s surprised you’re wrapped around him, but either way, she looks absolutely shell-shocked. “Promise I’ll take good care of her,” Harry tells your friend, and the double entendre makes you shift slightly, thighs rubbing against each other. 

He better take good care of you.

You bring your hand up to wave to Alexa and you can’t hear the response she squeaks out before she’s gone, and you don’t look to see her go back to your friends. You merely lean back, just a bit, pressing your hands to Harry’s shoulder to look at him.

“Gonna take good care of me, then?” you raise your eyebrows and you can see Harry’s pupils dilating as he stares at you, and you shift closer to him, practically in his lip. The music changes, then, and you hadn’t been paying attention to it before but now, Bang a Gong seems quite fitting for the moment. “Hope you follow through on that.”

It’s then that he leans forward, eliminating the distance between your faces as his lips press to yours. And you hardly have a moment to even comprehend it as his hand rises to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, and you moan into his mouth just about immediately. Harry’s tongue slips into your mouth and one of your hands drags up to the back of his neck, nails tracing along his sweaty skin. You’re not sure you’ve ever truly appreciated being kissed until right now, feeling his lips slotted against yours, the way his hand is pushing further up your thigh until his fingertips are creeping up the cheap material of your black dress.

You only pull away when you need to catch your breath, and Harry’s arm keeps you so close to him that the thought of regaining your composure seems too far away to consider. You’re not sure you’ll ever recover from that and you know there’s so fucking much more to come and you truly have scored, even if you only end up with kiss swollen lips to show for it.

But you reckon he has a thing for hickeys. It’s just a vibe you get from some guys, and as soon as the thought settles into your brain Harry proves it - mouth moving down to just below your jaw, and you drop your head back with a whine as you feel him beginning to suck a dark mark into your skin. His hand on your hip clutches your dress between his fingers, pulling the material tighter to your body than you’d even thought it could go, and it’s all the leverage he needs to pull you as close to him as you can go without being on top of him.

Which - you aren’t opposed to, but you’d always pictured your first time being below an incredibly handsome man.

(Though, you hadn’t ever pictured your first time being with your teenage crush, so you shouldn’t start relying on your fantasies now, you guess.)

When you shift your leg so it’s hooked across his, he pauses, pulling back to glance at the mark he’d left on your skin. In the dim light in the back of the club you’re not sure how well he’d be able to see it, but he grins as he examines it. Your fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck and you can feel him shiver beneath you and it makes your clit throb. “I think,” he tells you, leaning in so his mouth is right at the bottom of your ear, and you fight back a whimper at how deep his voice had gotten - dropped nearly an octave since the last time he spoke. “I think we should take this somewhere else.”

Harry squeezes your bare thigh, then, fingers just a few inches from the hem of your panties. You’d let him pin you to the booth, fuck you hard where anyone could walk by and see but - of course - that isn’t feasible. And as much as you truly do not care about losing your virginity, you don’t think you want it to be here, so you nod your approval. In an instant he’s out of the booth, fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugging you out after him. You grab his sunglasses and your phone, resting on the sticky table. You stumble as soon as you stand up and you’re not sure why - you think you’re just a bit overwhelmed with everything that had happened in the past 20 minutes, and the fact that Harry fucking Styles is almost certainly taking you to bed.

“Hang on,” you tell him, and when he turns to look back at you with an eyebrow raised, you reach forward to perch his glasses on top of his nose, preserving the anonymity you knew he wanted. He smiles slightly as he reaches up to push them further up his nose, and then he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him as you begin to walk towards the door.

Your friends are gone, you note, as you pass the booth you’d occupied earlier. Your phone, firm in your hand, has been buzzing incessantly since Alexa dropped it off but you haven’t bothered to check what the notifications are - your friends, surely wondering what you were doing, where you were going, when you would be home. And you didn’t know, truly, but you hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Harry pulls you through the doors of the club into the moist, nighttime air, and immediately you’re shivering - it’s chilly, just a bit. Not too bad, but you can tell it’s just rained by the way your foot sinks into a puddle of water, soaking through your cheap black heels.

You pay it no mind - just keep walking in pace with him, wondering, briefly, if there’ll be a time when you wake up from this. Perhaps right as he slides inside of you, filling you up so good, you’ll squeeze your eyes shut and moan and when you open them you’ll be in your bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing you didn’t have such a rampant imagination.

There’s no way this can truly be real but at the same time it is - the way his fingers tap against your hip feels so real. The way he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he turns you both down the street, it feels like it can’t possibly be a dream.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice sends vibrations rolling through your body and now that you’re free of music blaring through your head, muffling every word the pair of you spoke, you can appreciate it more - the rasp in his tone, how deep and slow he speaks. You could nearly moan at that but you hold back, biting on your tongue to prevent any loose noises from slipping out.

You lean up so your mouth is close to his ear like you had in the club, even though there’s no music surrounding you to make it necessary - you like the way he tightens his grip on your hip when you breathe against his ear. “Just wondering where you’re taking me.”

That wasn’t, in fact, what you were thinking about, but you didn’t think you could muster up the courage right now to tell him how bad you want him inside of you.

Harry points down the street and you squint to what he’s motioning to - “Have a driver waiting for me. Gonna take us to my hotel room, not too far from here.”

“And then what?”

He raises his eyebrow as he glances down at you, and you can see the amusement twinkling in his eyes even on such a dimly lit street. “And then -” he turns into a parking lot, just behind the club you’d been in, and you can hear the distant thumping music from inside - “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

Christ. You nearly whimper just at the implication and your mind speeds off, leaving your body behind, imagining every single thing he could do to you - or you could do to him - or anything. You can picture a thousand different scenarios and every single one ends with you in his hotel bed, your V-card firmly in his pocket.

It’s then that Harry stops in front of a sleek, black car - raps two knuckles on the tinted window of the driver’s seat and it rolls down almost immediately, as though it had been waiting for his signal. You can’t hear what he murmurs to the driver as he ducks his head inside the window and you don’t strain your mind to try and listen - within a few seconds he’s stepping back, opening the door to the backseat and ushering you inside.

You’d never been in a nicer car before but you shouldn’t be shocked - the outfit he’s wearing tonight could pay your rent for the next four months. There’s a partition between the backseat and the front and you’re beyond thankful as Harry slides in beside you, slamming the door shut, and he doesn’t give you a moment to process anything before his lips are on yours.

You wouldn’t dream of complaining as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you, and he’s groaning into your mouth as his hand drifts downwards to cup your ass through your dress but it’s not enough for him and you can tell. Fingers push up the bottom of the cheap material so he can slip his hand beneath it, hand cold against the back of your thigh and he slides his hand further up until he’s groping your arse once more.

“Fuck,” you breathe, and you can feel Harry smirking against your lips - a smug bastard, he is, but you find you don’t truly care. You pull your mouth from his, feeling his teeth tugging at your bottom lip, but you’re hardly disconnected a moment before you throw your leg over his thighs, straddling him, and he moans like music to your ears. 

He uses his grip on your ass to force your hips to rock against the bulge, prominent even through his pants. His other hand tugs your dress up to your hips, letting the material bunch around your waist, and immediately his hand comes down hard on your ass - you squeal, dropping your forehead against his, as he rubs over the spot he’d just smacked.

“Y’like that?” You nod, pressing your lips to the side of Harry’s neck as he lands another slap down on your bum. Your hips press harder into his, feeling the pressure on your clit as you roll against him. “Yeah, know you do. Dirty girl.”

And - you’re not sure why - but you drop your lips to his ear, nibbling on his earlobe and feeling the way his cock twitches beneath you. “Can I tell you something?”

He nods, and you bring your hand up to his hair, running your fingers through his sweaty curls. Harry tilts his head to the side and your lips briefly brush, feather light, as you slow the pace your hips are rocking, savoring every brush of your panty clad clit against the material of his pants. “Anything,” he mutters, head dropping against the headrest, and you reach down to press your palm to his cock. God, he’s so hard and he feels so big too, too big to even fit in you, but you know damn well you’ll try your very best to make it work.

Even if you’ve never done it before, and before you can wonder if it’s the best time or thing to tell him, you lean in. “I’ve never had sex before.”

Harry certainly seems shocked and the way his lips part goes straight to your ego - do you seem so good at all of this that he’d suspected you’d done it time and time again? Maybe he’s confused as to why you told him and truthfully, you are, too. Just felt like the kind of thing he’d like to know. Your ex boyfriend had certainly wanted to know, and two days after you’d told him he’d ended things.

Maybe some guys don’t want to take girls’ virginities, but judging by the way Harry’s fingers dig further into your ass, you suspect he does.

“Never?” There’s the surprise thick in his voice and you nod, grasp on his cock tightening ever so slightly, and he groans beneath you. “God. Never would’ve thought. Bloody good at this.”

Yep, there’s your ego inflating, and you shrug. “Done just about everything else. Just haven’t gotten to the good part.” Another smack lands against your ass and you moan, pushing back against his palm as he smooths his hand over your skin.

He leans back, then, shifting his hips, and you can see his pupils dilating more and more as he glances down at the way your cunt presses to his cock - “Why don’t you show me what you can do, then?”

You’re much more than willing, and you lean in to give Harry one final kiss before pushing yourself off of him and sitting, on your knees, on the seat beside him. He’s watching you so intently you could almost feel judged but you love it - love the way he watches you push your hair behind you, how he reaches down to slowly undo the zipper of his fancy dress pants, but you wanna do it yourself. You push his hand away, wrapping your hand around his wrist, and surely he’s strong enough to resist the dominant act you’re playing if he wanted to but you can tell he doesn’t. You finish unzipping his pants and he lifts his hips slightly so you can shimmy them down his thighs, just enough so you’re face to face with his cock, thick and bulging through his briefs.

You don’t give yourself a moment to examine just how big he is - bigger than you’d anticipated when you were on top of him and when you’d felt him up. You’d sucked off plenty of guys and none of them came close to his size but you’ve mastered the faux confident facade as you shift backwards, leaning down with your ass high in the air to press a soft kiss against Harry’s cock through his boxers.

He groans, those glasses slipping down his nose, and his wandering fingers end up dancing down your back - you’re not sure where he’s going but you shift forward to give him easier access to your ass, if that’s what he wants, and your fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers to pull them over his cock.

Jesus, yeah, he is big. You wrap your hand around him, pumping experimentally a few times, listening to the way Harry moans brokenly. You wonder, briefly, when he’s last done this - he looks as though it’s been a bit too long but, well, you suppose you can’t judge how sensitive he is when just the feeling of his hand splayed across your lower back is wetting your panties faster than anything has before.

Lips press a wet kiss against the tip of his cock, just briefly, before you wrap your lips around his length and push our head down - a gurgled cry escapes his throat and you nearly smirk around him, taking him as far down your throat as you can until your nose is just about brushing his pelvis. Your hands press to his thighs and you can feel him growing stiffer in the confines of your mouth by the second. Fingers tangle in your hair, forcing your head down, and with any other guy you’d roll your eyes but there’s something different about him, something that makes you like the dominance. Any semblance of it that you’d had seconds before is gone and there’s a smack against your ass, causing you to cry out against his cock.

Normally you pull off of guys after 15 seconds (or so) but Harry doesn’t let you, holds you down, and you hollow your cheeks around him. Swallow, and his hips jerk up into your mouth, forcing a gag from you, and then he loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to pull your mouth from him.

Harry’s breathing is heavy and his hand is groping your ass so tight it nearly hurts but the pleasure overpowers it and you push back against his hand. His fingers tug at your thong, slipping beneath it as you lap at the tip of his cock, and no sooner have his fingers circled your puckered hole - is he gonna do it? - that he slides them further down, running his digits through your soaked folds. 

“So - so fucking wet -” his voice cracks as you take him down your throat again but his hand doesn’t force your head down like last time - instead he brings his other hand to your bum and smacks you hard, harder than every other time, and you moan and he moans, and then two of his fingers slip into your cunt and you moan again.

God, it really is happening, because if it wasn’t, you’re sure you’d have woken yourself up in excitement by now. He really is two fingers deep in your pussy while his cock is all the way down your throat, and he really is crying out as you whine against his cock. His digits curl, brushing against that sweet spot in your velvety walls that has you clenching around him, and you think he’s the first guy you’ve ever done anything with whose found your G-spot without 10 minutes of needed assistance.

Your tongue swirls around his cock as you take your mouth from him, throwing your head back with a cry, and your first still pumps him up and down - his fingers are thrusting in and out of you so fast that the sound of your arousal is nearly the same volume as your moans lingered with his. You’re going to cum so fucking hard, first time you’ve cum from anything other than your fingers or your toys, and you roll your hips against his fingers, grasp on his cock tightening.

“Gonna cum -” your eyes roll back into your head as your thumb flicks over the head of Harry’s length, feeling the way his body jerks at the sensation. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop -”

“Gonna cum for me?” his voice is a hiss through gritted teeth as his fingers speed up even more, pumping inside of you so fast that your head is fucking spinning. “Do it, then. My dirty - fucking - girl, cum for me.”

It’s all you needed and you can’t even bring yourself to feel embarrassed at how fast you’re cumming because as soon as the pit in your stomach starts to unravel you can feel his cock twitching in your fist. You can’t think of a single thing to say, vocabulary wiped clean, merely throwing your head back with a noise akin to a scream as you cum on his fingers, and as his hips jerk up, you can feel his release coating your hand.

Harry’s fingers still pump slowly inside of you, prolonging your orgasm until it fades away and in turn you try to do the same to him, hand moving up and down his cock until your breathing steadies from labored pants into something more normal. So you pull your hand off of him, pushing yourself to sit on your knees, cum covering your fingers. And, in an instant, Harry’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and you let him guide your hand up to your mouth.

You can tell he’s merely testing you to see if you’ll do it - but, truthfully, you’d wanted him to cum in your mouth, anyway, if only to prove something to him, or to yourself. So you stick your tongue out, lap a thick stripe through his cum on your hand, dripping down your wrist, and Harry’s lust ridden eyes watch you, lips parted and breathing picking up again.

Your eyes never leave his as you lick up the last of his release on your hands, swallowing every last bit of it, and when you open your mouth to stick your tongue out - proving to him that you took every single goddamn drop - his hand flies to the back of your neck, pulling your head in, and your lips connect with a clash of teeth.

“Like a fucking angel,” Harry groans, pressing his fist to the car seat next to you, and the feeling of him hovering ever so slightly above you makes the buzzing in your head that much more intense. His other hand works at tucking himself back into his pants, zipping them up, and you figure it’s good to pull your dress down to cover your ass, too. “My fuckin’ perfect girl. Jesus Christ.”

You can feel the car slowing to a stop and you’re entirely too ready to go up to Harry’s bedroom and have your goddamn brains fucked out. You already feel like you’re on cloud 9 with one orgasm down, one so intense and brutal, one that you reckon nothing but him could muster up, and that’s just his fingers - you need to know what his cock’ll do to you. 

His hand falls back down to your waist where it seems to love to reside and he squeezes your hip, leaning in to nibble at your bottom lip again. You grin lazily, then reach up and push his sunglasses back up his nose where they’d slid down the bridge ever so slightly. “Want you t’fuck me,” you breathe, voice raspy in all of its post-orgasm glory. “Never gotten fucked by anyone before but I need you - swear, I’ve never cum so hard in my life.”

Harry chuckles and turns to glance out the window - then he grabs the door handle and pushes it open. When you’ve both clambered out of the car his arm is around you in a heartbeat, and you need the support, legs feeling shaky, and you take just a moment to glance up at the hotel you’re walking into - nicer than anything you’d ever been in in your life but you feel a bit more used to it by now.

“Tell me,” Harry mutters, leaning his lips close to your ear, as the automatic doors slide open for the pair of you to walk into the hotel lobby. “How many guys have made you cum before, hmm?”

“None,” is your response, turning your head to the side so you can witness the shock that overtakes Harry’s face - you can’t see his eyes but you’re sure they’re wide. “Told myself I didn’t want to fuck a guy who didn’t know where the clit is, and - well, none of them did.”

He chuckles as you two make your way through the lobby towards the elevators - it feels wrong for you to even be here, walking by people who see more money every day than you have in your life, in your dress you’d gotten at the thrift store and your heel still slightly wet. But being with Harry, having his arm around you, makes you feel decidedly less awkward, because you’re sure millions of girls would positively die to do what you’re about to do.

But you get to do it, and if that isn’t the best feeling in the world.

He stops in front of the elevator and presses the button to go up, and the doors open almost immediately - such a gentleman, he is, letting you step in first, and when you’re both in you watch the button for the very top floor light up as he pushes it. 

“You’re in for the night of your life,” Harry tells you as the elevator doors slide shut, and you’re entirely expecting him to pin you to the wall but he doesn’t - incredible composure, really, staring straight ahead like he can’t feel the desperation practically dripping from your body. You stare at him, for a moment, at his side profile, jaw set. Like he isn’t as needy as you are, but, as your eyes trail down his body to the bulge already hardening again in his pants, you know that he is.

It seems like an eternity later that the elevator doors slide open again, and you want to race down the hall to his room but you let him lead the way, even if his pace is pathetically slow as he strolls down the hallway. There are only two rooms up this high, on either ends of the hall, and his is to the left of the elevators and it seems so much further than the one to the right.

But you make it there, and Harry’s reaching in his pockets to find his key card - and then he’s swiping it - and then he’s pushing open the door - and as soon as it shuts again, you’re pressed firm against the wall. Your hands fly to the back of his head as his drop to your back, trailing downwards to cup at your ass again (he seems to have a thing for it, but you would never think of complaining.) Your lips press to his as your head falls back against the door, and his hips jerk forward to roll against yours.

You still feel entirely too sensitive and you moan out, pushing your hips forward to meet his as you pull his face closer to yours, using your arms around his neck as leverage to pull him in, but you didn’t need it - you can tell he’s just as desperate as you are, and soon he pulls you off of the door, backing you up to God knows where. You let him lead you until your legs hit something and you fall backwards onto a plush couch, pushing yourself onto your elbows to watch Harry as he drops to his knees before you.

Oh, shit.

Your cheeks heat up as he rests his hands on your knees, spreading your thighs apart. Harry’s hand rises up to his sunglasses, perched, still, on his nose, and he pulls them off, resting them on the coffee table behind him. His eyes meet yours and perhaps he can see the apprehension in your eyes because he leans up, pressing a kiss to your lips. You savor the moment, the sweetness of his tongue entering your mouth, before he lowers himself back down onto his knees. Hands go to the bottom of your dress, rolling it over your hips until it can settle around your waist, exposing your entire bottom half to him, and it feels so much more intimate now that you’re not confined to the backseat of a car.

Harry leans in without giving you a breath to collect yourself, pressing a kiss to your clit through your arousal-soaked lace panties - your hand drops to the couch, squeezing the edge of the cushion between your fingers, and you can already feel your slight embarrassment slipping away as Harry pushes your thigh, forcing it further open.

“Tell me,” he says, deep and hot with how close he is to your cunt, and your hips roll of their own accord at the feeling. “How many guys have done this to you?”

You pause to think, chest rising and falling as he leans in again, licking up your panties, and the sensation makes it a bit difficult to gather yourself enough to respond - eventually, though, you swallow and say, “Not too many. One or two.”

He leans back, pressing a kiss to your thigh. “And they never made you cum.”

“N - no.”

“Well, I will,” is his response, and, as cocky as it may seem, you know he’s right - could probably make you cum through your panties, but his fingers hook in the top of them as soon as the thought pops in your mind. You lift your hips up so he can drag them down your legs, and when they’ve puddled by your feet he helps you take them off. You watch as he crumbles the lacey material in his hands and then stuffs it into the pockets of his fancy pants - for later, he murmurs against your thigh. And then he goes in - hands on your thighs forcing them apart so hard it nearly burns but you find you like the stretch, and his lips wrap around your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks on the small nub.

Your head drops back against the couch and you bury your hand in his hair, a loud moan escaping your throat. He wasn’t teasing you and you were beyond grateful - tongue laps up every drop of wetness that gushes in your cunt, kitten licks against your clit, and you can tell he has more experience than you could have imagined. Harry has it mastered, exactly where to place his hands (one on your thigh, the other creeping its way beneath the material of your dress towards your tits) and how to flick his tongue just right to have your hips bucking up against his mouth. And if you thought you’d cum hard in the car you know you’re in for a fucking treat because there’s already pressure building in your stomach and it won’t be long until it fucking erupts.

When you squeeze your eyes shut he stops - pulls away, his mouth and his hands, like he’d never been there in the first place. You open your eyes, chest heaving as you stare down at him. His pupils are lust blown and wide as he stares at you, eyebrows raised, as if you’re meant to know something he never told you - “Eyes open,” he tuts, tone condescending and smug, and you hate how much you love it. “Keep them open. Gonna watch me make you fall apart, alright?” You nod slowly. “Tell me.”

Your voice is caught in your throat as Harry’s lips form a small o, breathing a puff of air onto your beyond sensitive clit, and your fingers in his curls tighten to what has to hurt - but he moans, ever so slightly, as you finally breathe, “Yes. Okay.”

“S’what I thought,” is his response, and then he leans back in, licking up your soaked folds as though no time had passed. Both of his palms press against your thighs, pinching your soft skin, fingers dangerously close to the area he’s working so well. God, his fingers, you swear you’ve never felt anything better than them - you want them again, so bad, hitting your sweet spot so good.

You can’t begin to get the words out to tell him that, though, so you merely reach down, shaky fingers wrapping around his wrist and pushing it closer to your cunt - he pauses, tongue mid-swirl around your clit, and looks up at you with a glint of pure cockiness in his eyes. 

“What do you want?” he doesn’t remove his mouth from around your clit as he speaks and the vibrations roll through your body, sending a cry through your throat, and you push his hand further towards your cunt. You know it won’t be enough - haven’t known Harry for quite long at all, but you reckon you know that much about him. “Use your words,” and Harry sounds so fucking commanding that it could make you cum right then and there.

“F - fingers,” you just about sob out, rolling your hips up into his mouth so your clit brushes against his tongue. “Please, Harry - need your fingers, please -”

“Fingers, hmm?” His digits dance across your thighs, straying further away from where you need him, and your eyes just about roll back into your head as he pulls his mouth from your clit and blows on it again. “Where do you want my fingers?”

But you’re too far gone to speak - as he leans in to brush his tongue against your sensitive clit once more, you can feel the pit in your tummy starting to come undone. You drop your head back as Harry licks a thick stripe up to your sensitive nub, and he stops again, pressing his cheek against your inner thigh. “Does my dirty girl want my fingers in her pussy, hmm? S’that where you want my fingers?”

You moan out in affirmation.

Harry pulls his head from your thigh and you push yourself so you’re sitting up more, getting a clear view of everything he’s doing as he spits on your pussy, the saliva dripping down onto your clit, and you fucking cry out. His fingers come up to collect the spittle, rubbing it along your clit before dragging it down your folds so he can push them into your pussy - curling up immediately, knowing exactly the spot that makes you squirm. His other hand comes up and lands a firm smack against your clit, one that has your eyes rolling back into your head.

It only takes a few quick pumps of his curled fingers, in and out of your fluttering cunt, that has you cumming so hard you swear you see stars. Every single sob that breaks free from your throat is so loud that you swear the neighbors in the room at the other end of the hall must be able to hear you - should send them a flower arrangement tomorrow morning, because it’s just his mouth and fingers that has you screaming bloody murder.

“Oh my god -” your hips jerk against his mouth, your hands in his hair dropping back down to the cushions. “Fuck.”

Coming down from your second high of the evening is entirely different from your first - you can’t imagine how you’ll possibly be able to pull anymore from you but, as Harry stands up, your slick covering his mouth and chin, you know you have to.

The whole point is to fuck him. To finally know what everyone’s talking about - to see what the fuss is all about. 

Harry leans down, tongue forcing its way down your throat the second your lips part for him, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your arousal mixed with the beer he’d had earlier, all traces of the mint washed away, and it tastes so divine. Even more divine as his hands drop to the zipper of his pants, sliding it down, and you slide your fingers in the waistband, helping him tug them down his thighs. He kicks them off as soon as they’re near his feet and then he pulls away, palm pressing against the bulge in his briefs. 

“How do you want it?” he asks, words dripping with lust and desperation and you know the exact way he’s feeling and more. You watch him intently as he grips the bottom of his sweater and tugs it over his head - it drops to the rug atop the ground and you let your eyes soak in the sight of him, almost fully nude, briefly ignoring the question.

You hadn’t necessarily expected him to ask. He seems more dominant than that, needing to take control, so you swallow, chest heaving as you try to think. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

He seems to have been expecting that answer, because his hands fall to your waist, pushing you down so you’re lying on the couch. It’s spacious, just enough room for you to adjust yourself comfortably, and Harry lowers himself down on top of you the second you’ve shifted enough.

“How’s this?”

And his caring demeanor is shocking but fitting, because as much as you merely want to get your virginity out of the way, it does feel like a sort of important moment. You want it to be comfortable, and lying on the plushiest couch you’ve ever been on with Harry hovering above you, his arm inches above your head, is about as comfortable as you’re going to get.

You loop your arms around his neck and you can feel his clothed cock, pressed to your cunt. He’s so fucking hard and you’re amazed at the amount of composure he has. “Perfect,” you mumble, leaning up to attach your lips once more (you swear, you can’t get enough of him.)

Harry tugs down his boxers, just enough to free his cock from the flannel confines, and you can feel his tip, running along your folds - he slaps it on your clit and you groan. You drop your head back against the arm of the couch as he sinks his tip into your cunt. Slowly, steadily, he pushes himself the rest of the way in, stuffing you so deliciously full of him that it nearly overtakes the pain.

Nearly.

You’ve used dildos before and you’re thankful for it, now, because you reckon without any sort of experience you’d feel absolutely split in half. Even now, there’s a dull burn sparking between your thighs, and you drop your head back, eyes squeezing shut as you try to adjust to the feeling. No, it didn’t necessarily hurt but it was different and that in itself was enough for you to need a moment to adjust. The way his cock twitched inside of you every so often encouraged you and subsequently turned you on beyond belief, and you don’t need too much time to adjust, after all.

Harry’s breathing is heavy and you can feel it against your face, barely an inch above yours. Poor guy, must be torture, holding out, because you can practically sense how needy he is. You lift your head up to press your lips to his, soft like the brush of a butterfly’s wing, before pulling back. “Move - fuck, please, move, Harry.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, pulling his hips back before thrusting them back in. That is certainly different, verging on the border of pain, but with a few more slow pumps, in and out of your dripping cunt, the pleasure is beginning to take it over.

It takes a moment to find a rhythm that’s enough for both of you. There’s still a slight discomfort but not enough to make you want to wait any longer. You’re finally having sex and you want it to keep going, to do it forever and ever with the absolute God hovering above you.

“So goddamn tight,” Harry grunts as he rocks his hips into yours. “Squeezing me so good. Never fucked anyone so tight in my life, I swear.”

His compliments, whether they were in the heat of the moment or genuine, makes you moan out - makes this entire thing feel so much better.

And fuck, it truly does feel good, especially when he angles his hips just so, every thrust sweeping against that sweet spot deep inside of you that he’s so adept at finding. For the first minute or so you’re fine with the leisurely pace he’s doing but you can tell it’s killing him and it’s starting to kill you, too. You’ve never been too patient, even if you’d waited 22 years for this exact moment.

You’re not a virgin. It feels good, the invisible badge of honor and the cock, going entirely too slow for your liking, deep in your pussy.

“Faster - need you to go faster,” you gasp as Harry’s thumb drops to your clit, rubbing slow circles on the sensitive nub, and they’re immediately a sharp contrast to the way he pulls his hips out and slams them back in. This is what he wanted, what he needed, and it’s what you need, too. No slow pumps. You need him fucking fast and hard and God it feels good, the way he presses down on your clit, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. “Feel so good inside me. God, keep doing that.”

Harry braces a hand on top of the couch, lifting his body slightly off of yours to piston his cock in and out of your cunt, taking him greedily and fully. He’d been with plenty of girls before - more than he could count - but there was something different, being the first guy to fill you up, to fuck you so hard you saw stars. And it was bloody good, watching you beneath him, your mouth falling open with a broken moan, pushing your pelvis up towards his, trying to help him along.

“Such a dirty girl,” Harry rasps, reaching down to grab the top of your dress - should’ve taken it off of you, really - and he pulls it down so aggressively you’re sure the fabric will rip. Your tits spill out of the top, covered only by your bra, and his fingers hook in the cups, pulling them away from your breasts, and in an instant his head is lowered to flick his tongue against your nipple. “Feels so good, hmm? Getting fucked for the very first time? Poor baby - never had a dick before. Tell me how - tell me how it feels.”

Your head is fucking spinning, is how it feels, and you’re not sure you’re going to be able to talk for days to come. You sob out your response, barely audible, but Harry hears it as if you’d spoken loud and clear - “So good, fuck, gonna cum.”

Two of his fingers pluck at your clit like the strings of a guitar, as if you’re merely something to be played with, but it’s enough to send you over the edge again. Your body convulses beneath him, eyes squeezing shut. Your cunt fluttering around him could make him cum but you can tell he wants to hold out - wants to see if you have one more in you, and you’re not sure if you do.

It’s as though Harry can sense the second you’ve milked your orgasm for all you can, because he pulls out of you the second you’re done. Before you can cry out, his hands grab your hips and flip you over with such ease it’s nearly embarrassing. You hardly have the muscle strength to hold yourself up, merely dropping your face into the cushion as his hands position himself at your cunt, pushing in without giving you a second to adjust, and it’s back to the hard, steady pace you’d reached before.

This position is a fucking change and one you love, a new angle letting him reach spots inside of you that you hadn’t even known existed. Your moans are muffled where your mouth is pressed to the cushion but Harry’s are loud and clear, piercing the air near violently as he cries out. You can’t see him but you try with all your might to picture exactly what he’s doing - picturing how his mouth is open and his eyes are shut and he’s lifting his hand to land it back down on your -

As though he can read your thoughts his hand goes up and smacks down on your ass, the noise cracking through the air, and you sob out at the feeling. You love that, you really do, and you’d never have expected yourself to but as he sends another slap to your skin you decide it’s one of your favorite things you’ve done this whole fucking evening.

“Gonna cum,” Harry grunts, hand gripping your thigh to rock your body in time with his. You wiggle your ass, pushing it against him, and for that, you earn another smack. “Where d’you want me to cum? Want it on your back, hmm? Or maybe flip you over again and cum on your pretty tits.”

You can’t verbalize anything, nothing except for broken cries and his name falling off your lips like a mantra, and he knows it.

“Or -” and his voice drops nearly a whole fucking octave, deeper than you’d even thought it could go, and you’re so close to your fourth that your ears are starting to ring - “does my dirty girl want me to cum in her pussy? Fill you up with my cum, fuck you so good until you’re stuffed with it.”

It’s that - his words, fucking filthy and rising above every other noise the two of you make - that ends you. Sends you hurtling into your fourth, now, the couch practically absorbing your moan (or more like a scream) and any ability you’d had to hold yourself up on shaky legs dissipates as you collapse against the couch but Harry’s there, holding you up, forcing your hips back into his you were made for it.

You don’t need to say anything - he knows what you want, can read you like a book by now, and you’ve only known him for tonight. So as his cock gives its final twitch inside your cunt, worn out from cumming four times in such a short amount of time, he makes no move to pull out. Just grips your hips and holds them close to his, and the feeling of hot ribbons of cum shooting into your cunt, filling you up exactly the way you’d wanted, is a sensation you don’t think you’ll ever forget.

When he’s done, pulling out slowly, you collapse fully onto the couch with nothing to hold you up - you’re fucking exhausted but you’ve never felt better in your life. A haze seems to be settling over your mind and body, preventing you from paying any attention to anything that’s not Harry as he stands up above you. And then you feel him, wrapping his arms around you, picking you up like a goddamn baby and you like it a lot.

You’re entirely too close to falling asleep in his arms before he lies you down on a surface softer than the couch - has to be the bed, the rich hotel beds, and as your head lands on the pillow you know you’re correct. God, feels like a pillow, and you’d like to spend the rest of your life right here.

Harry’s like a God in human form, truly, getting a warm washcloth from the restroom to wipe at the cum dripping down your thighs. You two speak in soft, hushed voices, as though making up for the absolutely inhuman noises you’d made before, as he pulls your dress over your head and deposits it on the ground. It is ripped, you can see, but you find you don’t really care. Not like you didn’t get it for less than $10 - and it’s just a reminder of every amazing thing that happened tonight, not that you’d ever need one. You know you’ll remember this night forever.

Finally he lies down beside you, shifting so he’s spooning you, arms firm around your waist and your head to his shoulder. This feels perfect, exactly what you needed to end off your first time perfectly.

“M’not a virgin anymore,” you murmur, adjusting yourself to press your body closer to his. “Feels good. Feel like I’m finally living.”

Harry chuckles at that, pressing a kiss to the side of your face. “Hope your first time was as good as it could be.”

You exhale softly. “It was perfect,” you tell him, voice soft and dripping with emotions you can’t possibly decipher. And it’s the absolute truth - even if your first time wasn’t with a boyfriend you were in love with, like your friends, you don’t think you’d ever have it any other way. “Maybe we could do it again, some time.”

Probably a mistake to ask, but there’s nothing to lose, really. Maybe a piece of your dignity if he says no, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. You’d do this a thousand times over again with him without hesitating.

He takes a beat to respond and you know you fucked up, already squeezing your eyes shut in regret, but then he rasps, “Definitely gotta do it again. Tomorrow night … and the night after that … and the night after that …” and you know you’re in for it.

[p-antomime]

such a good kitten.

— minors don’t interact

— wc: 2,4K

content + warnings: 18+, including: hard dom!atsumu, switch!sakusa, boy x boy (a bit of), pillow humping, masturbation (male), threesome, polyamorous relationship, thigh fucking, breeding, oral (male receving), face fucking, mfm, voyeurism (a bit of tbh), sir kink, dumbification, pet play, degradation, worship, pet names.

pairings: miya atsumu x cat girl!f!reader x kiyoomi sakusa

— inspired in this here.

— haikyuu masterlist.

— Can you open the door for me? — Atsumu asked Y/N shouting from another room of the house while you were lying on the couch in a relaxed manner with Sakusa drumming her fingers lazily on your cheeks.

It was an atypical Friday when all of you living together wanted nothing more than to spend a good time enjoying each other's company. Sakusa and Atsumu were too busy with the practice of the Japanese national team at the same time that you were busy taking care of the technical affairs of the team, and no fan of either of them knew that their dreams of dating them were crushed by you.

To be honest, you have known each other since high school because in a game of Sakusa's high school against Atsumu's the eyes of the blond-haired Miya fell on you, who were in a "complicated relationship" with Sakusa, where: you two went out together, didn't kiss other mouths, but didn't want to assume anything at all. And Sakusa was jealous when he saw Atsumu asking for your number at the exit of the game while Kita and Suna looked on from afar, but he said absolutely nothing. Times later, the two of them would have to play together in MSBY and maybe Y/N would be present at almost all of their games, secretly cheering for the two of them, although at the end of each game the one who would have you in his bed was Kiyoomi Sakusa.

As the weeks went by, it became a competition between them that eventually resulted in the three of you fucking in a night club room at an after party after a team win. Of course the most sober of the three was Sakusa, but that didn't stop him from perhaps ending up kissing Atsumu, who was in fact the drunkest at the time, while Y/N's mouth was filled with his cock and her pussy was being enlarged by Miya. Neither of them touched the subject for weeks, but you felt your cheeks burn every time Tsumu approached you after a finished MSBY match because he always had that wicked, smug smile of his.

In fact, you couldn't exactly explain how the three of you hooked up that relationship so consistently and the jealousy from both male parts of the relationship just seemed to make everything more intense. In many ways.

— Yes, of course. — Y/N got up from the couch earning a grunt of frustration from Sakusa and gave him a small kiss on the lips before speaking. — I'll be right back for you. — And then she went to answer the door, where a fully wrapped package was being delivered. — Tsumu, I think you need to sign for this. — You raised your voice, and soon you heard heavy footsteps walking toward you.

Atsumu was soon resting his hand on your waist and looking over your shoulder at the courier handing over the package.

— Oh, yes. I had forgotten the site ID. — You looked at him curiously, but Atsumu didn't give you any more information, just signed the proof of receipt sheet the letter carrier was holding out and after you carried the light package into the house, he closed the door.

— What is this? — Y/N asked and Sakusa looked at them.

— From that site? — He asked Atsumu, who nodded and you frowned.

— Why do you two know what it is and I don't? — You grunted as you felt Tsumu's hot breath against your neck and a shiver ran down your back.

— You always liked it when I called you "kitten", so I took the liberty of turning you into one. — He whispered in her ear, as if he didn't want Sakusa to hear him.

— W-What? — Her voice faltered and fingers tightened their grip on the package.

— Go to the bedroom and try on the clothes. I bet you'll love wearing it as much as Sakusa and I love choosing it for you. — Atsumu pushed you back toward the bedroom door after slapping your butt half as hard as he did on the bed.

— Should I help you get dressed? — Sakusa looked Y/N at Atsumu and you swore you saw a glint of mischief shine in his dark eyes.

— No, she's not dumb enough not to know how to dress herself anymore. — Miya spoke with a harsh tone, giving you a warning look, as if he was telling you to hurry. — Let us know when you're ready.

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you nodded and walked to the bedroom, where it didn't take long to discover that the contents of that package were a pink bra and panty set; the bra had an opening in the center shaped like a cat's silhouette, and the fabric looked extremely soft — and indeed, it was. But not only that: the set was accompanied by a small box whose sterile interior you discovered contained a necklace with a pendant in the shape of a rattle. Remembering Atsumu's warning look, it didn't take long before your hands began to replace the clothes on your body with that delicate set of garments.

Just as Y/N was leaving the room and the door was slightly open, a firm hand brushed against it and opened it wide completely. It was Atsumu and, of course, Sakusa, looking at you intently. You felt embarrassed and automatically tried to cover your upper body using your arms, which were pulled away by the dark haired man as the blond one pulled you by the waist into the bedroom.

— You looked so beautiful. — Tsumu said with his eyes gliding over your body and his tongue running over his lips.

— I knew it was a good idea to buy this. — Sakusa replied sliding hands down your arms, reaching for the rattle clutched around her neck by the necklace and tapping his fingers against it to make it tinkle.

— Yes, but it was my idea. And what an idea it was. — The blond man didn't hide his wide grin and leaning his chest against her quads, he groped her breasts, massaging them over the soft fabric bra. — Why don't you thank us for buying this pretty thing for you, hm, pretty girl? — His fingertips began to rub her nipples and slowly her breathing began to quicken as Sakusa pulled her face up a little.

— We know you can use your words to thank us, don't we? — He raised an eyebrow, and more and more you felt trapped. And indeed you were.

— I-I loved this outfit, thank you for it. I thought it is very nice. — You swallowed hard, and looking away, your eyes scanned Atsumu's appraisingly serious face.

— Hm, no, kitten. I don't think you thanked us good enough. — The Miya sighed heavily pulling you backwards away from Sakusa and pushing you onto the large bed placed in the middle of the room. — Someone told me that you are a pillow princess, so why don't you use the pillows on the bed to give us a show? — You watched Sakusa sit down in one of the two armchairs placed in the room opposite the bed, and then Atsumu did the same.

— What are you waiting for? — He asked, leaning his face on the hand whose arm was propped up against the armchair. — Can't you be a good pet for us? — You moved your body back and then sat down on one of the pillows on the bed, pressing it between your thighs.

— Yes, I can. I'm your good pet.

— So, what are you waiting for to give us a good show? — Atsumu asked. — But don't you dare cum without both of us. You're smart enough to do that, aren't you, princess? — You desperately nodded your head positively, earning a satisfied smile from him. — Good.

As your hands rested on the bed and your hips began to move initially at a slow pace against the softness of the pillow, Sakusa ordered you to lift your head to look at them, and you obeyed, just as Tsumu ordered you to go faster, making the rattle of the necklace tinkle louder. The more minutes passed and the more your panties became soaked, your mind focused on the blond man telling you not to cum without them.

You couldn't tell if you were more turned on by being watched by the two men you loved, or by the fabric of your panties somehow managing to press against your clit in a hallucinatingly good way. Their dicks beneath their pants were evidently hard, and knowing that the cause of that arousal was you, only you, made light, gasping moans escape your lips. In no second did your eyes stray from those two men.

At one point, Atsumu looked at the dark-haired man and called him closer with his index finger before whispering to him something you couldn't hear. But in the end, your eyes saw Sakusa's cheeks redden slightly and his hands undo the buttons of his pants and soon after be replaced by the blond man's palm, which began to massage his cock with slow back and forth movements all over the length covered by his underwear.

— You two are two needy cheap whores. — Atsumu said in a loud voice looking at you out of the corner of his eyes and slowly moving down your body. — You both can't even control yourselves. Pathetic. — His hand squeezed Kiyoomi's dick lightly and continued to stimulate him. — What are you two going to do, uh? Cum on yours own underwears?

— Atsumu... — Sakusa began to speak, letting his head fall back as he tried not to force his hips against the blond's hand.

— Please sir. — You said looking at Atsumu with trembling body not knowing if you could hold your own orgasm much longer. — Please, I need to cum, sir, please.

— Hm, really? — Atsumu raised one eyebrow with a look of superiority. — Come here, princess. — He called to you with the hand that wasn't occupied, and you promptly stood up as fast as your trembling legs would allow and walked toward him and Sakusa. — On your knees in front of him. — Tsumu nodded at the black-haired, fast-breathing man beside him as he got rid of his underwear.

It wasn't long before you were resting your hands and knees on the floor, feeling them sting a little, Sakusa's cock filling your mouth, and one of his hands was guiding the rhythm of your head. Atsumu watched you two for a few minutes before he cracked a satisfied smile, stood up and knelt behind you to pull your hips up, arch your back a little and massage your pussy over the panties.

— You are soaking wet, you are a great pet for both of us. — Atsumu leaned over to plant a kiss in the middle of your back before he removed his own shirt and began to unbutton his pants. — Legs spread wide for your sir, slut. — You spread your legs apart without losing focus on the task of sucking Sakusa's cock.

Atsumu lowered his underwear and placed his dick between your legs, closing your thighs around it. Midway through, his tip rubbed against your throbbing clit and you couldn't help but moan with your mouth full, which caused the man above you to increase the speed of his hip thrusts against your face. The Miya's body began to move against yours slowly, his pre-cum mixing with your liquids and making your panties and thighs wetter. It was a dirty scene, and he couldn't have been more turned on.

Resting one hand on your waist and using the other to massage your covered clit, Atsumu set a relentless pace that brought you back to being about to cum at any moment. And it was inevitable, anyway. He knew that and wanted you to cum without permission just so he would have a reason to fuck you dumb with Sakusa, who was already beginning to twitch against your tongue. Your orgasm overflowed all over your body and made your body lose balance, so the blonde put his arms around your torso to keep you from falling.

— She cums so easily. — Sakusa gasped, pulling her head away from his cock and out of her mouth. — Isn't she cute? — His fingers passed over her lips and replaced his member against her tongue.

— You mean needy, don't you? — Atsumu pulled away and then pulled you back onto the bed. - Do you want to get fucked hard, kitten? — His hand placed itself on your chin, forcing you to look at him. — You can be a great cum dump, can't you?

— Y-Yes, sir, I can. — You shook your head positively in a frantic manner, still ecstatic from your recent orgasm and not paying attention to what you were actually saying. — Please, rail me.

Sakusa stood up, pushed Atsumu aside, and removed her wet panties before doing the same with her bra. The two of them took long minutes watching your body and exploring it with their hands before the black haired man spread your legs to press the tip of his cock against your folds and slowly penetrate you. The Miya knelt beside your face and looked at you suggestively without needing to vocalize what he wanted from you. In a few seconds while one of them was fucking your mouth, the other was balls deep inside you.

The pleasure was too much for your already sensitized body, your senses were extremely heightened and your mind seemed unable to think of anything but those two men. While one entered your mouth quickly, the other slowly came out of your pussy, breasts bouncing up and down, now and then being caressed by the black haired man. Neither of them tried to suppress the moans that filled the place and turned you on more and more. A few times Atsumu called you "his cumslut" as Sakusa complimented you on your body and how well you were taking him. And maybe neither of them would admit that seeing you being fucked by the other turned them on.

Fatidically, the black haired man was the first to fill your insides, followed by you, and finally the blond who eventually withdrew from inside your mouth and soiled your breasts with his cum. It took you three long minutes to normalize your breathing, and knowing that Sakusa hated feeling dirty and usually took you to the shower right after sex, you sat up in bed looking expectantly at him, but he was looking at Atsumu.

— Why are you looking at him, hm? I'm not finished with you yet. — The blond man said, looking at you with a serious face. — As I remember really good, you just came without permission before, so it's only fair that I punish you for that, isn't it?