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[ciahuang]

beaded pineapple earrings made by me 😊🍍

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[tteokdoroki]

𐙚 🪷 TRUTH OR DRINK katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

⋆˙ᝰ about ! “you love me, you take care of me. that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done f'me." with the release of your husband's newest album and the announcement for his latest tour, the two of you are invited on set to film a special kind of promotional video for newlyweds. hopefully, this married couple leave without a hangover. ( 4.8K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. sfw, fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint, celebrity!au, all characters are aged up to 20s, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, drinking, newlyweds, exes, some family issues, long-distance, idol!bakugou, fem + model!reader - not beta read!

aali’s love letter ! happy birthday bakugou! another splendid year for our lord saviour dynamght !! i posted this late boo but its out!! i hope you guys are still able to enjoy <3 ty to @cuntcure for helping out n motivating me !! - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

“fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?”

across from you, katsuki bakugou shifts uncomfortably  — ruby red eyes darting around the plain white set. studio lights glare from all directions, illuminating the slight sweat that beads at the blonde’s hairline. artificial lighting, bright and made to capture everything, refracts of the pearling perspiration and almost creates the illusion of a halo around the crown of your partner’s head. almost as if he’s an angel.

reaching over the small table that the producers have set up between you both, you grasp at katsuki’s rough fingers, toying with them as if to test the waters before you hold them fully — once he’s comfortable enough to accept your physical affection. his palms are warm and a little sweaty, but that doesn’t stop you from giving them a gentle squeeze. 

“it’ll be fun,” you whisper, keeping your voice low and calm as the production crew continues to contrastingly flit around you in preparation for the shoot. “and it’ll be great promo for your album!” lifting his hands, you press a kiss to the blonde’s knuckles as though you’re sealing a promise, ensuring that they’re not empty. you smile reassuringly and bakugou returns it awkwardly, drawing back just a tad when a member of production sheepishly approaches the table to set down three different bottles of alcohol, two shot glasses and a pitcher of pineapple and coconut juice as your mixer of choice. 

glass bottles of whisky, rum, and vodka glit under the white light too.

“we can back out at anytime,” comes your soft reminder once the crew member retreats to check the sound mic and cameras along with some other staff. “i want you to be comfortable.” 

bakugou shakes his head, this time, bringing the backs of your hands to his lips — pale blonde lashes fluttering as he shuts away ruby framed eyes and takes a breath to calm himself. “wanna do it. like y’said it’ll be good. fun.” when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking at you with a toothy smirk that never fails to send a shiver down your spine and butterflies in a flurry through your tummy. “besides, we haven’t been able t’do somethin’ like this together in a while.” 

nothing beats your grin after that and with a few more touch ups to your make up ( the both of you ) — you’re ready to begin filming. 

“okay guys!” the director on set claps their hands. “wanna start us off? who are you and what are you doing here today?” 

you give katsuki’s hands one last comforting squeeze before his crimson gaze slinks towards the camera that’s now rolling, fixating on its blinking red light as it matches his stare. “‘m katsuki bakugou ‘nd this is my wife,” he juts his head over to you gently, muttering your name with love laced between each of its syllables. 

you too turn to face the camera, award winning smile settling gracefully on your lips. “and today we’re playing truth or drink!” you squirm excitedly. “we’re really happy to be here! thank you for having us!” 

“i’m not.” 

“katsuki!” 

with a laugh behind the camera, the producer speaks again. “so, you’re some pretty special guests. what do you guys do? how long have you two been married?”

bakugou rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm. “i’m a singer-songwriter slash idol or whatever you wanna call it…and i’m on tour right now. so buy my album or you’re shit.” 

“and i’m a fashion model slash content creator. we’ve been together for like…five years? married for half a year? a year?” musing out loud, you switch your gaze from the camera to katsuki — letting him know with your eyes that he’s doing a great job.

“eight months, three weeks ‘n two days.” he corrects you seriously, causing sweet laughter to bubble up on your lips. 

“sorry, folks. eight months, three weeks and two days.”  you retort jokingly. bakugou rolls eyes ruby framed eyes again.

“okay, so still pretty new. let’s start with a shot, shall we?”

ever the gentlemen, your husband  pours you a decently sized shot using a drink he knows you like without even asking. he even tops it off with a mixer because he knows that sometimes you can’t get past a bitter aftertaste if the alcohol is too strong. once done with yours, he fills up his own glass before clinking it against yours — both of you knocking back the shot with practised ease. 

“god, that shit’s strong.” the pale blonde grimaces. 

despite having a facial expression to match, you somehow make light of the situation. “really puts hairs on your chest, doesn’t it, kats?”

“you like my tits naked and juicy, shut the hell up,” smirking cockily, katsuki slides your shot glasses to the side and toys with the stacked white question cards in front of him. “her words not mine.” 

“anyways…first card please.” 

doing as he’s told, katsuki flips the first card over — skimming the letters written in bold on the other side before he slams it back down. “‘m takin’ a shot.” 

the shoot has barely begun and you already find yourself bursting into fits of adoring, amused giggles. “no! it’s not even your question to answer! you have to read it, it’s the first card!” you whine playfully.

“alright, fine,” flipping the card over again with a dejected air about him, bakugou announces the question to both you and the camera. “when was the last time we had sex and where did it happen?” 

“oh god.” you pinch your brow.

“told ya. no shots, it’s the first card. y’gotta answer it, babe.” bakugou teases as he casts the card aside, leaning back in his chair slow and sexy like while he watches you hungrily. it’s like making you embarrassed has made him forget that he’s on camera. 

sighing through your nose, you pout at the camera and producers who watch eagerly. “on the way here.” 

“on the way to this shoot? oh my god!” 

“yes! omg. shut up, this is so embarrassing. katsuki don’t laugh!” you practically wail as the set bursts out into laughter. “god, okay. it was on the way here and in the back of the SUV with the partition up. don’t ask me how we had time. katsuki always makes time.” 

said katsuki wiggles two fingers towards the camera knowingly and chokes back a raspy chuckle when you frown in response, scooping up your own card. “next question,” your say as your gaze skims the card. “who is your least favourite parent in law? oooh, spicy.” 

“definitely her dad,” your husband points a thumb in your direction without hesitation but mouths his words straight into the camera. “you’re a piece of shit by the way.” 

the producer pipes in. “can we elaborate?”

“my dad was never the most supportive of my career…but claims everything i have is because of him. it sucks, he's a narcissist and we don’t really speak because of it.” you answer truthfully, attempting to shrug the weight of your familial situation off. you know that most girls dream of having their father walk them down the aisle on their wedding day…but it’s just not in the cards for you. sensing your anger, your hurt and your pain beginning to rise to the surface, katsuki takes the card from you and grasps at your hand — eyebrows raised earnestly into his hairline while he checks to see if you’re okay. a small, wistful smile plays at your lips and you give your partner a gentle nod. “it’s okay though, my mum, mitsuki and masaru have been great parents. katsuki’s mum and dad kept me grounded throughout our engagement, pretty much designed all of my wedding outfits. they were all custom.” 

“outfits? as in multiple?” 

“ah yes! mitsuki insisted that i had changes throughout the day.” you beam, a giddiness replacing any negative emotion you once felt. your future mother in law had done everything in her power to make you feel like a princess on your wedding day — to this day it made you feel extremely grateful for your positive relationship with bakugou’s family.

“they still fuckin’ spoil her, ma styles her for a lot shoots,” the blonde scoffs but the adoration dancing in the almost brown flecks of his carmine eyes tell a different story. “no seriously, ma ‘n pa love you so much. you’re like the daughter they never had.” 

“aw, that’s so cute. i’ll cry.” 

katsuki’s turn to pick a card rolls around again, but he doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time — index finger toying with your engagement ring. “what’s was the most stressful part about planning a wedding?” he reads. “oh, definitely the micromanaging from other people. shit pissed me off,” your husband answers almost straight away, already preparing to fix himself a shot when the producer asks him to elaborate. 

he shakes his head and the producer turns to you. “our managers thought that they could have a say in our ceremony since it was like the celebrity wedding of the year,” shrugging, you fix your own shot which makes your spouse grin. “we ended up having one public and one smaller, private wedding to say fuck ‘em. and no, they didn’t fire me for this.” 

“so a follow up, when you announced your engagement to the world what was a difficult thing you dealt with publicly?” someone from behind the camera asks.

pursing your lips, you look to katsuki for an answer. “the fan wars? some of my fans were…are still caught up on my ex and others think the great singer katsuki bakugou is too good for an influencer like me.” 

“they don’t know shit. you’re too good for the world baby, i don’t deserve you.” 

“corny ass,” you snort directly into the camera’s shot. “i’m sure that’s one of his song lyrics.” 

“is fuckin’ not!” bakugou pouts, though he’ll deny that he was later. “pick another damn card.” 

he pushes the pile towards you once more and you cheekily swipe one from the middle to make the video a little bit more interesting for those watching from home when it comes out. hopefully the viewers get a laugh out of bakugou calling you a cheater and you sticking your tongue out at him in retaliation — he pinches it back. 

“ouch! owie, okay! okay, let go!” flipping the card so that the text is facing you, you begin to read it out loud slowly — nearly bursting out into an incredulous fit of giggles at the question printed in thick black letters. “this is so ironic, baby you’re gonna love this one,” katsuki raises a brow, intrigued by the coy smile you’re barely trying to hide now. “i dare you to call an ex and remind them that you’re happily married.” 

a small silence echoes throughout the studio as you stare at one another, waiting and waiting, until a loud, raspy and haughty laugh rips through bakugou’s throat. 

“what’s so funny?”

the blonde sat opposite you, still as handsome as the day you first met him — with glittering gem eyes that sparkle under the studio lights and a toothy smile that never fails to melt your heart, suddenly grows shy. a rose tint spreads its way over the bridge of his nose and his cheeks that have lost their youthful roundness, katsuki blushes softly but laughs with his entire body — only just embarrassed by the secret he's about to reveal to his most dedicated fans and the rest of the world. 

leaning forward on the table, elbows on the edge, while you tuck your chin in the seat of your palm — biting your lip in amusement. “do you wanna tell them or should i?” 

“i wanna take a fuckin’ short first. can i?” katsuki asks, almost innocently. he knocks back a glass of dark, bitter whisky once he gets the go ahead. “she’s my first. my first everythin’. girlfriend, time, wife—“ 

“i sure hope i’m your first and only wife, kats.” you cut him off swiftly, a mischievous lilt layered thick on your tone.

he slings an arm over the back of his chair, waving you off lovingly. “—you know what i mean, sweets.” bakugou shrugs in the direction of the producers. “i don’t have an ex to call.”

“okay, we’ll have your wife call one.” 

at the film crew’s suggestion, your voice raises an octave, notes of surprise littered through out your melodic voice. “me? who would i even call?” you can’t help but snicker, trying to reach for the juice used for mixer so you can plan your escape route out of the dare. 

your husband snatches the bottle from your reach, holding it protectively against his broad chest. “call shindou.” he grunts out low but highly amused. 

“oh no, i’m not doing that. let me take the shot katsuki.” comes your instant response, tone turning slightly serious.

“who’s shindou?”

“her ex.” 

“my ex.” 

the both of you announce in unison, though you’re a little less entertained by your menace of a blonde husband — still guarding the drinks as he chucks the used question card to the side. 

“why not?” 

“cause it’ll be mean? he still hasn’t recovered from finding out i’m dating the idol he used to train with. yanno, the one who debuted over him.” 

bakugou clicks his tongue cockily.  “he’ll get over it. call him. c’mon, it’ll be funny and you love making me laugh.” 

“alright fine but you have to swear you’ll answer the next one.” you turn to the camera. “he’s right though, his laugh is the prettiest in the world.” 

bakugou blushes as you pull out your phone and scroll to the bottom of your contact list, surprised at yourself for not blocking and deleting the number. holding up the sleek device for everyone to view, you jab a thumb into the speaker button and watch with baited breath as it begins to ring throughout the studio.

“hello, yo speakin’,” a voice a little higher pitched than your husband’s filters through the speaker. it’s familiar, but doesn’t hold any of the comfort that bakugou brings. it’s been years since you ended things with your ex, the relationship was rocky and full of miscommunications and mistrusts before either of you skyrocketed to fame. there’s no malice between you both or a reason to cause katsuki why worry, you hope, but talking to yo shindou nowadays is akin to talking to a stranger. 

giving the camera an awkward thumbs up, you reply shyly. “hi shin, what’s up?” 

“oh hey sweetheart, this is a nice suprise.” your ex purrs through the line. you click the buttons side of your phone to turn up the volume — making sure his every word is picked up by the mics in the room. 

bakugou chimes in, clearly looking for an opportunity to show off. “hey asshole, don’t get too excited.” 

“hello to you too kats, what can i do you for princess?” 

“shin, don’t call me that. also we’re shooting truth or drink right now — newlyweds edition with kats. they wanted me to call, tell you i’m married or something… which i’m sure you know by now.” explaining in a rush, you push at bakugou’s forehead, right between arched, dark blonde brows to keep him and his laughter at bay. 

“it’s all anyone can talk about these days, especially when i’m on set. married couple of the year.” 

the producers mouth to you to ask shindou a question, in which you almost miss underneath the sounds of your newlywed husband suppressing snarky jokes and giggles. “they’re telling me to ask you if you’re happy for me ‘n kats. you don’t have to answer—“ 

“i am. happy for you. katsuki, as big as of an asshole as he is, makes you way fucking happier than i ever did. he’s good to you, but you’re better to him. the world wants to see you guys grow old together… i hope it stays that way or else i’ll have to swoop back in—“

cringing along the millions that will be watching in the near future, you slice through his words politely before bakugou can blow a gasket. “thanks, shin. you’re sweet.” 

“anything for you, sweetcheeks—“ 

“alright, alright. you’re pushin’ it now, freak. r’member i’m the one clapping these sweet cheeks and i’ll always be a better fuck than you—“ abruptly, your newfound husband snatches up your phone — growling possessively down the line as if to ward your ex off. 

“okaybyethankyou!” squealing you hang up the phone and breathe a heavy sigh of relief, head banging on the table in front of you as you try to hide your flustered face. “that went better than expected.” 

the blonde before you shrugs nonchalantly as if he wasn’t seconds away from reaching into the phone and tearing shindou’s head from between his shoulders.  “i do love an opportunity to show you off, rub our marriage in people’s faces.” alas, he pours you both a shot, adding a mixer to yours, sort of as a reward for making it through the call. “kay, next card,” he swipes one from the top of the pile once more, carefully murmuring its contents into the studio’s cool air. “can the both of you name one person you would have invited into your marital bedroom on your wedding night? see if you’re both thinking of the same person. easy. on three?” 

“sure! one, two—“ you count, the temperature of the room raising as it awaits your big reveal. “kirishima.” 

“kirishima.” katsuki says at the same time before smirking cockily at the film crew. “next!”

you join him just as your foot flirtatious slides up his leg from underneath the table. “kats says eijirou is packin’, by the way.” your husband’s smile fades into an embarrassed look, everyone in the room laughing along with you. of course he’s seen it. of course you’ve talked about this before. “anyway, my turn! most romantic thing i’ve ever done for you? c’mon now kats, you can think of something. i’m pretty sweet.” 

reaching for your hand for the nth time during the shoot, bakugou laces his fingers with yours — decadent dark red eyes instantly drawn to the big rock on your engagement ring and the simple gold wedding band that sits above it as he recalls everything you’ve ever done for him. every gesture; every text, every act of physical touch or service. it would be hard to choose just one romantic thing.

the silence as he ponders almost fills you with dread, a nervousness fluttering about in your chest like a butterfly whose wings are beginning to fail them. they’d have to edit this part out if he couldn’t think of anything. 

but then, those plush pink lips that kiss you and call for you, part gently and a soft sentiment escape’s from between them. “you love me,” is all bakugou can say, eyes wide and genuine. “you take care of me. that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done f'me…and, if we’re talkin’ specifics, you remember that time just before my album came out? before our wedding? i was fuckin’ stressed ‘n i was always locked up in the studio, trying to figure out the track list, the final song…” 

you nod slowly, exhaling deeply through your nose. “yeah?”  the background noise from the crew, cameras and mics wither away until it’s just yourself and bakugou in the room — holding hands as though you’re one another’s life lines. 

“it was three am ‘n you were in another city for a shoot but…you still made the drive over to have dinner with me. to make sure i ate,” the tip of katsuki’s rough and calloused thumb brushes over the bumps formed by your knuckles. “just to help me run through things even though i was freakin’ the fuck out and you had a flight to milan the next day. you ate with me and that meant a lot.” he seems wistful as he talks, forgetting that the world will be able to see his heart beating all tender like when the cameras are put away and the footage is polished up.

perhaps he doesn’t care if the world sees him being so vulnerable with the woman he loves on screen. they’ll usually find such openness hidden between the lyrics of his songs. so, perhaps it’s the little alcohol running through his system. nevertheless, quiet love and appreciation seeps from katsuki bakugou’s pours into the quiet atmosphere of the set, the emotions crash over you in waves that you welcome — almost reducing you to tears brewed just for him.

“you asshole,” you sniff, lacking all the spite the insulting nickname carries. “i didn’t think that night  meant so much to you… i just wanted to see my baby. wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

cocking his head to the side fondly, the blonde singer uses the back of his hand to wipe at your free falling tears you hadn’t realised were there. bakugou doesn’t let go of you the entire time. “don’t cry sweets, you know i hate t’see you cry.” 

watery laughter bubbles up on the seam of your lips. “don’t tell me what to do,”

“you said she drove from another city, would you guys say that distance made things difficult for you?” 

“sometimes,” you answer the director truthfully. “while we were engaged we’d plan our wedding across different time zones. when i was awake walking for fashion week he was sleeping in his studio making songs.” you explain, looking to katsuki to confirm.

he nods along with another squeeze of your hand. “it was hard yeah, but we got through it. now she has my ring on her finger ‘n she’s stuck with me.” 

“send help.” you mouth to the camera.

resuming the game, you snatch up a card and secretly hope that the question is a little more light hearted than the previous. “has my line of work ever made you jealous? oooh, good one,” adding the card to the ones already discarded, you squirm in your seat — excited to know your husband’s answer. “no shots! i want you sober and honest.” 

“i’ve hardly had anythin’ to drink!” katsuki snorts. “what’s the sayin’? a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts? let me have something.” 

“no! i want sober words and sober thoughts, that’s the aim of the game, stink.” 

katsuki rolls his eyes so hard you fear they might drop out of his skull. “spoiled brat,” he mumbles begrudgingly, sucking his teeth. “okay before anyone says anythin’, i’m a secure guy. i trust and value my girl’s word above anyone else’s. i love seein’ her on billboards in every country i visit, on magazines at every airport I’ve ever flown from…”

“it feels like there’s a but coming.” 

“wait for it…” you hum gleefully.

“but i hate that one cover shoot you did with that nerd, izuku, for vogue. that’s it. never do that shit again.” bakugou finishes, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

nearly leaping out of your seat, you point at your husband — bewildered. “i knew it! you said it didn’t bother you!”

“of course it did! he had his grubby arms wrapped around you! he stinks.” 

“you did not just call izuku stinky, he’s got a feature on your album!” 

“his feature can kiss my ass,” you know that bakugou is only half serious, the two have written some beautiful songs together and the cover hardly meant anything — izuku models from time to time as well. it just so happens you also work for the same brands. “my turn again, rate my proposal on a scale of one to ten. how good did i do?”

“nine point five.” you nod assertively, speaking to your audience with love bursting through your heart. “he proposed to me at his first sold out concert, like literally stopped singing and apologised to all of his fans because he had something important to say. that’s when he asked me, in front of his entire world. kats’ is real private so it meant so much to me…”

the blonde leans back in his seat but brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss directly to your wedding rings. “only nine point five? cheeky fucker.”

“it’s only ‘cause your genius-self decided to chuck my ring into the crowd?” you scoff. 

“oi! i have good aim, you’re just shit at catchin’ things!” katsuki scoffs back, nudging you with his foot under the table. 

“back to the game love birds.” 

the two of you put your playful little spat on the back burner and you grasp the next card. “how many years into our our marriage do you think we’ll stop having sex—?” 

“never,” katsuki cuts you off, looking directly into the lense as he jabs a thumb in your direction. “i can’t ever get her off my cock. she’s fuckin’ insane.” 

heat flares up underneath the surface of your skin in embarrassment. “fuck you.” 

“right after this shoot, sweetheart.” he winks right back at you before nodding down at the cards. “last two, yeah? did your life turn out as expected?”

chewing on your bottom lip, you give the question some thought. life has an unpredictable nature, no matter who you are or where you come from. if someone had told you a year into your college degree, that you’d be in front of sorts of cameras as a profession for the rest of your life — you wouldn’t have believed them. if someone had told you that you’d find the love of your life shortly after, you would have called them a liar too. your past has been heavy, a dark cloud you never thought you’d be able to escape — hauntingly daunting.

and even though you know that it’s a burden to place the weight of your happiness on someone else’s shoulders — but you know that katsuki has always been your golden, blinding light at the end of the tunnel. he’s something you never expected, but someone you entirely deserve after everything life has thrown at you. 

“no, it hasn’t,” you whisper softly, ever so slightly distinct. your lover leans in, watching you curiously from over stacked question cards and bottles of barely touched alcohol. “i never expected to be so famous so young, that a silly little dream of mine could come true. that i never expected, i still can’t believe it…but, it’s like… meeting you. falling in love with you, on top of all that? it’s like i was destined to be with you, kats. you’re my soulmate. i knew that from the start.” 

just like you earlier, emotion wells up inside katsuki. it breaches the cavity of his chest, slows down the rate of his heart and lungs and brings a slight shine to his beautiful blood red eyes. he sniffs but doesn’t dare look away from you — reading deep into your soul despite knowing the pages of it off by heart. “i feel the same,” he mumbles, reaching over to cup your face even with all of the cameras around. “i never expected to go on tour, sell albums and make music…but i feel like my heart always knew you were waitin’ for me.” quietness fills the space between the two of you, neither of you needing to say much. you cup the wrist of his hand that touched your face, leaning into his palm and pressing a kiss to it. “we’re so fuckin’ corny.” 

“you love it.”  you reply instantly. “i love you.” 

“see?” katsuki asks the production crew as he draws the last card for both of you — holding it out for you to read. “cornball.” 

“it’s cute! she’s cute and corny!”

“what about the rest of our marriage do you look forward to most?” since the video shoot is coming to an end, and you hardly want to cry any more, you both decide to make your answers short and sweet. “i look forward to spending forever by your side, taking over the world one continent at a time.” you gush, meaning every single word, smiling adoringly. 

“ditto, can’t wait to grow old with you, brat.” bakugou mirrors your expression and finally, finally ends the shoot by pressing the ghost of a kiss to your awaiting lips. you feel warm knowing how comfortable he’s grown over the course of filming, even more so at all of the truths he’s given you tonight. 

“that’s a wrap! thank you so much guys!”

katsuki salutes the camera, finishing up for you. “we’ve been the bakugous playin’ truth or drink. buy my album, see me on tour, buy a magazine with my wife’s beautiful face on it. like and subscribe.” all the while, you reflect on everything that you’ve learned about your husband whilst filming — that he loves you a lot more than he lets on, that you have his heart for all of eternity, that nothing in this world and cause his love for you to waver, 

and as your matching wedding bands continue to gleam beneath the dimming studio lights, you only hope that he knows that you feel the exact same way about loving him too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[jolalibrary]

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

[loveshotzz]

{ trying } a new position with them

I have this in my mind with AIRWIY!Steve, ‘cause I know he’s so soft during sex and you do it in missionary or you ride him, but then you ask him if he will take you from behind (feel free to change) and be a little rough🥹

Hi angel! thank you for your request 💗 I hope you enjoy. This is a request is from my All I Really Want Is You series but can be read as a stand alone.

older!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ established relationship, smut, dirty talk, cream pie, age gap.

wc: 1.3k

authors note: for those that read the series this takes place during the gap between chapter ten and the epilogue. the relationship is still new and they are trying new things 🧡

Something felt different about tonight.

You think it might’ve been the fancy cocktails that were stronger than normal, and the dim lighting of The Violet Hour that danced across Steve’s sharp features. Or his big hand that stayed high on your thigh through the entirety of dinner. Salt and pepper scruff tickling your cheek every time he leaned in to whisper low in your ear. 

Maybe it was the lemon zest still fresh on his tongue when he licked into your mouth at the end of your date pressing you against your front door. Whatever it was Steve Harrington made your body feel like it was on fire tonight, embers burning in the pit of your stomach waiting to combust with every touch. 

The roll of his hips only stokes the flames when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you after barely making it to your bed, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake. His full weight keeps you pressed into the mattress, with your knee hooked over the crook of his elbow. The tip of him hitting the spot that makes your back arch with every slow stroke over and over again, but god, it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

That loose strand falls damp across his forehead, a bead of sweat dangerously close to falling off the end. His eyes never leave yours, the black of his pupils making the gold and moss colored flecks disappear. Lips brushing with every thrust, the whiskey on his breath mingles with the pineapple on yours, while your nails dig half crescent moons into the constellations on his back.

He shifts hitting a different spot when he drives back in, and it makes your jaw go slack. Steve takes advantage, tracing your top lip with his tongue while the tip of his nose bumps into yours. He starts a slow grind instead of pulling out, the dark thatch of hair that frames the part of him hugged tight by your walls rubs against your clit in a way that has his name sound like a prayer. But it still wasn’t enough. Not even when your hands make their way down, fingers digging into the soft dough of his ass to try and coax him even deeper.

“Fuck - honey,” He grunts, pushing in as far as he can, eyes rolling in the back of his head when you nip at his bottom lip, recently discovering how much he liked it when you did that.

“I need - “ You start but a quick snap of his hips steals the breath out of your lungs for a second.

“What do you need?” His brows furrow when you flutter around him, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he hits that spot again, “tell me, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I - I want- I want you to fuck me from behind.” The words make the grind of his hips falter, the black of his eyes turning into an abyss. 

“Yeah?” Steve sounds breathless when he finally comes back to his body.

Biting your bottom lip between your teeth, all you can do is nod, a shy smile playing at the corners of your mouth despite feeling the twitch of him inside of you. He rolls his hips again, something smug flickering in his eyes when he sees the way it makes your face crumble.

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.” He rubs the tip of his nose with yours before he starts to slowly pull out. Cursing under his breath, the feeling of your walls trying to suck him back in is almost enough for him to cum. 

You shudder at the feeling of being so empty when he sits back on his haunches, long fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking himself as he watches you get on all fours for him. He’s never seen you presented to him like this, and he almost cums again in the span of a minute.

“Jesus Christ, look at you.” He sounds wrecked when he talks, and when you peek over your shoulder at him, he looks it too.

Wiggling your hips, his free hand finds the soft fat of your ass, while his strokes with his other get quicker. He squeezes at the dough of it, groaning when he sees the way you’re dripping down your thighs. The precum that leaks from his fat tip mixes with your slick as he drags himself through your folds, a lewd squelching noise filling your room when he does it over and over again. 

“Steve - fuck - please, please.” Your fingers tangle into your sheets, pushing your hips back into his for more when he adds pressure to your bundle of nerves before catching at your entrance.

“Shhh, It’s okay, I got you, I got you.” He coos when the tip of him breaches your walls, both hands finding the curve of your hips. “Gonna take all of me like the tough girl you are, aren’t you baby?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” Too cock drunk not to babble when he pushes half way in, the lingering effects of the drinks you had at dinner has your body ignited. You’ve never felt so full and it’s not even all of him.

“God, you’re so wet. Always so wet for me.” He groans with one final roll of his hips, burying himself as far as he can go, the stretch making you keen the heat inside your belly turning white.

He doesn’t move, letting your body adjust to the length of him like this, fingers digging into the soft skin of your sides hard enough to bruise. Your walls won’t stop clenching and it makes him twitch. He leans over earning him a soft ‘oh’ from you at the feel of him somehow pushing deeper, warm lips trailing kisses up your spine, leaving more over the hard plain of your shoulder blade before stopping at the shell of your ear.

“You ready honey?” 

He can’t see the way the deep baritone makes your eyes hit the back of your head, and all you can do is nod. He gives a smug kind of chuckle that you’ve never heard before, pulling himself back up. His hands squeeze at you one more time, a low breath escaping through his nose while he takes in the sight in front of him. 

“Ste-“ His name dies on your tongue when he pulls almost all the way out, before a rough snap of his hips pushes him all the way back in. “Oh my god!’

Steve’s never heard you make sounds like this for him before and he thinks he might lose his mind, something primal unlocking deep inside his brain. The softness he’s always treated you with is replaced by the animalistic need to fill you to the brim. The springs of your mattress squeak loudly under his knees, the head board he helped you set up after a trip to Ikea smacking against your wall with every harsh thrust. 

“Gonna make you mine, yeah? You want that?” He doesn’t sound like the man who leaves you silly notes with all his gifts, his voice is rough just like his touch. The hair on his thighs rubbing against the wet backs of yours.

“Please, yeah, it’s all - fuck, fuck, yeah it’s all I want Steve, please.” You're babbling now too close to worry about how you sound with your cheek pressed to the mattress as he holds your hips up. The grip on your sheets is tight enough to pull them off the corners of your bed, and the fire that's threatened to consume you finally does when the tip of him hits a spot he’s never found before. “Oh god, i‘m gonna - Steve! -i’mgonnacum!”

He keeps his unrelenting pace watching the way your eyes screw shut, and your jaw go slack. A shudder rolling through your body, toes curling while your walls milk him with the strength of your orgasm. 

“Oh fuck - honey.” Steve’s loud when he paints your insides white, the warmth of him filling you up until it drips down your thighs is enough to make you moan with him at the feel of it, aftershocks running though your fingertips that grasp at anything.

The blunt ends of his nails dig into your hips, his body staying ridgid as he tries to get a grip. Yours is limp in his hands, eyes slowly blinking while everything comes back into focus. When he finally regains enough brain power, he leans forward again, trailing lazy wet kisses up your spine that make the corners of your lips twitch before he stops at your ear.

“So we’re absolutely going to get drinks there again.” 

[luveline]

I've read your vampire eddie fic and its soo lovely I adore them being weird toghether <3 and I thought how will reader and eddie pass the summer? I totally see her saying shit like Vlad please put on some sunscreen lol and eddie be so grumpy

“It’s not that you don’t like it,” you’re saying. 

“No, that’s exactly what it is.” 

You sit down on the picnic blanket by his hip with a plate of summer fruit sweating in your hands. You’ve dotted a few ice cubes through the mountains of it, water melting, turning pink from the melon and yellow with the pineapple juice as the sun bears down.

“The sun is good for you,” you say, taking a slice of apple with green, bright rind in between two fingers. You have very pretty hands, Eddie’s thought that ever since you met, and they’re prettier still because of how you use them, you’re oh so gentle. “Just like this.” 

He won’t let you feed him, taking the apple as you press it to his lips, juice and water wetting his fingers. “The sun does nothing for me. I’m dead.” 

“Are you?” you ask, a genuine curiosity to your tone as you put the plate in front of him. Eddie, on his front, anticipates your next move before you’ve decided, not just because of his super senses but also because you’re a predictable creature, who loves him very much. Unlikely and true. “I thought you were only half dead,” you say, resting a hand by his ribs and leveraging yourself across his back in a hug. “Well, I thought you were undead.” 

Eddie is regrettably undead. “I forgot you were the expert on my condition,” he says, putting the apple slice in his mouth whole.

“Your condition,” you say, your face slotting into the back of his neck, forcing him to close his eyes and settle into the blanket, grass beneath it crisp from the heat. 

“My vampirism.” 

“Ah, I thought you meant your behavioural issues.” 

“Of course you did.” 

You don’t say anything back. Quiet, your hands slide up in front of his armpits, your head lolling heavily to one side. You mouth a word against his neck, a second and third, but Eddie can’t decipher what it is you’re saying even with his incredible hearing, can only feel the soft curve of your lips as they shutter closed, hot like a fresh bruise beneath his ear. 

Eddie nudges you to slide off of him, turning, cautious of the plate, to offer you his arm, and to see your face more clearly. You’ve forgone any of your fun makeups today, weary of the heat, all your wrinkles and lines in stunning detail under his gaze.

You lay on your side and Eddie lifts the arm that isn’t supporting him with his finger bent into a tight ‘n’ to stroke the skin under your chin. “You’re pretty,” he says, his knuckle rubbing back and forth. 

“You’re beautiful,” you say back. The hair at the nape of your neck is damp with sweat, and as you both lay there in the humidity, a bead of it races suddenly to sink into the fabric of your top. 

“You’re really pretty,” he says, ignoring your deflection —though for you, he doubts it’s a deflection at all, only a thought you’d had and spoken without qualm— in favour of lavishing you with some more love and praise. He opens his palm and touches his fingertips to your cheek, conscious of the heat, stringing the words together slow as the heavy pour of a maple tapper, “I don’t like the sun, it’s hot, and I’m melting, but I don’t think I mind it when you’re here too.” 

Your heart does a jump, to his smugness, an audible caper of your pulse. “Everything’s better when we’re together,” you say. 

He nods severely and lifts your chin just a touch, tilting his head to the side to kiss you. The pressure of his fangs is forgotten, a blood sate too far away to ignore the more nefarious longing that thrums at the centre of his chest, but overpowered anyways by practice, and desire; he’s gotten a thousand times better at kissing you, because you like to be kissed, and he likes to give you anything he can. 

He can’t pretend he doesn’t like this, either. You cover his hand with yours and wade in like a quick tide, pulling back and pushing in, like nips without the pain. Your hand slips into his hair. “I love you,” you say, “but you’re sweating like crazy.” 

“You’re sweating worse,” he says. 

“We’ll have to take a vacation.” 

“Where do you want to go?” 

“Literally everywhere cold.” 

Eddie can’t leave Hawkins. He needs blood, and there’s only one sheriff who’s willing to source it for him. But it’s a nice idea, a fantasy he won’t ruin for you. “Where’d you want to go first?” 

“I wanna go to that place with the Northern Lights. We’d never complain about sweating again.” 

You squint at him. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Where do you want to go?” you ask. 

“Anywhere with you.” 

“Well, you’d have to.” 

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he asks. 

“I’m your only portable blood bag, Eddie.” 

He lays back on his back, covering his eyes with an arm as the other comes to rest on his soft stomach, whirl of a scar thick beneath his shirt. “Never gonna happen.” 

You shuffle closer to him. “One day,” you say, laying down next to him with your face nearly flat to the blanket, the heat of your body a palpable thickness he wouldn’t change for the world, dehydration inevitable. “You’ll give me a nice sharp kiss and that’ll be that.” 

“Never.” 

“Imagine it.” Your voice turns to a whisper. 

“Never, babe,” he says, he promises, the weight of his arm over his eyes like an iron. 

“I’ll just have to bite you instead.” 

You open your mouth and press your teeth to the hill of his shoulder, dull and wet, your breath like a kiss before you let your lips drift shut and give him a proper one. “Love you,” you say. 

“Love you, freakazoid.” He wrestles you into a cuddle he’ll regret sooner rather than later, wishing his vampirism were better at keeping him cool. He’s cold to the touch most of the time. Right now he’s baking. “But I’m not biting you,” he says into your forehead. 

You laugh breezily. “Not today you’re not. That’s why I made fruit salad.” 

[konigsblog]

okay but gaz’s cum is DELICIOUS

definitely. :( it's the sweetest out of all the 141, probably because he enjoys his fruits, including and involving them in most of his snacks. catch him drinking pineapple juice every single morning, multiple times a day, without the knowledge it just makes his already sweet and salty cum even sweeter. :3

like any other man, kyle enjoys a blowjob, the tight sensation of your lips wrapped firmly around his lengthy, thick cock driving him up the wall. he throws his head back, his hand cupping your cheek tenderly, the other guiding your head, placed firmly on the crown of your skull. you moan around him, the taste of his sweet cum landing on your tongue, falling out in pearly, white beads before he spurts ropes of his hot release down your throat, cum dripping from your swollen lips.

the taste is sweet, like fruit almost, but with a little bit of saltiness. kyle's breathing is laboured, heavy as he watches and feels you mouth down his shaft, suckling at the head of his wet, sticky cock. :(

[realwitchieshit]

She's Workin' at The Pyramid

Summary: Ava convinces Melissa to let her plan a group outing for Melissa's birthday. Ava, being Ava, takes the group to a gentleman's club. While there, Melissa spots a familiar face.

Warnings: sexual content (no smut....yet), stripper!reader, mom!reader, reader's daughter is implied black/ biracial, ava being a matchmaker in her own ava way, barely proofread oopsie, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: 3.6k

Note: i was listening to frank ocean and this came to me. i don't know how strip clubs work so probs innacurate. if you guys want a second smutty part, let me know!! if this flops... i'll delete it and pretend this never happened. anywhooooo enjoy!

Melissa glanced up at the clock next to the doorframe, school was going to begin ten minutes and there was no sign of her student, Londyn. By this time in the morning, Melissa should be in the midst of hearing a play by play of what happened in the time that she stepped foot out of school to the moment she had walked back in from your daughter. If she had recalled correctly, it should be your week with Londyn and you had never dropped Londyn off past 7:45.

She could text you, just to make sure everything was okay. You had given Melissa your number at open house last year and told her to feel free to text you if she felt Londyn had been falling behind. Londyn never did, but the two of you would text occasionally. Your texts were usually about Londyn and funny or cute things she had said or done. She decided against it, though, telling herself there was no reason to worry.

Just as she decided to not text you, the sound of heels moving at a pace of a speed walk started getting close. The sound kept getting louder and louder until you came into view, with Londyn in tow. You had on a full face of makeup and your hair was done, it looked like you were going on a date. Your outfit had also caught her attention, a gray fur coat and a pair of six inch heels. She could also see the bottom of your skirt, red, sparkly, and a bit sheer. Her jaw tensed at the mere thought of you dressing like that for someone else.

"Good morning Ms. Schemmenti!" Londyn greeted excitedly, walking over to her cubby to hang up her cubby.

"Good morning, Londyn!" Melissa said back, matching the little girl's enthusiasm. She turned back to you. "You're all dressed up."

You chuckled, "It's... a work thing. Here's the permission slip for that field trip."

As you reached out to hand her the paper, your coat opened just the slightest bit and Melissa got a view of your hip. She could see the cut outs along your hip that ran up your waist as she took the paper. You covered back up and Melissa nodded slowly, "Thanks. Well, have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too. Be good, Londyn, I love you, baby." You waved at Londyn.

"Bye Mama! I love you more!"

"Impossible! Do you think that's possible, Ms. Schemmenti?" You asked, with an exaggerated dumbfounded look on your face. Melissa chuckled at you.

She played along, feigning deep thought. "Mmm, I dunno. How much do you love Londyn?"

"To the moon and back!" You declared proudly.

"Gee, that is a lot." She turned to Londyn. "How much do you love your mama, Londyn?"

"To Jupiter and back!" Londyn declared just as proudly, but a little louder. You gape, looking between her and Melissa before letting your arms flop down by your sides.

“Woah! To Jupiter?” Melissa asked, Londyn nodded confidently. “I think she’s got ya beat, Mom.”

You huffed before pointing at Londyn, “This isn’t over, little Miss.”

You broke out into a smile before blowing Londyn a kiss and waving at both her and Melissa goodbye. As the sound of clicking heels got quieter, Melissa smiled to herself at the interaction. Any time she would see you with Londyn, it seemed like she was the happiest kid in the world. You always did her hair, from various pineapple updos to braids with fun parts and colorful beads hanging from the bottom of them, and she was always dressed in cute, girly outfits that matched her upbeat personality.

Londyn ran up to Melissa, practically vibrating with excitement. "Ms. Schemmenti! Do you wanna hear about my day?"

"I sure do, but you'll have to be quick since Mama dropped you off later." Melissa removed her glasses and sat them on the desk, ready to hear the little girl's rambling.

Londyn giggled, "Yeah. I think Mama got dressed in the dark 'cus she's dressed funny."

"That she is, hon."

Then on, you would show up in your strange outfits more often. Melissa wanted to ask you about it, but she thought it may be a bit inappropriate. She'd hate to come off how Barb did when she practically harassed that mom with the "Bitch" tattoo on her chest, so she ignored it. Londyn was still the same happy-go-lucky girl she first met a year ago, so what was the issue?

A few weeks later, Melissa was walking back to her classroom from taking her class to the art room and when she got there, Ava was sitting in her chair.

"Ava? Whaddya doin' in here? Ashley left to get lunch." Melissa said, very unsure of why Ava would be in her classroom, she never did observations.

"Oh, yeah, I know. I sent her out to get it. I'm here for you." Ava clarified.

That confused her more. Ava never came to see anyone unless she had some kind of crazy idea. "Me? What for?"

"I know it's your birthday next Friday, so I want to plan you a party."

"Why would you plan a party for me, Ava? We never see each other outside of work."

Ava sighed, "Yes, and I want to change that. So, I'm planning you a party and I'm inviting everyone."

"Ava, I'm not letting you—"

"Too late, I already told Janine, Gregory, and Jacob." Ava interrupted with a bright smile.

"What about Barb?" Melissa asked.

"She's going on a weekend trip with her husband." Ava sensed Melissa's resistance before she added, "I'm trying to be nice, Melissa. Just let me do this, please."

Ava put on her best puppy-dog eyes and stuck out her bottom lip for emphasis. Melissa stared just back at her, continuing to participate in this standoff. It quickly became apparent that Ava wasn't going to back down, which made Melissa sigh.

"Fine, Ava. Where is it gonna be?" Melissa conceded.

Ava smiled brightly at her, "A club. I'll order you an Uber."

Ava stood up and left abruptly, leaving Melissa just as confused as she had when she walked in.

On the day of the party, Melissa had spent the entirety of the car ride wondering about Ava's motives. Why, after a couple years of working together, did she want to do something like this for Melissa now?

When Melissa arrived at the club, she could hear the music from inside the big building. She inspected the outside of the building, it was a brick building, a big neon yellow sign that said "The Pyramid" in cursive letters. She sighed to herself before walking in past the bouncer, regretting ever agreeing to do this. Her regret increased when she was inside the club.

The club was dark, but what Melissa could see shocked her. There was a large stage in the middle of the club, a long pole running all the way up to the ceiling. On the poll was a woman wearing only a lingerie set, dancing to a song she recognized as Megan Thee Stallion. In front of the stage were various tables and there were rooms along the walls next to the stage that had couches and a table, presumably for higher paying customers who wanted the best view. There were many girls walking about the club, some of them being pulled aside to go dance for a specific person.

Before she could storm out and text Ava angrily, Ava had appeared next to her and had begun dragging Melissa to the private section where everyone was sitting. Janine and Jacob looked like they were trying to convince themselves they were having a good time, while Gregory looked straight up uncomfortable. When Janine saw Melissa, she stood up and grabbed the gift bag that was sitting on the table.

"Happy birthday, Melissa! Jacob and I got this for you." She said, handing the bag to Melissa. She took the bag and opened it, moving the crepe paper around to get to the actual gift. She pulled it out and examined it. It was a Jalen Hurts jersey that had to have cost them a lot. Because of that fact, she refrained from telling them she already had one.

Instead, she smiled at the younger teachers and thanked them both, putting the jersey back into the bag and setting it back down on the table. She sat down next to Gregory and he turned to her.

"I didn't know what to get you, so you can ask for something and I can get it for you."

Melissa chuckled, waving dismissively, "Don't worry about it, kid."

Ava showed up again, her smile unwavering as she handed Melissa a beer. She took it and sipped on it while she talked with the group.

"You know, I actually think exotic dancers should get a lot more credit than they do. It takes a lot of core strength and the ability to entertain a crowd to be one." Jacob said out of nowhere, trying to be as politically correct as always.

Before anyone could respond or even acknowledge that he said anything, the DJ cuts the music and begins talking to the crowd.

"Alright, how're y'all doin' out there?" He asked. The crowd answered by cheering loudly. "Good, good. Well, next up in our lineup of lovely ladies is The Pyramid's princess. Please welcome to the stage, Cleopatra!"

The crowd erupted into even louder cheers, Ava being one of the loudest in Melissa's opinion.

"You know her?" Melissa asked.

Ava smirked and pointed her finger at Melissa, "I do. You might recognize her, too."

"What? What are you talking ab—" Melissa cut her sentence short as she saw you strut your way to the end of the stage. You were dressed in a black, sheer bodysuit that was littered with rhinestones that caught the light of the spotlights. You didn't have anything on under the bodysuit, save for two x-shaped pasties on each of your nipples. Your heels were black and sparkly as well as imposing in height, Melissa watched in awe as you navigated the stage with ease in them.

You began dancing sensually on the stage to a song she didn't recognize and she turned to Ava, fuming. She was about to chew her out until she stood abruptly, pulling an absurd amount of dollar bills from her purse.

"What are we doing, sitting over here? Let's go have some fun!" She announced, waiting for everyone to get up. The three teachers all tensed visibly at the mention of getting anywhere near the stage.

Ava rolled her eyes and grabbed Melissa's arm, "Whatever, c'mon birthday girl."

Melissa was once again dragged by Ava, but this time over to the edge of the stage. She gave Melissa about half of her stack of ones and began throwing the money onto the stage. Melissa also threw some, trying to keep up appearances. Truthfully, she was entranced.

At some point, you had ended up on the floor of the stage, shaking your ass in a way that made her practically drool. Ava held up a folded one towards the stage, you spotted her and crawled enticingly up to her. Melissa's jaw tensed, the intense eye contact you held with Ava made jealousy seep into her. She could only hope you didn't recognize Ava as you took the bill from her with your teeth, the encounter feeling very sexually charged. With the bill still in between your teeth, you glanced at Melissa before doing a double take. You dropped the bill in shock, but quickly snapped out of it, continuing your performance. Because she was so caught up in your performance, she failed to notice Ava disappearing like the ghost she apparently thought she was.

By the end of the song, Ava had returned and Melissa was none the wiser. She felt hot all over, the personality you showed on stage was completely different from the one she saw at school, and it excited her. You gathered your tips and made your way backstage, leaving Melissa feeling just a tiny bit disappointed.

You dropped all of your money onto your makeup station, pulling the money someone had stuffed underneath your bodysuit by your thigh and between your breasts. You counted it out, writing down on the slip of paper that you used to keep track of the tips you made. Once you did that, you put the cash into your purse and put your purse into your locker. You had pulled off your heels to start getting ready to leave, your shift ending soon, when your manager came into the dressing room.

"Hey, Cleo, can you do one last private dance before you leave? It was a special request for the customer's birthday." She asked, looking a little apologetic.

You sighed, "London's with my mom right now, I gotta get home so I can get her ready for bed."

You really didn't feel like being up close and personal with a customer at that moment, you were sweaty and you were sure you didn't smell the greatest.

"She's willing to pay extra. Come on, just one song and then you can go home."

The idea of extra money had made you change your mind in an instant. "Let me put some perfume on. What room?"

Your manager smiled gratefully, "Room 4."

With that, she left. You huffed and took off your bodysuit, it was pretty but it wasn't the best material for grinding up on someone for five minutes. You looked through the outfits you brought with you, trying to find the least intricate piece you had. You settled on a backless purple one piece that had fake pearls along the edges of the fabric. You put it on and looked at yourself in the floor length mirror, adjusting your breasts and putting body tape on them to avoid a slip during the private dance. After putting your heels back on, you gave yourself another examination in the mirror, this was one of the first outfits you bought to dance in yourself. The deep u-neckline stopped right above your navel, showing off just the right amount of skin that was expected of you.

You gave yourself a few sprays of your perfume and put on some deodorant. You checked your makeup in the mirror, and then went off to the private room. As you walked there, you wondered who would've requested you specifically. They paid extra so they must've had disposable income, so maybe you would get some extra money from them if you did a good job.

Melissa was sitting on the velvet couch in the room, unknowingly waiting for you. After your performance, Ava had brought Melissa to this room. She questioned her the entire way, only receiving a sly grin and being told to wait in the room. She accepted her fate and sat on the couch, scanning her surroundings. It was a small room, the floor and walls the same as the rest of the club and the LED lights were set to pink and slightly brighter than the lights on the dance floor. Next to the door was a dial and buttons for the lights and a bigger dial for the music.

She knew she would be receiving a lap dance and she had an inkling you would be the one to give it to her. She was at war with herself as to whether or not she thought that was a good thing, her mind going back to how confidently and fluidly you danced on stage. You weren't the first stripper Melissa had seen before, but seeing you on stage had ignited something within her. On the other hand, she had not noticed any indication that you felt the same way about her that she felt about you; you were always kind, but nothing more. She worried that this would be crossing a line with you.

Melissa's train of thought was interrupted by the door opening, and just like she had guessed, you came into the room. Melissa's gaze ran down the length of your body, lingering on your chest longer than it should have. While she ogled you, your eyes adjusted to the light in the room. You finally processed that it was Melissa in the room and you gasped.

"Melissa!?" You exclaimed. You opened the door and checked the room number, and sure enough, it was room 4. You closed the door and turned back to her.

"Uh, hi." She replied awkwardly, it was all she could think to say.

"What are you doing here? My manager told me I was requested, did you—"

"Oh, no! God, no. Ava did." Melissa interjected, nearly jumping from her seat.

"Why would she do that?" You asked, crossing your arms under your chest, unintentionally pushing up your already barely-covered breasts.

Melissa fought the urge to look at your chest, sighing. "It's my birthday, it's a part of my gift, I guess."

"Why'd she request me?"

"I think... she knows I find you attractive." She muttered the last few words, if the music had been turned up a little more you wouldn't have been able to hear what she said.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, "You think I'm attractive?"

Melissa didn't miss the hint of hope in your voice, her own eyebrow raising as you came closer to her.

"Yeah, I'm not blind." She scoffed, like you being attractive was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look, I know you probably don't want to do this, so you don't have to."

You did want to, though, and Melissa's confession had made you want to do it more.

"Who said I didn't want to?" You asked, walking slowly up to Melissa. "I mean it is your birthday, right? Why not have a little fun?"

It didn't take much to convince her, she had already gotten all worked up from seeing you on stage, so having the opportunity to see you dance like that for her was certainly not unwelcome.

"Yeah, okay. I can have some fun." Melissa said, nodding as you leaned down and braced your hands on top of her knees with a grin.

"Great. Now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy yourself." You instructed, leaning in so your lips brushed against her ear. "You're not supposed to touch, but I think I'll make an exception for the birthday girl. Our little secret."

You stood up straight and walked back towards the door. Your heart raced as you turned up the music, your nerves trying to get the best of you. You sighed in relief when you recognized the song that was playing over the speakers, you often got songs that you had never heard, leading to some lackluster dances. "Often" by The Weeknd filled the room, a song that you had heard so many times you wished you would never hear it again.

You began dancing for Melissa, starting off outside of her reach to tease her and build anticipation. You were able to see her fingers twitch in her lap, itching to reach out and touch you, and you smirked to yourself. You closed some of the distance between the two of you, now dancing close enough that she could occasionally reach out and caress your waist and thighs. Every time you felt the brush of her fingers on your skin, your breath would hitch and you had to fight the urge to pause your movements to enjoy the feeling.

As the end of the song came closer and closer, you decided to end the dance with a bang of sorts. You got even closer to Melissa, straddling her lap and grinding down on her to the rthythm to the music. Melissa's hands wasted no time in grabbing your hips, pressing into your soft skin lightly.

"God, hon... you're good at this..." She commented, sounding breathless as she watched your body and how it moved in her lap. Her hands drifted lower, now caressing your ass.

You smiled down at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her closer. "You're too sweet."

Melissa's eyes dragged up your frame until she was looking directly into your eyes. Her pupils were blown and her lips were slightly parted, she looked like she wanted to take you right then and there. You watched as Melissa's gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips to your eyes again and, before you could think better of it, you started leaning in. Melissa leaned in as well, meeting you halfway as your lips connected.

The kiss was heated, your fingers tangled in and occasionally pulling at Melissa's hair, and Melissa's hands skimming from your ass up to the underside of your breasts. You whimpered into her mouth as her thumb ghosted across your nipple, a shiver going down your spine. The song had long been over when the two of you finally pulled apart, your lips swollen and your chests raising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

"That was... wow." You said, breaking the silence.

Melissa chuckled breathlessly, her hands still on you. "Yeah, you could say that again."

"Do you want to, um, come back to my place?" You asked, sounding hopeful. Melissa didn't hesitate with her answer.

"Yes, absolutely. I need to get my hands on you."

You smiled brightly, leaning down to leave a chaste kiss on her lips. "Alright. I've gotta go clock out and then I'll meet you out back."

Melissa nodded and you stood from her lap before leaving the room. She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. She was definitely going to have to thank Ava later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@blkmxrvel asked to be tagged ! lmk if i should make a taglist :)))

[chickenkurage]

You’re not you when you’re hungry. Grab a snickers. (Farmer AU)

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Where in, DJ’s code is really old, so he gets confused sometimes. In short he loses control and becomes a bit aggressive, luckily Alan and his apple kids is there to fix him up (just some bitch slapping and cuddling, you decide who did what)

Tag: Comedy, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Violence and Fluff.

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"Red! No!" DJ exclaimed as he knelt beside the red apple, swiftly scooping him up in his arms and shooing away a crow poised to take a bite. "Meep! Meep!" Red cried, squirming in his embrace and nestling against his neck, his tiny form trembling.

"Aww, Red, it's okay. Relax, I've got you," DJ murmured soothingly, giving Red a gentle pat on the head. "Meep," Red chirped again, wriggling toward DJ's neckerchief and seeking refuge beneath it, eliciting giggles from DJ. "Red, that tickles," DJ chuckled, slipping his hand into his neckerchief and retrieving the red apple.

"Meep meep!" Red exclaimed joyfully, bobbing his head happily.

"Hah! You're adorable," DJ remarked as he cradled Red, heading back towards the farmhouse. He caught sight of Cho and Dark lounging in a rocking chair on the front porch, peacefully dozing under the warm sun. 

"Look at them snuggled up," DJ whispered, glancing down at Red, who observed the two pineapples cuddling.

"Wait, I have to take a photo," DJ exclaimed, swiftly reaching into the pocket of his jumper and retrieving his phone. He opened the camera app and snapped multiple pictures of the dozing pineapples. 

"Look at them," DJ remarked, showing the screen to Red, who gleefully waved his arms up and down in agreement.

"DJ? Are you done with work already?" Alan inquired, approaching with dirt-covered legs and arms, holding Sec in his arms, who looks equally dirt-covered as Alan. "Not yet, but Red here had a close call with a crow, so I think he should stay indoors for now," DJ explained, his expression furrowed in concern.

"Oh, that's not good. I should probably bring Cho and Dark inside too," Alan suggested, nibbling on his lip as he glanced at the two pineapples peacefully napping in the rocking chair. "Perhaps we do need a scarecrow," DJ mused, heading towards the front door. He kicked off his dirty boots before stepping inside.

Alan grunted and followed DJ inside, carrying Cho, Dark, and Sec in his arms, he mused, "Maybe." Placing the three pineapples on the couch, he then made his way to his room. "Anyways, I need a bath; I'm covered in dirt," Alan remarked, waving to DJ with a peace sign before ascending the stairs.

"'Kay," DJ replied, letting Red bounce off his arm towards Sec, who joyfully embraced him. "Oh, my heart," DJ chuckled, watching as Sec pulled Red towards Dark and Cho, who appeared to be engaged in a silent exchange.

"Maybe that's their way of communicating?" DJ pondered, tilting his head.

"Hmm, where are the others? Yellow? Blue? Green? Vic?" DJ called out as he strolled towards the kitchen, wearing a puzzled expression.

"There you are! What are you all up to here?" DJ inquired with a laugh, bending over to peer under the table. He spotted Green and Yellow laying over Blue, while Vic stood towering above them all.

The fruits turned to gaze at DJ, who felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead.

"Alright then... I'll let you guys do your thing," DJ said with a grin, rising to his feet and sauntering towards the fridge to retrieve some cold water.

Humming a tune, he fetched a glass, poured the water, and downed it in one go, releasing a contented sigh. He fanned himself lightly before rinsing the glass and leaving it on a drying rack.

"Chip! Chip," Vic chirped, waddling over and tapping DJ's leg with his stubby arms. "What's going on?" DJ inquired, tilting his head as he knelt down to meet Vic's gaze.

Vic simply stared up at DJ before attempting to climb his knees, struggling to hoist himself up by grabbing onto DJ's jumper.

Amused, DJ chuckled and lifted Vic, cradling him in his arms as the gray pineapple clung excitedly to the front of his jumper. "Alright, alright," DJ laughed, bouncing Vic gently as he rose and ambled towards the living room.

Suddenly, a pounding headache gripped DJ, causing him to pause and groan, his hand instinctively reaching for his throbbing head. "Chip?" Vic tilted his head, gazing up at DJ with a perplexed expression.

"H-huh? I'm fine, just a bit of a headache. Probably the heat. Here, sit with Sec and Red," DJ explained as he gently settled Vic on the couch next to the other fruits.

"Chip?" Sec cocked his head, glancing between Vic and DJ, who seemed to be struggling.

"Ugh, perhaps the heat is getting to me," DJ groaned, massaging his temples and removing his glasses to rub his eyes. As he did so, his vision momentarily clouded, a fleeting moment where everything appeared red and distorted. Startled, he shook his head in confusion, rubbing his eyes and focusing on the puzzled gazes of Vic and Sec, who were watching him intently.

DJ staggered towards the stairs, his head still pounding as he weakly called out, "A-Alan?" His hand clung to the wall for support, his vision swirling, prompting another groan of discomfort.

Amidst a cacophony of chirps and meeps, everything around him began to tint red, an overwhelming sensation washing over him, sending his senses into a frenzy.

“Chip?” Cho chirped, gazing up at DJ with concern, hopping off the couch to get a better look at him.

“Chip?!” Cho exclaimed, stepping back in surprise as DJ let out a low growl. "W-what are you? What kind of code are you? Must... clean…" DJ muttered dazedly, his fists clenching tightly.

Sensing the danger, Dark hopped off the couch and swiftly grabbed Cho's arm, yanking him out of harm's way just in time to avoid a powerful stomp that shattered the wooden floorboards.

“Meep!!” Red cried out in panic, flailing his arms as Sec swiftly grabbed him, pulling him to safety.

“G-get back here!” DJ growled, his demeanor unsettling, causing Cho and Dark to emit loud, anxious chirps as they gazed up at him, noticing a strange red hue in his eyes. 

Before they could react, a sudden purple blur intervened, pushing DJ away and causing the dark orange figure to land heavily on his back with a pained grunt.

“DJ! What the hell are you doing?” Alan's voice cut through the tension, water droplets still dripping from his head as he stared at DJ with disbelief. “Chip! Chip!” Dark and Cho scuttled behind Alan's legs, seeking refuge in fear.

“What's going on with you?” Alan demanded, furrowing his brow as DJ struggled to regain his composure, his gaze unfocused. 

Alan's expression shifted, a sense of recognition dawning on him. “Not again. Cho, Dark, go hide somewhere safe. Take the others with you,” Alan instructed, casting a concerned look towards the two pineapples.

Cho nodded in understanding and quickly took Dark's arm, leading him away to find a safe hiding spot.

“Clean... Clean orders,” DJ murmured, his hand pressed against his head, a mix of confusion and pain evident on his face.

“DJ... it's me, Alan. Do you remember?” Alan spoke softly, cautiously approaching the troubled dark orange figure.

“Hnn Alan? Who? Where... orders, I have orders, have to follow,” DJ muttered, his demeanor conflicted as he suddenly lunged towards Alan, a look of determination in his eyes.

“DJ!” Alan exclaimed, moving swiftly to intercept DJ's punch, grabbing his arm just in time.

Growling, DJ raised his other hand, attempting another strike that Alan effortlessly blocked.

“DJ! Snap out of it! It's that damned code, isn't it?” Alan's voice was firm as he pushed back against DJ's relentless assault, his feet sliding on the floor. “Wake up, DJ. I don't want to fight you. We've moved past that,” Alan growled, his fist clenched in frustration.

DJ remained unresponsive, his gaze unfocused and distant, caught in the grip of some unseen force.

“You need to stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself at this po-” Alan's warning was cut short as DJ swiftly closed the distance between them, seizing the front of Alan's shirt and hurling him upwards with such force that the roof shattered, sending Alan crashing back down, in front of the house with a resounding thud.

“Ow! Creators above!” Alan groaned, wincing as he sat up, his hand supporting his aching back.

A hand clenched Alan's shirt once more, compelling him to meet the emotionless gaze of DJ. What caught Alan's attention most were DJ's eyes—devoid of emotion, his pupils flickering and shifting through a spectrum of colors. 

“Damn the code,” Alan muttered under his breath before swiftly taking action, grabbing DJ's wrist and deftly flipping him over, pinning him down with a knee pressed firmly against his back.

“DJ, please, come on, wake the hell up,” Alan urged, applying pressure as DJ clawed at the soil, growling in defiance. “DJ! Snap out of it! Wake the hell up, you idiot!” Alan's voice filled with desperation, he turned DJ onto his back and delivered a sharp slap, knocking DJ's glasses askew.

“Achk! Alan?!” DJ cried out, his hand flying to his stinging cheek.

“DJ? Oh, thank the creators, you’re back,” Alan breathed a sigh of relief, easing off DJ's chest. “What happened? My head is killing me, and my back too,” DJ whimpered, a tear escaping his eye as he sat up, pressing a hand to his throbbing head.

“Your code is acting up again. I really think you should let me fix that,” Alan suggested with a furrowed brow, bending down to retrieve DJ's glasses from the floor and handing them back to him.

“Oh no! Did... Did I hurt the kids?” DJ's voice quivered with panic, his hand trembling as he covered his face, curling into a protective ball.

“What? No, you didn't. I intervened before anything serious happened. Thank goodness when these glitches occur, you never seem to retain your fighting skills, or else the house would've been in shambles,” Alan remarked with a light-hearted tone, kneeling beside DJ.

DJ, overwhelmed with emotions, buried his head under his arms, his remorse palpable in the air.

“I feel like a terrible friend and a terrible dad. I'm sorry, Alan. Did I hurt you?” DJ's voice quivered as he sniffled, seeking reassurance.

“You didn’t even manage to scratch me,” Alan reassured with a smirk, patting DJ's shoulder gently.

“Still... they’re going to be scared of me... this hasn't happened in a while. Usually, I only get migraines at best,” DJ pouted, his guilt weighing heavily on him. Alan then took DJ by the shoulders and pulled him into a comforting hug.

“It's alright. We'll explain it to them. I'm sure they'll understand... and about the roof... you have to fix that,” Alan reminded, prompting a chuckle from DJ as he leaned back, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“What happened? Did I throw you through the roof or something?” DJ asked in disbelief, his memory still hazy from the glitch.

“You did. Now, it's your turn to fix it as payback for tossing me out of my own house,” Alan teased with a grin.

“Now get up and let’s head back inside. I need another bath,” Alan said, eyeing his dirtied shirt from the fall.

With a groan and aching head, DJ struggled to his feet. Alan reached down, offering a helping hand. “Thanks, Alan. If it weren't for you... I might have really hurt them,” DJ admitted, a frown etched on his face as they slowly made their way back into the house, wincing at the sight of the broken roof.

“Meep! Meep!” Red chirped excitedly, bouncing over DJ's feet.

“Oh Red... uhm... I'm sorry,” DJ murmured, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Meep!” Red exclaimed, taken aback by the sudden display of emotion from the normally composed dark orange figure.

“Ah, don't worry, Red. He gets like that when he's feeling really under the weather. Come on, let's get him to his room,” Alan reassured, offering a small smile as he supported DJ, whose legs wobbled slightly. Red followed closely, bouncing along, while Sec trailed behind, looking visibly concerned.

“Hey, Sec,” Alan greeted as he carefully guided DJ to his bed, helping him lie down.

“Nnn,” DJ groaned, his hand pressed against his throbbing head as he turned away, seeking some relief. “Chip?” Sec tilted his head, gazing up at Alan with a worried expression, then pointing towards DJ with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Alan sighed, “He has these moments sometimes where... his code, you're aware of that, right?” Both Red and Sec nodded in understanding. 

“His code is really old, and sometimes it gets confused. Usually, he gets sick or gets migraines from resisting it, but this time it seems like he didn't even get the chance to resist before it completely took over him,” Alan explained, his expression clouded with concern.

“Meep? Meep! Meep!” Red waved his arm up and down in frustration before hopping off the bed's edge, attempting to pull himself up by grabbing the sheets.

Sec hurriedly rushed behind Red, giving him a gentle push to help him climb onto the bed. Red bounced over to DJ, who was still groaning in pain, his face contorted with discomfort. “Meep...” Red chirped softly, placing a comforting hand on DJ's arm, prompting the dark orange to slowly open his tired eyes and gaze at him wearily.

“Hey, Red... I'm sorry you had to witness that,” DJ mumbled, his eyes drooping with fatigue.

Red let out a sad whimper and nestled against DJ's arm. “How about you rest? I'll gather your other kids to watch over you while I whip up something for you,” Alan suggested, picking up Sec from the floor and turning towards DJ.

“Mm, okay,” DJ agreed, curling his arm around Red and closing his eyes, seeking some much-needed rest.

[♡]

“Meep?” Blue tilted his head curiously while Yellow peered over DJ, who was resting peacefully, his breathing slow and steady. “Meep Meep,” Green exclaimed, waving his hands in excitement before breaking into a cheerful tune.

Red perked up, joining in with his own melody. Soon, the room was filled with a soft, harmonious tune, gently rousing DJ from his slumber. He chuckled as he noticed the four apples perched on his pillow, their gazes fixed on him intently.

“You guys are so cute,” DJ remarked, reaching out to tickle Yellow, who let out a small shriek before darting off to the side of the bed with an indignant meep. “Hah,” DJ laughed softly, slowly sitting up. Green and Blue bounded over, settling in his lap and bouncing around with excitement.

“Whoa, what's gotten you guys so thrilled?” DJ inquired with a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. Beside him, Red let out a happy meep before wrapping his stubby arms around DJ's side, eliciting a light giggle. “Aww, you guys,” DJ cooed, as Yellow bounced back towards him, joining Green and Blue in his lap where they now snuggled up together.

“Oh, damn it, where’s my phone?” DJ exclaimed, a hint of panic in his voice, as he watched Red join the small dog pile on his lap. He patted his pockets frantically, letting out a sad whine when he couldn't locate his phone.

“Looking for this?” Alan's voice came from the doorway as he waved DJ’s phone in the air. “Yes!” DJ exclaimed in relief, only to flinch when he felt the apples shift in his lap, before they settled back, already drifting off to sleep. “Here you go,” Alan said, walking over to DJ and handing him his phone.

“Yes, yes!” DJ cheered softly, snapping a few photos of the cozy dog pile before letting out a contented sigh. “I'm actually here to take you out to eat with me, but it seems like you're quite busy with your 'kids,' huh?” Alan remarked with a playful tilt of his head.

“Yeah, I don't want to move just yet,” DJ replied with a grin, glancing back down as he felt Blue shifting around under the pile. “Alright, but before 6 PM rolls around, I'm dragging you out for a meal, okay?” Alan declared.

DJ gave him a thumbs up, still beaming. “Gotcha,”. 

"Good,” Alan said with a small smile, placing a reassuring hand on DJ’s shoulder.

“Uhm, about the roof... I will really fix that!” DJ said with a furrowed brow, rubbing the back of his head. “I-I know we agreed no more fighting between us, so I’m really sorry about earlier. I just—” DJ started, only to be interrupted by Alan's embrace, the latter patting his back gently.

“Relax, man. Why are you so worked up? It's no biggie,” Alan reassured, as DJ pouted and returned the hug tightly. “If you say so, man,” DJ replied, easing back as Alan did the same. “Yeah, totally. I know that wasn't really you,” Alan added, letting out a chuckle.

“What?” DJ tilted his head, puzzled by Alan's laughter.

“You're not you when you're hungry. Grab a Snickers,” Alan quipped again, before covering his mouth to stifle his laughter, while DJ let out a sigh. “Good one, Alan,” DJ mumbled, a faint smile playing on his lips.

[evereverest2]

The Mirror — Terzomega Oneshot

1.2k words ~ smut

After a ritual, Terzo and Omega find themselves alone in the dressing room.

this is a short and sweet one!

(in general my requests r open so feel free to drop me some more. thanks for reading ok bye)

—

Arms spread, hands to the sky, Terzo shut his eyes as the sound of applause washed over him like a wave. The venue reverberated the last dark notes of the guitar, the last cymbal crash, the final echo of their ritual.

Terzo opened his eyes.

The band was exhausted after the show. They shuffled offstage, with Terzo commending them for their performances. They filed away to pack up their equipment, and Terzo disappeared into his dressing room to fit into something more suitable for travel.

He popped a pineapple in his mouth from a complimentary fruit selection on his table. It stung his throat after singing a whole show, but was too delicious to ignore. He hummed around the room, grabbing his street clothes and setting them nearby. After unbuttoning his shirt halfway, he noticed his reflection. A bit messy, as was expected after a performance. He leaned over the makeup desk, peering into the vanity mirror. He gently swiped away beads of sweat from his forehead, touching up a smear of black from his lips.

The door shut with a gentle click. Terzo looked up in the mirror at the door, seeing Omega approaching him from behind.

“How may I help you, Omega ghoul?” Terzo resumed his preening, now undoing a few of the intricacies of his sweat-soaked outfit.

Ever silent, Omega slid behind him, his arms wrapping around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder. Terzo noticed his eyes had shut beneath the mask.

“Long show, si?” Terzo chuckled. “You must be exhausted.”

Omega rumbled in what sounded like agreement.

“You did excellent, though. Very good playing of the guitar.” Terzo reached behind him, scratching his scalp lightly.

Omega let out a long, heavy sigh, opening his eyes. “You were a tease.”

“All for the fans,” Terzo tutted at a previously unseen black smear on his forehead. Giving up on perfecting his face, he began undoing the rest of his shirt and his pants. He continued, “What a shame you cannot undress until after we are at the hotel. You must be uncomfortable.”

“A shame you have to undress now.”

“Why is that?” Terzo chuckled.

Omega held him tighter, his erection poking into Terzo’s back. Terzo laughed again.

“You must be patient, amore.” He wiggled in his grasp. “Let me go, I need to dress.”

But Omega was not patient, nor did he let go. He pressed harder, bending him over the vanity. Terzo looked at Omega through the reflection.

“Luce stellare, there is no time for this,” Terzo chittered, excited but hesitant. “Your fellow ghouls are waiting. You must wait until the hotel, si?”

“I’ll be fast.”

Omega yanked down his pants the rest of the way. Under the lip of the vanity, Omega slipped his hand over his crotch, palming him to get a rise. Terzo huffed, looking over his shoulder at him. Omega grabbed his face and roughly turned it towards the mirror, forcing him to meet his own eye in the reflection.

“Look at yourself while I touch you.”

He looked surprised, a bit winded. Omega grasped him firmly and began stroking. With his face held in place, Terzo had no choice but to watch himself react. His mouth opened, a sliver of pink tongue just visible as he gently groaned. He clenched his jaw, embarrassed. But as he fought it, his expression only gave him away more. Slow blinks, pinched eyebrows, unable to help the few moans that parted his lips.

Omega’s eyes bored into him. “You look like a slut.”

Terzo looked away, his face becoming hot. Omega’s thumb dug into his tip, which made him squeak. “Keep looking,” he commanded.

Terzo had no choice. Meeting his own gaze once more, he bit his lip in a poor attempt to keep quiet. He whined as Omega continued playing with his tip, feeling restless with the sensation, unable to control himself any longer. He watched his reflection unravel, shift, sigh, moan. He shook his head at himself.

“This is embarrassing, luce stellare,” he said breathily. He watched Omega’s eyes smile, knowing he was doing so under the mask.

A harsh knock caused them both to pause.

“Yo Papa, we’re ready to go,” a voice said behind the door. Alpha.

Omega murmured in his ear, “You’ll be done soon.” At the same time, he resumed stroking him quickly.

“I…” Terzo winced, catching his own eye again. He shut them, mustering up his strength to speak. “Some moments, please!”

“We’re fucking hungry, hurry up.” Alpha gave the door another pound, presumably stalking away.

Terzo bit his finger to stop himself from moaning, releasing a pathetic whimper instead.

“You will be done soon, won’t you, Papa?” Omega teased quietly. “Open your eyes. Look at what a mess I’ve made you.”

Leaning against the desk, he looked up, glaring at himself. His reflection revealed a pleasure-filled visage, a grimace holding back his moans. Seeing himself so needy, so close to finishing, sparked a strange feeling in his gut. A hot one that zapped through him, causing him to cum into Omega’s hand. His face tensed, he gritted his teeth, and he let go with a moan, looking almost as if he were in pain. He held on to Omega’s hand still around his face, grasping for support, slowly falling from his orgasm.

“You liked seeing yourself, didn’t you?”

Terzo, humiliated, denied it. “No, I liked your hand on my cock.”

“Tersoro, don’t lie to me,” Omega teased. He slowly pulled away, crossing the room to the stack of napkins next to the fruit bowl. Terzo’s heart skipped a beat at the name. Omega rarely used pet names.

Terzo finished stripping, though he pulled up his underwear. He dressed in his black sweatshirt and pants, pulling up the hood. “Perhaps,” he said with an air of bravado, “I will put a mirror in my quarters.”

Omega finished wiping his hand and tossed the napkins in the waste bin. He then returned to Terzo and hugged him from behind once more.

Omega whispered, “Good. I want you to watch your body beg for mine.”

Terzo shuddered with the thought.

Another knock at the door, although this time it was so violent Terzo feared the door would burst.

“Omega, if you don’t quit fucking Papa, I’ll break this fucking—”

Omega crossed the room in an instant, opening the door to a pissed-off Alpha.

“Finally!” he exclaimed dramatically. “You can’t fucking wait for the hotel like the rest of us?!”

“No one is waiting for you at the hotel,” Omega scowled.

For a moment, Terzo thought Alpha would burst into flames. Instead, he took a deep breath.

“Are you ready?” he asked Terzo in a falsely-sweet voice.

Terzo smiled, nodding. “You are hungry, si? We get taco ring?”

Alpha looked genuinely overjoyed. “This is why you’re my favorite Papa.”

He darted off first, leaving Terzo and Omega to walk side by side toward the exit.

“It’s called Taco Bell,” Omega reminded him. Terzo laughed, shoving his hands in the hoodie pocket.

“I believe you are wrong, mostriciatto.”

buy me a kofi <3

[superblysubpar]

siiiiiiiigh, taylor. you're the only one i trust with this and i don't know if you take requests but i'm desperate (like the i'm in pain + aching kind of desperate) for wealthy!steve to take us out on his lil yacht and absolutely rail us off the coast of italy :(

the song: Pineapple Slice by Tove Lo & SG Lewis

warnings: secluded public spot / Sorry I've never been to Italy, my only experience are slutty Joe pics & The Lizzie McGuire movie 🤷‍♀️

He turns his black baseball hat around for better access to your body. His lips skim the seam of your suit, thick fingers messing with the ties on your hips. He squeezes the plump skin, dragging and scratching down your thighs as he pulls the bikini bottom from your body. Your back arches against the leather cushions of the boatseat, hips lifting for him. The sun is blinding white - high in the sky, and the drip of cool ocean water from his hair soothes the sweat coating your body.

You whisper the name of the man you've just met when his nose skims up the inside of your legs, nipping at your thighs as his large hands push them wider for better access.

"Come on honey, need to taste you." The endearment falls easily from his lips despite knowing each other less than 24 hours. This isn't what you thought would be the aftermath of your night out with friends.

Green flashes and purple shimmers as base radiated from your feet into your chest. Sweet drinks and stealing cherries from everyone as you danced and bounced in the Italian club to a song you didn't know. Hips swaying to a good beat and when you turned, you saw him. He's smug, a lopsided smile, a hand running through chestnut hair. A glint in his hazel eyes and the flashes of green overhead illuminate the silver chain, the ring on his middle finger and the watch on his wrist that all scream money. A flirty line about how dancing like you were was dangerous, an offer of buying you bubbly expensive things that taste sweet on your tongue, and hands on your hips as your chests pressed closer, moving to the music together until your lips collided. All ending in an offer of taking you out on his boat tomorrow, a secluded little spot off the coast.

And here you are.

Steve's thumbs spread your lips for him, and his tongue licks a broad stripe through you. Thighs squeezing around his ears, muffling the sounds of the waves crashing into the rocks and the side of the boat. His mouth works lazily but precise as his hands roam under the curve of your ass. Pads of his fingers push into your skin, curvy and thick and he pulls you tighter around him, desperate for more. Tongue licking and swirling around your clit, mouth moving lower as he sucks one of your lips. A moan falls from your parched mouth and your toes curl as a rough wave rocks the boat, adding to the boil bubbling in your stomach.

He brings his attention back to the throbbing nerves, sucking around it and kitten licking with his tongue as a finger nudges at your entrance. One finger easily slips in, a second following and you clench around them as they curl. He finds the spot that has you lifting yourself off the seat. Your fingers tug in his wet locks, chest heaving as you look down at him. Sweat beads down the dip of your breasts as you plead his name, begging to release.

Steve removes himself, shaking his head no. His eyes are taken over by his black pupils, his dark chest hair curls with saltwater and sweat. He shoves the black wet fabric of his swimtrunks low enough to pull his throbbing length out. Your mouth waters at the sight of his muscles flexing as he tugs on himself, somehow getting harder and bigger. Lining the mushroom tip up with your entrance, Steve leans over you. He kisses your lips softly, tongue licking and tracing over your top lip until you sigh. The taste of yourself lingering, mixing with sweet fruit and salt from the ocean water that still clings to his tan and freckled skin.

Breath warm against your cheek as he whispers, "I need to be inside you when you cum, pretty girl."

You nod, desperate, your orgasm right on the cusp already and he lets his weight fall against you as he slides into your entrance in a quick and powerful thrust. Your cry against his lips has him squeezing at every ounce of your skin he can find. Lips drifting and pressing sweet kisses to your neck that contrast with the quick and sharp movements of his hips slapping against yours.

"Oh, fuck," your lashes are wet with tears at the ache in your gut, "Steve, I'm gonna cum!"

"Yeah?" He's breathless, groaning as your fingers scratch up his back.

The weight of his chest against yours is somehow comforting, and the pressure and graze of the thick hair at his base hitting the perfect spot that has you hanging on the edge of the cliff you've been climbing.

Steve's fingers rub messy circles into your puffy and needy clit, nerves vibrating beneath the pads of his fingers. He attaches his mouth to yours again as you take the jump, freefalling off the ledge until you hit the water. Walls tightening around him, body spasming beneath his. His release follows quickly, throbbing inside of you as he grips at your sides, squeezing and breathing your name into your parted lips.

He slows his thrusts, both of you gasping for air. Sounds of the waves return, the sun feels even warmer as the sweat falls off of both of your hot skin.

Steve reaches above your head, grabbing a piece of pineapple and holding it up to your mouth. You stare into each other's eyes, something in your gazes warming for each other as your breathless panting finds a rhythm together. Your lips wrap around the fruit, biting into the pineapple slice. Juice flows into your mouth, sweet and sticky and quenching a thirst you didn't know you had. Steve's thumb brushes over your bottom lip, tugging a little meanly until it pops back into place. He brings his thumb up to his lips and sucks the juice free from the skin.

The sun still has half the sky to conquer and you have no where to be other than on a boat off the coast of Italy with a rich boy who has an entire pineapple sliced and ready to feed you with.

---

----

-----

[haruchi-slit]

A SOUVENIR FROM SATORU

warnings: pussy eating, soft dom! Gojo, use of toys, lots of cursing, office sex?, fucking on the floor

a/n: not my best work, but have fun!

Your boyfriend Satoru, always, as in always brings a souvenir, edible, keychains, expensive or not he will always bring you something, after his business trip or missions but this time..it was not what you expected.

"I have a souvenir for youu~!" Your boyfriend says as he runs to you with a bright aura, holding the gift bag from behind,

"It better not be expensive Gojo Satoru" you glared

"wwuu, scary as always! anyways, here just take it, you'll love it I promise~ hehe~!" he tries not to chuckle as he hands the gift bag to you.

"open it loveyy!" he said beaming with energy,

you once again glared at him as you opened the gift bag, and boy... it was a rampat bunny..you looked at it in shock, and with flustered cheeks as you looked back at him, you were confused, chuckling you asked him,

"What am i going to do with this?", he leans closer to you. "I'll be using that later" he response, and leans back out, and smiled like nothing ever happened.

"Is it for me or.." you asked, he laughs at your response, "See you later y/nieeee! the higher ups are looking f'me." he squishes your cheeks and left a peck on your lips, you watched him walk away, you looked down on the gift bag, making sure if it's really a rampat bunny,

"what the fuck.." you reached the item from the bag, and observed it, it's black, and you estimated that it was 5-7 inches long, out of curiosity, you pressed a button, with made the vibrator move,

"Oh my fucking-! what the fuck?" you screeched, when the item moved like a worm.

✧LATER THAT DAY✧

"nnn~ 'T-Toru, gahh- s'too much" you whined, as Satoru has you on his lap with spread legs, his left hand spreading your wet folds.

"Baby, it's only on level 2" he says chuckling at your pathetic aroused state, running his finger up and down to tease your abused clit, your brain was practically a mush with how much pleasure you were feeling, with the vibrator moving and hitting your g-spot you knew you'd cum in a minute, you knew you're close, so Satoru was quick to notice that, so he held the end of the vibrator using his right arm and shoved it deeper in your pulsating cunt hitting you g-spot, your body shivered and arched with the immeasurable pleasure you've received,

"Nghh~, so fucking gooodd 'Toru." you moaned as you released your orgasm, Satoru removes the vibrator from your gaping hole and set it aside, and had you limping and standing on the desk,

"Bend over baby," he says as he guides your waist to bend over

"Satoru- wh-what are you doin~" you babbled as for, Satoru he's already running his nose to your exposed pussy, overstimulating your delicate body,

"hwuu~ S'toru f-fuck, im still sensitive there, oh good god, baby-!" you tried to warn Satoru, who's inserting his middle and pointing finger in your hungry cunt,

"Try to keep still baby" he says, groaning in your pussy, sending a tingling sensation to your core.

All clothes on the office floor, pussy juices was dripping on the floor too, as Satoru messily eats your cunt like it's a five star meal,

"Satoru s'too much" you mewled trying to support your body, your knuckles was already white on how tight you were gripping on the desk, your nails leaving scratches on Gojo's desk too!

"Satoru, baby i'm s'closee!"you said, giving your warning, as you orgasm on his pretty face.

"So sweet, did you ate pineapple baby?" he jokes, as he pumps his cock on his palm, he then turns you around to face him, you saw his throbbing, angry, pink tip releasing beads of pre-cum he catches his breath trying to control it, as he gave you a passionate kiss, slowly entering your pussy,

you can feel him throbbing cause of the long neglecting, and finally he's in you, you pussy was quick to suck him in as soon as he enters his dick bulges on your tummy which means he's reaching your cervix, you're still high from your orgasm but Satoru seems to be enjoying to overstimulate and fuck you dumb,

"Satoru it's too much baby, ha-!" you broke the the kiss as you squirmed beneath him scratching his bare back and neck,

"Baby please I'll let agh- rest hmm s'good! when im done" he stutters bearly making a sentence cause of how you suck him in, he was having a hard time to go back and forth in your pussy causing him to whine even more.

A few minutes go by, when someone knocked on Satoru's Office,

"Gojo, Principal Yaga is looking for you." The voice was familiar, it was Shoko,

You heard it too despise being fucked dumb, you're not deaf, so to get back at Gojo you purposely clenched your walls tighter, causing him to stutter,

"O-oh ngh, Yeah be ha-! right there, S-Shoko hng" Satoru responds,

"Yeah, ok come quick" Shoko response, and walks away, "have a good fuck too" she mumbles on her way out.

"Oh- yeah be right there shoko nyenye" you laughed mocking him, in which he responded with a hard slap on your breast, "Hghh" you whined, as he slams you on the floor bucking your hips forward his cock pounding raw in your pussy, "You like that hm?" he grabs your hair, you couldn't respond cause of the pleasure, the stinging pain from the slap, and how hard he's grabbing your hair, you had your eyes crossed to the back of your head and tongue lolled out with saliva dripping out of your mouth,

"Satoru ah! ah! ah! hgh!" you screamed, with every scream it was punctuated, you swear you saw cloud nines with how good he's fucking you,

"Mmnh, 'bout to ohh god!- bout to cum, y/n baby" he says thrusting in you with no remorse.

"Fuck-!" he tries to hold his moans back as he shoots thick, creamy white threads in you.

"I'm so sorry baby ha- i just missed you sooo fucking much.." he says as he snaps his hips deeper in your pussy, making sure there were no cum spilling out, with his final thrust you came, you cum and his mixing together, you kissed him, "It's ok baby, i missed you too" you uttered, as you kissed him once again on his forehead.

"Okay that's enough you two, Gojo Sir Yaga is looking for you." Geto says behind Satoru's office door.

a/n: as promised 👻

[peachy-panic]

The After Party

BBU Hollywood: Chapter 2

I guess this is a whole story now??? We'll see :)

Takes place after THIS.

WARNINGS: BBU, NONCON DRUGGING (LOTS OF IT), bad tripping, mentions of noncon, religious imagery and trauma, rich assholes and the hollywood elite

The tint on the windows doesn’t do enough to block the camera flashes as the limousine descends into the waiting crowd. Henry squints, turning his gaze forward and away. Beside him, Paul is on his phone, which is a mercy. His preoccupation means Henry can take these last few seconds to collect himself before the start of a very long night—as long as he is able to drown out the absent circles being traced on his upper thigh. Henry is so tired he thinks he might be able to drown out anything. If he only let his eyes close for a second or two, he thinks he might drift enough to—

A pinch on his leg—not hard, but firm enough to get his attention—pulls him back from the edge. Paul ends his phone call without a proper sign-off and shoves his phone into his pocket. Henry watches him carefully, assessing his mood. If the phone call was a bad one, it wouldn’t bode well for the rest of the night. But Paul seems to shrug it off easily as he produces a small, glass vial from inside his jacket. 

Henry grinds his back teeth but forces his expression to remain neutral. 

“Look alive, superstar,” Paul says, sprinkling a line of white powder across the side of his finger. “A lot of eyes on you tonight.”

Henry knows the routine, so he doesn’t hesitate when a finger is placed under his nose. He may even be grateful for it later, before the crash, when the dim lights inside the theater want to make his eyelids droop. For now the familiar sting in his sinuses elicits a few watery blinks. 

“Good boy.” Paul rubs a thumb gently under his eye to wipe away a bead of moisture before it can smudge the bright concealer keeping his dark circles out of sight. Henry lets himself be pulled into a kiss, closing his eyes on cue. It could almost be a comforting gesture of affection, if he lets himself believe it. “You did well today. You’ll do well tonight.”

It is not encouragement, but a command. Henry knows this but as he leans a cheek into the large palm that cradles it, he decides to let himself take small comforts where he can. Pretending, after all, is what Henry does best.

“You’re due for a reward. Maybe next weekend, we can take a trip. Just you and me, huh?” Paul says, smiling. “How does that sound?”

Henry fights to keep his expression in check, even as his stomach roils. Flashes of memory assault in a steady stream: the sticky sweetness of pineapple juice sucked from Paul’s fingers, a pill on his tongue (and another and another), the smell of chlorine and saltwater on Paul’s skin. 

“I’d like that,” Henry says.

His smile—the one that he spent months practicing and polishing and perfecting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the training facility—is plastered on for several seconds before the door swings open, exposing him to the awaiting crowd. 

The roar of sound and light and energy used to send his heart skittering. Now, he lets it wash over him as he steps one leg out of the car, then the other, raising a hand into a robotic wave, and he tell himself this is good. The screaming of the crowd is what he wants, what he needs, because Henry has been made for their adoration, and without it, he is nothing. Their attention is what makes him valuable. It’s what keeps him alive. 

Paul places a hand at the small of his back as he steps out beside him, and Henry’s shoulders roll instinctively at the touch. Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Smile bright. He knows this dance too well to let something like exhaustion make him miss a step. 

“Henry!” A faceless voice cries out from the crowd of photographers. “Give us a smile!”

His beaming smile turns toward the voice like a sunflower growing toward the light. The mechanical movement of his head on his shoulders makes him feel like one of the animatronic figures he was frightened of as a child, hiding his face against his mother’s chest at an amusement park he doesn’t remember the name of. A lifeless imitation of a real human being, uncanny in resemblance but with none of the light behind the eyes. What makes Henry so different from that, really?

***

By the time the film screening is over, and they step out of the theater and into the afterparty ballroom, Henry’s eyes burn with fatigue. The comedown snuck up on him well before the credits rolled, and it was all Henry could do to keep himself awake and aware, pinching his legs in the discrete darkness of the theater. He knows that Paul will pull him aside soon, into some corner booth or a bathroom stall, and give him another bump to get Henry through the rest of the event. He will need it, and at this moment, he craves it. 

Evening has long faded behind them, but the night is just getting started. 

After the second bump, the world moves by him too quickly. The party becomes little more than flashes of light and color, impressions of touch on his back, his arms, his neck, his face. Henry recognizes some of the faces; the usual parade of executives and A-listers that either greet him with hungry fascination or outright indifference. (He might prefer the latter if the fear of falling out of favor of someone’s attention hadn’t been so thoroughly trained into him). 

Eliza Darling is there, of course, dressed to the nines in an elegant red gown and long, black gloves, but she regards her co-star as little more than a prop, a breathing mannequin, as they are pushed together for photo after photo after photo. 

Once the press has gotten their fill, the cameras and media badges begin to filter out of the crowd. That’s always the first sign that the shift is coming. The night will become something different soon. Eliza leaves, too, hung on the arm of this week’s PR arm-candy, not before exchanging tipsy kisses on the cheek with Paul, and one for Henry as well. Just in case any cameras are still lurking nearby. 

It’s not long after that Henry is ushered into the backseat of a limousine. Paul is there, pressed against his side, but there are others as well. The other Hollywood high-rollers—studio executives, the upper echelon of producers on their payroll—and, of course, their contracted Companion stars at their sides, like ornately decorated shadows. Henry recognizes the others. It isn’t yet common practice to employ Companion labor in film and television, and some studios forbid it outright. Maxwell Entertainment has taken no such stance. 

Still, there are only a few of them in the business, and Henry knows each of them with some degree of intimate familiarity. 

Across from Henry and Paul sits Geoffrey Bellmonte, a sitting board member of Maxwell Entertainment, and nuzzled into his neck is a young man Henry knows as Aspen. Henry tilts his head to Paul's shoulder the way he knows he likes and tries to avoid both sets of eyes. 

It’s not often that Henry is made to perform with Aspen—at least not nearly as often as he is with some of the other favored Companions in the Inner Circle—and for this, he is grateful. They still spend plenty of time together in close quarters at events and afterparties like this one, and at each one Henry tries his best to fly under Aspen’s radar. 

He is a lithe, fox-faced beauty, all pointed features and long limbs. Henry knows that some of his features are the product of a customized plastic surgery plan, implemented before his final contract was ever signed, same as all of them, but there is an undeniable natural beauty underneath. The only thing sharper than his cheekbones is his whip-smart tongue. He gets away with more than most in his position. His cutting remarks and cold condescension—often aimed at Henry—are generally met with a level of endeared amusement from the Keepers. 

Several years ago, Aspen was the first contracted Companion to star in a major studio film. His contract used to belong to Paul himself, but everyone knows that Mr. Maxwell prefers to keep fresh talent cycling in. Nobody gets to stay under him for more than a few years if they’re lucky, but if they prove to be a fan favorite onscreen and an equally favored asset behind the scenes, their contract stays within the Inner Circle a little longer. 

It’s a widely known but unspoken truth that Aspen, growing closer to 30 with each passing day, is nearing the end of his welcome. 

After, when they are alone, Paul sometimes attempts to assuage Henry’s hurt feelings with silken promises that Aspen is only cruel to him because he’s jealous. Of Henry’s youth, of his beauty, of his time in the limelight. He sees in you an image of himself that he can never recreate, he tells him, as if someone else’s misery could somehow make Henry feel better. 

They arrive at Paul’s house in the hills a little after 2 a.m., where the exclusive after-after-party has already begun to trickle in. There will only be about thirty to forty people in attendance this time, and much of that crowd will end up dispersing into groups of two or three or more into guest bedrooms and balconies and hot tubs. 

Henry doesn’t know which he will end up in, and it does him no good to try and predict how the night will go ahead of time. 

***

Every light in The Hills House is programmed to change color at the click of a remote. Tonight, every inch is bathed in blood red. 

It’s exactly the kind of dramatic flair Paul Maxwell is known for, in his life and in his work. Henry thinks the red light and shadows make the house look like a nightmare in his memories. 

Still beaded in sweat from the brief three-way exchange he was pulled into on the living room floor, Henry sprawls among a tangle of bodies on the couch. One thigh is hooked over Paul’s lap, while his back leans against the broad chest of an older man he only ever sees at these kinds of parties. Fingers—he isn’t entirely sure whose—card through his damp hair, over and over. Is it pool water or sweat making the strands plaster to his head? He doesn’t remember, but he leans into the soft repetition, letting his eyes drift shut. 

How long has it been since he slept?

Call time was at six this morning—yesterday?—so that means transpo would have been outside to pick him up by five-thirty, and Henry would have had his alarm set by…

“Looks like someone is tapping out early.” Henry peels his eyes open at the saccharine voice, dripping with condescension. His tilted vision converges to form the smiling face of Aspen, who is draped over Geoffrey’s lap in the chaise across from him. “What’s wrong, Henry? Didn’t get enough beauty sleep?”

Paul’s hand lands heavily on his thigh, and the man pressed against his back rumbles with soft laughter. Geoffrey chuckles into the side of Aspen’s neck. The young man tilts his head to the side with practiced ease, opening himself to the affection, but his sharp eyes hold Henry’s the whole time. 

“Sorry,” Henry mutters, mostly for Paul’s benefit. The apology is met with a sharp squeeze, which Henry can interpret as either acknowledgement or warning. He will find out for sure later. 

“Looks like your boy could use another taste, Paulie,” the man under Henry says, the words vibrating through his upper body. 

“You offering?” 

Henry is jostled as the man reaches into his pocket for something just out of his line of sight. Whatever he holds up makes Paul’s eyes light with amusement. 

“How does he do with Lucy?”

Paul reaches over to scratch Henry’s belly, which makes him feel like a pet. “I think that’s a new one for you, sweetheart. Yeah?”

Henry doesn’t know what “Lucy” is, but almost all of his experience with drugs has been in Paul’s presence, so that must be true. He swallows, forcing himself to nod.

Paul’s eyes cut over his head, meeting Sal with a nod. “Go on, then.”

A hand from behind him taps twice on his cheek. “Open up,” he says. Henry obeys, and immediately a small tab that feels like paper is placed on his tongue. “Don’t swallow it. Just let it sit.”

Henry nods again, trying to hide his reaction to the bitter, sharp tang. 

The effect isn’t instantaneous, like it is with the bumps he takes off of Pauls’ fingers. For a long while, Henry lays there with his head on Sal’s lap, staring at the ceiling as the party moves around him. At some point, hands begin to wander again, sliding over his chest, stomach, legs, face, neck. 

Across from him, Geoffrey pulls Aspen into a deep, consuming kiss, but when Henry looks that way, he catches Aspen stealing glances at him. This time, it seems the usual coldness in his expression has been washed out by something he can’t quite identify.

***

Henry wakes up in hell.

It’s not the first time he’s had that thought upon waking, but it’s the first time it’s been true in such a literal sense. 

This is the hell from the Bible, the hell from his childhood, all fire and brimstone gnashing of teeth, and Henry has woken here, consumed by the flames. 

His limbs shoot out in every direction, flailing—or at least he means to? Is his body moving? There is something wrapped around him, suffocating him. Long cascading limbs. No, they’re tentacles. And he’s… He’s so hot. They’re killing him. He has to get free, free, free, free—

The flames stick to his skin like hot wax as he lands on the ground, soft and scratchy under his hands and knees. He crawls forward, desperate to escape the heat. He doesn’t know where he is and the ground gives beneath the weight of his palms, shifting between sand and concrete and carpet. 

Some part of him he doesn’t quite have access to knows there is water, and knows (hopes?) he is heading toward it. It is this thought alone that drags him forward, down winding tunnel-like hallways. Water. Water. 

Water. 

Water. 

Water. 

Light floods his vision. Henry spins around, thinking he’s been caught (by who? Who is he running from?), but he sees his own hand resting on a lightswitch. And then, much to his horror, he watches his fingers melt down the wall like candle wax. That can’t be good. Can it?

He doesn’t care, though, because then there is water! Water! He found it! It runs cold and beautiful over his hands, and then his arms, and then Henry is rubbing it all over his body, splashing it into his hair, on his face. He has never felt happier than at this moment. 

“Shit,” someone says behind him, and Henry watches as the word spells out in front of him in big, white, puffy letters. S H I T. He reaches for them and they dissipate like clouds of smoke. 

“Shit,” Henry whispers. It echoes through the cave behind the waterfall. “I found a waterfall,” he remembers to tell the person standing behind him. He feels it’s important to tell him this. Who is that anyway? Should he know him? “Do you want some water?”

But then the water stops, and Henry is so sad. 

“It’s all over the floor,” The Voice says again. 

Henry looks down at that, and the floor around his feet is squirming with neon-pink, rice-sized worms. They wriggle under his toes, some of them crawling up his ankles, cold and wet and slimy.

Henry begins to cry. 

“Shhhh. Henry, shh.” The shhhhhhhhh moves through the cave like wind, Henry can feel it blowing through his hair. He can’t stop crying. “Henry, listen to me. Look at me, please. You need to be quiet.”

Cold blocks of ice touch his cheeks, Henry leans into the touch but they melt quickly into the warmth of skin. Hands. Somebody’s hands. 

He follows the movement as the hands turn his head, and in front of him stands a tall, skinny man with a fox face. The fox is talking to him. Henry’s eyes are wide, but he can feel the tears burning his face like raining fire, and then he remembers he’s in hell. He lets out a wail. 

The fox says “shit” again. The words don’t appear this time. The bathroom door slams shut. When did they leave the cave?

“Henry, you’re okay. Can you take a few deep breaths for me?”

He listens, picturing his lungs like big, fat balloons inside his body, inflating his chest to twice its size with each breath. The air feels good. 

“Can I have my water back?” Henry asks the fox man. 

“You’re currently covered in it. Maybe let’s try inside the shower this time.”

The shower sounds nice. Put me in the shower, please. Thank you. You have to remember your manners, Handler Rex said. Please and thank you, ma’am and sir, you have to remember your place. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just close your eyes and feel the water for a minute. Try to keep breathing.”

The waterfall is back and he is standing directly beneath the stream. It’s nice. 

***

Henry opens his eyes and he’s on the bathroom floor. Aspen sits in front of him in nothing more than a pair of light-blue boxer briefs. 

“Don’t be mean to me,” Henry says. “You’re always mean to me.”

He can’t tell what face Aspen makes at that, because colors start to smear together, dripping like an ice cream cone on a hot day. 

“Maybe your skin is too thin.”

Henry looks down at his arms, turning them over and over. He can see the blood and bones and muscle and sinew beneath the paleness. Shit. Maybe he’s right. 

“Not your actual skin, numbskull. Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus Christ,” Henry echoes in a whisper. He doesn’t think he’s in hell anymore, so that name is probably okay to say here.

“The good news is you probably won’t remember most of this in the morning.”

“You looked like a fox.”

Aspen raises an eyebrow, and it keeps going higher and higher until it disappears into his hairline. Henry blinks and it’s back to normal. 

“A fox, huh? Are you hitting on me now?”

Henry pinches his face together. “No?”

“I know, Henry.”

“Okay. Why are you mean to me, Aspen?”

“Oh god. I’m way too sober for this.”

“Aspen?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Okay.”

“You’re really fucked up, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m really fucked up.”

“Look, I… I’m sorry, okay? About this. I didn’t mean to prompt that asshole to drug you. If anything, I thought he would just give you another bump to get you through the last couple hours. I didn’t… I knew Paul would get mad if you started snoring on Sal’s lap in the middle of the party.”

There’s too many words. The white, bubble letters try to spell them out, but they start popping like balloons before they can finish a sentence. Henry stares after them, trying to make sense of what’s happening. 

“I don’t really know what you’re saying,” Henry tells him honestly.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I can say it.”

“Am I going to feel like this forever?” He thinks he might cry again if that’s true. 

“No, Henry.”

H E N R Y. The bubble letters don’t pop this time. They float up and up and up until they disappear into the sky. He doesn’t think that’s his name, but he’s talking so nice and gentle to him, so he doesn’t bother correcting him. 

“It will be over soon. Just close your eyes. I’ll stay right here.”

*****

TAG LIST:

@hold-him-down - Let me know if you wanna be added! :)

[skzstoryvault]

Pretty Princess (Chan, smut)

F!Reader x Husband!Chan

Standalone story

Reader uses Chan's insecurities for sex

Established relationship.

Chan deserves all the attention and the love. He needs to be the princess too sometimes.

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real person Chan. I just like the SKZ outward personas they all project and I get inspired to write these. No connection with the real artists. They all deserve the world.

Story includes smut, reader calls the shots, shy Chan, praise, uncomfortable but not unpleasant wristy

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

***

“I don’t know. Is it okay? Or too much?” Chan asks, walking out of your shared wardrobe. “Is it slutty? I don’t want to be slutty this once. But I still don't own a suit."

“Babe, stop worrying. You aren’t dressing for them, you’re dressing for me. And you know I'd show you off just as much in Ipanemas and a single hollowed out pineapple on your dick." “Are you sure it won’t be an issue?” He is standing there, in black jeans that hug his thighs just right, and a black Givenchy t-shirt that has a very inconspicuous embroidered black logo. “You could go to a convent in this fit and you wouldn’t be out of place.” You say, somewhat disappointed. “If I’m dressing for you… would you choose what I should put on? I wanna be good for you.” “Channie.. You are always good for me.” You soften and step close, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him close, kissing him slowly. “I’m just a horndog, always thinking of getting my hands on you. Doesn’t matter what you have on, I’m just thinking of when I get to take it off.” 

“Fuck.” He says, as a response to your words and as a reaction to feeling himself start to fill up in his pants. “I can’t go hang out with your parents like this.” “We have time, babe,” you say. “And I was going to say. If I should get to pick what you wear, I’d need you out of this shirt anyway.” He immediately pulls it up over his head and off, standing before you in just the pants, which you open, carefully pulling the zipper down. Now that so much skin is on display, you take a nice, long, appreciative look at your artistry from last night. A trail of strategically placed hickies decorates Chan's front, from his collarbones downward, over his pecs and abs, disappearing under the hem of his underwear. You know that similar wine-coloured marks adorn his hips, inner thighs and even the insides of his knees. Your need to touch and taste him is ever-present and overwhelming. Still eating him with your eyes, you go to the jewellery cabinet and pick one of your items. A gold chain necklace, that wraps around the neck and continues down with another length of chain which connects it to a waist chain. You tie it around Chan’s neck and waist, pausing to admire the result, unable to resist slowly running your thumbs over his now hard nipples. Chan looks gone. He’s holding his breath, his pupils are dilated as far as they can go and a delicate blush tints his skin from his abs to his cheeks. 

You pick another item, a string of Ghana beads, made with gold and gems, tying it around Chan’s waist as well, watching it settle lower, on his hips. Lastly, you take a sleeveless, plain white jersey shirt from the wardrobe and hand it to your boyfriend to put it on. As soon as he pulls it over his head, you grab your alteration scissors from the drawer and go to town on the shirt. Since the fabric is jersey, you don’t have to worry about it unraveling where you cut it. The pretty cutout pattern seems random, but it’s not, and the places at Chan’s sides where you cut whole patches out expose the jewellery outlining his trim waist. 

You take his hand and lead him to the full length mirror on the door of your wardrobe. 

“My pretty baby, you did so well. This is how I want you, so I can show you off to the world.” You whisper, moving your lips against the soft skin of his neck. 

His lips part in a silent gasp, seeing himself like this, in a far more daring outfit than he would have thought of putting on. Seeing you whisper into his skin like a demon leading a virgin into sin with honeyed whispers. His jeans are still open, the way you left them, and the jailbreak in his underwear doesn’t look as painful as it could be with a zipper pulled up over it. Not breaking eye contact with him in the mirror, you reach in and free his cock from behind the fabric barrier. Your pointy, long nails clack together when your hand squeezes around him, then slowly drag down his length. He’s so hard and the moment the weight of his cock rests against your palm, you can feel its rhythmic throbbing, like a pulse. You grip him harder than you think is comfortable and watch him. If he minds that, he’s not showing it, just twitching more in your grip. You don’t even have to carry on for long, just skate the pad of your thumb over the slit in the tip and caress up and down the length with a slight twisting motion. It can’t be comfortable, and normally guys use some sort of slick stuff to make the slide easier, but Chan is turned on out of his mind, which is where you need him. “Look at you. My god boy. My pretty princess, letting me do everything I want to you.” You purr in his ear, earning yourself a high pitched mewl. “But I want to be nice, you’re nothing but good for me and that deserves a reward. My pretty baby.” You punctuate your latest pet name with a sharp nail gently sliding over his slit, then lower, to the underside, where the head is most sensitive, and that’s what throws him over the edge. He comes with a surrendering moan, panting and reaching blindly for a point of support, his head resting back on your shoulder. 

“I’m… gonna need a moment.” He says, sorting himself back in his underwear and closing his jeans, watching you wipe your hand clean of his come with one of the patches you cut from his shirt. You then step into your shoes, which have you being slightly taller than him, whereas before you were the same height. “You may have taken me apart a bit too far.” 

“Are you saying you’d rather I drove? I can do that, baby boy. You just relax.” You offer. You love the idea of him just swimming in the endorphins, not having to focus on anything and later getting tipsy on Wildberry Lillets at the party. You know how that ends usually, with you fucking him by the pond at the back of the garden or in the piano room where nobody goes these days. Later, at the garden party your parents threw at your childhood home, there is not a single woman or man who is not drooling at Chan. He is blushing and squeaking when someone makes him shy with a remark or makes him laugh. Your mom walks up to you with a Veuve Clicquot flute in hand. “Maybe next time teach your husband to dress more modestly, he’s supposed to let you shine. No one’s been able to string two thoughts together since you two arrived and he took off his jacket. Animals, all of them. At my boujee function.” “But Channie is letting me shine. Who do you think picked his outfit? You taught me to go for what I want and settle for nothing less, mom. And you taught me well.”

[py-dreamer]

Yea so I finally got tired of making the canvas size so bloody small the damn banner has a higher resolution than the actual pic.

And oopsie doopsie! Looks like I posted over the time limit again!

Another dumb dumb thing I realized is that last year me was actually right. And this year I got the countdown wrong. I was basically counting down including my birthday so I started on the goddamn 11th when if I did continue like this I would've ended up saying it was '1 day till my birthday' on my actual f*cking birthday.

So yea, love that -_-.

Regardless, quite happy with how Sandy turned out!

I think he was kinda easier to do cause since he's bigger, he fills up more space but I still think the cake is decently jam packed with enough decorations.

The cake itself is similar to a cheesecake but the top layer is like a jelly with fruits suspended in it, that being: a pineapple slice, an orange cutie and two star shaped fruits probably like mango or just something tropical and acidic.

(Also fun fact if u look closely there are scratch marks on the cake lol)

We have the magic flower from that one episode to decorate the corner.

Of course the kitties sprinkled throughout.

Sandy's boat might be the most detailed sugar cookie I've done thus far, would not do it again though.

Mans is sitting on an orange macaron, my dad thought it was a burger -_-.

Not much to say about the ribbon but I was scared if I gave him the pink beaded necklace thing, he'd look to top heavy so I draped them around the cake instead.

His weapon, the moon bladed thingy (I actually don't know what it's called) and that thing next to it that Mo's hanging off of is a spoon stabbing a cherry. The splash of red broke up the blue nicely.

(And if you're curious yes that is a tiny spider friend accompanying our blue subject ^u', seems he's quite fond of him don't you think?)

He has the most fruit thus far I think with: pineapple, orange, a cherry and more tropical fruits like I mentioned earlier.

And that's his cat teapot from his introduction! It was too cute! I had to use it!!!

As well as a very large teacup holding a cat, yes they're both necessary. Nothing much to say about the balloon though.

Sandy has a pink bow, cause I feel like sometimes we forget pink is his accent color and let him be cutesy for a bit!

Very cutesy. Very mindful. Very demure.

He also has a silver star cause he is best boiii!!!

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

People requested I make another post, this time detailing what affects Cove's Step 3 appearance, so that's what I'm doing today!

My previous post contains more details about the specific mechanics behind it, but the short and sweet of it is that things that your MC notices/picks up/favors/focuses on will influence Cove's appearance, but there are a couple that aren't like that and will change him anyway. If you want to get a different Cove than you had before without using the Cove Creator, try choosing different taste/aesthetic-based options, though keep in mind that there isn't a guarantee that it'll completely change him.

As for going through without using the Cove Creator, the only moments in Step 2 that don't have anything that will affect Step 3 Cove's look are Wave and Summerwork, so feel free to pick whatever you want in both of those. Everything else has at least something.

All that said, here's the list of every chance you have to change Step 3 Cove's appearance:

Step 2 Intro

If MC allows Derek and Cove to dig into the fruit bouquet {note that this will give Cove +1 warm points}:

You took a pineapple skewer. [no bracelet(s) on left wrist]

You took a grape skewer. [black wristband on left wrist]

You took a strawberry skewer. [no bracelet(s) on left wrist]

You took a melon skewer. [chain bracelet and beaded wrap bracelet with jewel on left wrist]

When Kyra asks the MC for recommendations for places to eat:

You shrugged. [spiky hair] {note that this will give Cove +1 cold points}

"Not really." [middle-parted hair] {note that this will give Cove +1 warm points}

"Sure, I have a couple of favorites." [no change}

You nodded. [no change}

If the MC agrees to give Kyra restaurant suggestions:

"The Chinese restaurant." [spiky hair]

"The tropical themed place." [ponytail hair]

You insisted Cove contribute to the decision. [middle-parted hair]

You insisted Kyra decide. [ponytail hair]

When Kyra asks the MC what kind of drink they'd like

"Just water." -> "Lemon." [white, yellow, and green striped shirt]

"Just water." -> "No." [black shirt]

"Soda." -> "Cola." [black shirt]

"Soda." -> "Orange." [white, yellow, and green striped shirt]

"Soda." -> "Grape." [white shirt with blue and white gradient button-up]

"Soda." -> "Lemon lime." [white, yellow, and green striped shirt]

"Soda." -> "Root beer." [black shirt]

"Soda." -> "Ginger ale." [white shirt with blue and white gradient button-up]

"Milk." (if MC is not vegan) -> "Just plain." [black shirt]

"Milk." (if MC is not vegan) -> "Chocolate." [white shirt with blue and white gradient button-up]

"Milk." (if MC is not vegan) -> "Strawberry." [white, yellow, and green striped shirt]

"Milk." (if MC is not vegan) -> "Soy." [black shirt]

"Soy milk." (if MC is vegan) [black shirt]

"Juice." -> "Orange." [white, yellow, and green striped shirt]

"Juice." -> "Apple." [white shirt with blue and white gradient button-up]

"Juice." -> "Lemonade." [black shirt]

"Coffee." -> "Iced with cream." [white, yellow, and green striped shirt]

"Coffee." -> "Hot with cream." [white shirt with blue and white gradient button-up]

"Coffee." -> "Iced, no cream." [white shirt with blue and white gradient button-up]

"Coffee." -> "Hot, no cream." [black shirt]

Growing

When the MC and Cove choose to make sandwiches:

You wanted to make a sweeter style of sandwich. (unavailable if MC chose a lettuce wrap) [no change]

You wanted to make a truly savory style of sandwich. [necklace]

If the MC chose to make a sweeter sandwich:

Peanut butter. [brown leather wristband with red bracelet on right wrist]

Cashew butter. [blue beaded bracelet and green jeweled bracelet on right wrist]

Honey. [multi-colored bracelets on right wrist]

Marshmallow fluff. [no change]

Chocolate hazel nut spread. [brown leather wristband with red bracelet on right wrist]

Strawberry jam. [multi-colored bracelets on right wrist]

Grape jelly. [blue beaded bracelet and green jeweled bracelet on right wrist]

Orange marmalade. [no change]

Banana slices. [no change]

Mango slices. [multi-colored bracelets on right wrist]

Strawberries. [no change]

Apple slices. [brown leather wristband with red bracelet on right wrist]

If the MC chose to make a savory sandwich:

Ham slices. [multi-colored bracelets on right wrist]

Turkey slices. [brown leather wristband with red bracelet on right wrist]

Tofu. [no change]

Hummus. [blue beaded bracelet and green jeweled bracelet on right wrist]

Egg salad. [no change]

Lettuce. [brown leather wristband with red bracelet on right wrist]

Tomatoes. [blue beaded bracelet and green jeweled bracelet on right wrist]

Red onions. [multi-colored bracelets on right wrist]

Cucumber. [no change]

Avocado. [multi-colored bracelets on right wrist]

Peppers. [blue beaded bracelet and green jeweled bracelet on right wrist]

Pickles. [no change]

Cheddar cheese. [no change]

Pepperjack cheese. [no change]

Mozzarella. [no change]

Family

If the MC agrees to do a show with Lee (note that you can pick multiple of these, so whatever you pick last will take priority):

"I'll sing too." [distressed blue jeans]

"I'll dance." [yellow pants]

"I'll play an instrument." [yellow pants]

"I'll write the song." [green cargo pants]

"I'll do some kind of stunt that goes to the music." [black cargo pants]

"I'll pick the outfits." [distressed blue jeans]

"I'll do the makeup." [white pants]

"I'll make a backdrop or some kind of stage." [black cargo pants]

When picking a movie to watch with the family:

"I wanna watch a romcom." [distressed blue jeans]

"I'd prefer to watch a horror." [black cargo pants]

"I think sci-fi is best." [green cargo pants]

"I'm in the mood for an action movie." [distressed blue jeans]

"Maybe we should watch a family friendly film?" [white pants]

"A comedy would be great." [yellow pants]

Dinner

When the MC has the opportunity to name Cove's fish:

(if Fond/Crush)

"Yeah, I do!" [no change]

"Can I?" [no change]

"No thanks." [rectangular blue glasses]

(if Indifferent)

"Can I name a fish?" [no change]

You kept quiet. [rectangular blue glasses] {note that this will give Cove +1 cold points}

And then when picking a fish to name if agreed:

"The smallest fish." [rectangular maroon glasses]

"The medium fish." [no change]

"The biggest fish." [rounded red glasses]

Road Trip

After Cove asks the MC what they like in other people (if MC pressed and pursued the anklet conversation with him):

"Muscles." [no change]

"Pretty hair." [no change]

"Glasses." [rounded red glasses] (only if Step 3 Cove didn't already have glasses set for him)

"Blue eyes." [no change]

"Everything about you." (if MC is on Crush) [no change]

Mall

As MC decides where they want to go in the mall:

A clothing store. [dark gray mosaic formal shirt]

An accessory shop. [dark gray mosaic formal shirt]

The makeup store. [taupe formal shirt]

A video game store. [taupe formal shirt]

The chocolate shop. [taupe formal shirt]

The pet store. [dark gray mosaic formal shirt]

A camping and outdoor supplies shop. [dark gray mosaic formal shirt]

The food court. [dark gray mosaic formal shirt]

A bookstore. [taupe formal shirt]

An art and supplies store. [dark gray mosaic formal shirt]

A music shop. [taupe formal shirt]

If the MC decides to pick a windchime for Cove and it:

Had a dolphin charm. [no bracelet(s) on left wrist]

Was a simple design of just silver poles. [black wristband on left wrist]

Had crystal strands. [chain bracelet and beaded wrap bracelet with jewel on left wrist]

Birthday

When Cove asks the MC what they bought for Miranda:

You picked out a stuffed animal. [white and blue pajama shirt]

You grabbed a necklace and bracelet set. [white and green pajama shirt]

You had found a lighthearted adventure book. [white and green pajama shirt]

You chose a yarn craft kit that made a toy. [white and blue pajama shirt]

You let your moms pick. [white and green pajama shirt]

Your moms didn't appreciate what you had picked and chose something else. [white and blue pajama shirt]

After the unnamed teen offers Cove and MC party favors:

You wanted one of the headbands. -> You pointed to a blue hat. [blue striped pajama pants]

You wanted one of the headbands. -> You pointed to a pink hat. [blue striped pajama pants]

You wanted one of the headbands. -> You pointed to a purple hat. [blue striped pajama pants]

You wanted one of the headbands. -> You pointed to a green hat. [gray striped pajama pants]

You picked a crown. [gray striped pajama pants]

You didn't want one. [gray striped pajama pants]

Escapade

When Cove points out to Kyra that he didn't bring shoes:

"You should always bring shoes when you're going out." [blue swimming trunks] {note that this will give Cove +1 cold points}

"I'm not wearing any either." {note that this will give Cove +1 warm points} -> "I don't know." [blue swimming trunks]

"I'm not wearing any either." {note that this will give Cove +1 warm points} -> "We can't." [pink swimming trunks]

"I'm not wearing any either." {note that this will give Cove +1 warm points} -> "It doesn't matter." [pink swimming trunks]

"It doesn't matter." [pink swimming trunks] {note that this will give Cove +1 warm points}

Soiree (both Cove's and Derek's version)

When the MC is choosing an outfit:

You looked for something formal. [black stud earrings] (if your Step 3 Cove currently has the spiky hair) or [silver huggie earrings] (if your Step 3 Cove currently has the ponytail hair)

You wanted to keep things casual. [no change]

You wondered how Cove/Derek might feel about your outfit. (if MC is not going alone and is crushing on Cove/Derek) -> You didn't want to look stupid in front of Cove/Derek. [no change]

You wondered how Cove/Derek might feel about your outfit. (if MC is not going alone and is crushing on Cove/Derek) -> You wanted to impress Cove/Derek. [black stud earrings] (if your Step 3 Cove currently has the spiky hair) or [silver huggie earrings] (if your Step 3 Cove currently has the ponytail hair)

You wondered how Cove/Derek might feel about your outfit. (if MC is not going alone and is crushing on Cove/Derek) -> You didn't want to come across as too excited. [no change]

You wondered how Cove/Derek might feel about your outfit. (if MC is not going alone and is crushing on Cove/Derek) -> You didn't want to look like you were taking this too seriously. [no change]

You wondered how Cove/Derek might feel about your outfit. (if MC is not going alone and is crushing on Cove/Derek) -> You wanted him to see you in a new light. [black stud earrings] (if your Step 3 Cove currently has the spiky hair) or [silver huggie earrings] (if your Step 3 Cove currently has the ponytail hair)

Step 2 Ending

If you didn't play Family nor chosen any options that change Cove's pants: [distressed blue jeans]

In addition to all of these, if you've noticed that a third bracelet on Cove's left wrist is missing, it's because you can only give it to him in the Step 3 intro. It's a black bracelet with a weave-like pattern that the MC can give to him if they chose to buy Cove a gift rather than give him something that couldn't be bought.

The only requirement necessary is that Cove has to have worn a bracelet of any kind during Step 2, meaning the shark tooth wrap bracelet on his right wrist, the pink beaded bracelet on his left wrist, or the brown and tan right wristband. The option won't appear among the potential bought gifts otherwise.

If your Step 3 Cove is already wearing a bracelet on his left wrist, he'll remove it to replace it with the one you bought for him, so don't do this if you like the one he's already wearing more.

And that's all! Whether you wanted to figure out how to make your ideal Cove look without the Cove Creator or were simply curious as to which Step 2 options affect his appearance, now you know!

[lifenconcepts]

Horrid Henry headcannons  (the show one, there is a distinction) (not going into the basics of him being abused or whatever)

Undiagnosed adhd.

Has issues with falling asleep and/or staying asleep.

Has probably gotten in trouble for doodling rude characatures of his teachers and people he dislikes.

Definetely snuck out a few times at night.

Love language is quality time.

Loves to get a rise out of others by pretending to like things that people find disgusting (like pineapple pizza) but in reality doesn’t like them either.

Loved to cover and uncover his ears quickly in a school cafeteria to get that funny audio noise.

Wears long clothes practically religiously to avoid being perceived.

Probably daydreamed of tons of things he wanted but into his adolescence wanted a car to “get away forever” or atleast travel out of home often.

Had a time period where he listened to the group “The Smiths”.

Loves the musical group Mindless Self Indulgence.

Is deep in denial about having self confidence issues, and tries to pull off the idea he has a god complex.

Had a burner phone he got tons of songs on and whenever limited in tv or other things can always rely to have the phone (since his parents don’t know about it).

Likes to collect CDs and loves to go to flea markets or thrift shops for cheap ones, for a few from finding them near trash bins.

Loves the night but is too wimpish to actually go out alone unless it’s to Ralph’s.

Hates anything touching his neck (clothing tags, long necks/collars, necklaces).

Has likely grown out a mullet at least once in his life.

Likes to dance unless it’s for someone or something.

Has been left home alone multiple times and learnt to deal with it well.

Neglectful when it comes to keeping relationships as he doesn’t really know how to show attention or love to ‘em.

Loves 80s synth pop.

Touch repulsed and yet touch starved, has probably cried from receiving a genuine hug (likely from Ralph)

Liked to hum or whistle tunes and often gets told off for it.

Has probably broken dozens of chairs before, accidentally.

Is the guy to volunteer eagerly when the teacher calls for a “strong boy” to help stack plastic chairs.

When riding a bike loves to speed up until his legs ache and then fail to stop in time and crash into bushes.

Likely gets into antics which result with him getting dozens of bruises or scratches.

Has probably bitten people before.

Would laugh at queers before realising he is one himself.

Secretly wants to put make-up on himself like how some rock bands do but doesn’t want to be seen in it as it could make others think he’s girly.

Parents don’t believe him when he cries and so he gets sent to his room when he actually needs some comfort and cries himself to sleep while hugging Mr. kill or a pillow, has gotten a conditioned response of fleeing the scene of feeling genuinely threatened, but can stand up to himself.

Confident in his abilities and at the same time thinks he’s the worst person to ever exist in them.

Likes to lick his own blood or pick his own scabs.

Likely aromantic (I get his distaste to getting married is just a kid thing but I like to believe otherwise). Also take the episode “horrid Henry looks at love”.

Liked to chase cats or other small animals but wouldn’t hurt them for real, maybe just aggressively pet them but not anything more.

Prolly listened to Radiohead.

Likely has a small collection of different scrap bits and pieces from toys and other objects he found outside, from random bolts to lost keys from unknown locks, to even shards of metal from a broken bus.

Has probably slept across two seats on some sort of family gathering.

Probably would be into kandi beads and loom bands.

Liked black and red checkerboard patterns.

Probably would wear goth/punk clothes into his adolescence years. From depictions of skeletons and bones to spikey collars and leather jackets.

Pierced his own ears.

Tried to at some point control the universe or atleast take over the world.

Has stuck a fork into an outlet before.

Online likes to pretend to be a real life vampire or werewolf and has told people that he lives in an old castle.

Sweet tooth!

In school liked arts and crafts and often made makeshift creatures or robots.

Would love to partake in certain after school clubs but isn’t allowed due to teachers thinking he’s always gonna be a problem child.

Has a medal he won genuinely and hides it as his most prized possession, only boasting with the one he cheated in/stole.