#small loft conversion before

[lordansloftsuk]

In terms of adding extra room and monetary worth to your house, a loft conversion near me may be a beneficial addition. These are some of the best ideas and techniques for styling a loft conversion if you use it for the bedroom.

Some of the things you may do in loft conversions: Key Points

[writingoddess1125]

Luffy Finally realizes he Loves you!

Pure teeth rotting fluff

Buy me a Ko-Fi

• Was sitting with his crew and talking all about thinks in their past that they enjoyed and brings you up.

• "Oh yeah! Then my best friend (Y/N)! They are back at the village I grew up in and they always supported me! Even gave me the food and boat I uses to leave to start this amazing adventure!"

• He talks about your cooking, how you'd always pack him a lunch. How you smile so much and make sure he was okay, especially when him and his grandfather argued.

• Sanji and the rest of the crew raise an eyebrow at hearing Luffy babble on and on about you

• "Wow, They sound amazing. Gotta meet then one day" Sanji jokes, taking another drag of his cigarette. "They sound like a real beauty"

• Luffy couldn't help but get a very odd feeling st hearing Sanji call then a beauty. Like he got punched but on the inside this time-

• "Yeah, They are pretty I guess. But I like how nice they are, They and Shanks showed me what good people are truly like!"

• Nami giggled at this. She knew attraction like the back of her hand and the way Luffy described you, this was the closest she had ever heard of him even understanding attraction to anyone.

"Luffy, It sounds like you're in love with them?" Nami teased.

• "What! No no they are just.. Wonderful-" He pauses, Thinking over Nami's words. He had always cared about you- a lot! And always having a picture of you being by his side when he became pirate king anyway. You were just always ment to be there, and if it hadn't been for you taking care of your mother he was sure you would have come Sailing with him.

• Usopp laughing also at this as he could practically see the gears starting to turn in his head. "This is golden!" He hollered. Earning Nami smacking the back of his head. "....Am I in love with (Y/N)?..." Luffy pondered- Zoro who had been 'sleeping' against the wall but heard the whole conversation opened a single eye

• "From the sounds of it.. Yes-" Zoro deadpanned, Deciding to return to his nap. Luffy face turning a red color before he gave a loud laugh. Practically bouncing in his seat "If that's the case! Set sail for Foodha Village! I gotta go get (Y/N)!"

• You would be working at your mother's little supply shop, Assisting in restocking some important supplies when you hear a ruckus outside as everyone starts shouting in glee. Stepping out you see a massive ship either a rams head on the front-

• Marveking at it for only a moment before hearing a loud voice that was all to familiar "(YYYY/NNNNN)!!!!"

• Looking to see Luffy, brightly smiling on the ship with a small crew next to him. You couldn't help but smile widely at seeing your childhood friend and crush. Waving at him proudly

• "(Y/N)!! I gotta tell you something!!" Luffy yelled, Not even waiting for the ship to fully dock before he stretched his way to the docks and ran towards you. Much to your horror as he could have fallen into the water

• "L-Luffy you should have waited to do-" However where cut off as Luffy lofted you up with ease and laughed proudly

• "IM IN LOVE WITH YOU (Y/N)!! BECOME A PART OF MY CREW!!"

[mannequinreligi0n]

Mating Season

get bred, loser

pairing: dante x reader (female anatomy, gn pronouns)

wc: 2.2k

warnings: NSFW - breeding kink, monster-fucking, blood/blood play

author’s note: i’ve been meaning to write this for so long but unfortunately i am a depressed adult with a full time job, and finding time/energy to write is difficult :’) sorry if this isn’t up to standards or there’re mistakes. enjoy, smooches.

links: ao3

Twelve missed calls, six voicemails, and twenty-three texts from Dante is what you’re greeted with upon waking up - and it’s barely noon. Scrolling through the texts, you’re met with the ramblings of a madman, pleading for you to come over, to see him, to cancel your plans for the day. With a quick shower and change of clothes, you oblige in his wanton demands and head over to the loft.

You only manage a single knock before the door swings open and Dante is dragging you inside by the sleeve of your sweater.

“Dante! The hell has gotten into-“

”No time. Don’t ask.”

He pulls you straight into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Throwing you over his shoulder, he launches you onto the bed with a ‘thump’, your smaller form springing on the mattress. Dante reels over you, snatching your coat off and ducking his head into the curve of your neck with a deep inhale, nose sniffing your skin like a damn bloodhound.

”You showered,” he mopes, teeth pulling at the fragile skin of your throat. You squirm under the weight of him, hands pushing at his chest to levitate some of the burden.

”Yeah, so what?’

“You weren’t supposed to - I said not to. Did you even read my texts?”

”Dante, you’re being ridiculous. Do you even hear yourself?” You lift your head up to look at him, pushing him off of you. Dante makes a sad whine, a demeaning sound coming from the devil hunter. His messy locks flop down in front of his face and he lets out a long sigh, hands pawing at the fabric of your pants.

”I��m sorry, babe. God, you don’t have any idea how hard this has been without you,” he mumbles sheepishly, eyes fixated on the faint red mark he left on your neck. His hands trembled against your legs, clearly trying to hold himself back in order to have a coherent conversation with you. “I thought I could handle this alone, but I keep thinking about last week…how warm you felt, like that pretty little hole was made just for me,” he interrupts himself with a groan, hunching over as if in pain. You reach a hand up and push back the already sweaty strands to see his face, feeling his fevered skin brush your fingertips.

”Why didn’t you call me over sooner? You know I would’ve came,” you murmur, observing his needy state with a bit of concern.

”Didn’t wanna be a bother. I thought I could handle it on my own, y’know? I always have, but with you in the picture now-“ He lurches toward your hand on him, nuzzling into it with a choked breath. “Please…please, just-….just let me-“

You pet his cheek as you think over the proposition, mouth pursed. You finally agree with a small nod, pulling your hand away.

“Is it safe?”

”I won’t hurt you. I would never,” Dante reaches for your wrists, thumbs rubbing at the pulse points. He stares at you with his best ‘puppy-dog’ look, a pout on his lips. “I’ll be good, I promise. God, please, just let me fuck you - you got a man begging here.”

You chuckle and shake your head, pulling him back to you with a mumbled ‘c’mere’. Dante wastes no time latching himself back onto you, pulling your shirt off and biting down on your shoulder with a chesty groan. His hands work at your pants as he marks up your skin, the bites hard but nothing compared to the ones you’ll receive soon enough from his fangs. Clothes gone, you writhe under him and he sits up and sheds his own clothes, sparks of red already flitting off of his skin. Blue eyes morph red and he squeezes your thigh reassuringly, throwing you a shaky smile.

”You remember the safe-word, sweetheart?”

”Ciabatta.”

“Right.”

With a quick peck to your forehead, Dante rolls out his shoulders, cracking a few joints in his spine and neck. Warm, amber light coats his bedroom and Dante’s body morphs into his devil trigger, his nine-foot form casting a daunting shadow over your bare skin. Your breathing quickens at the sight - you’ve seen his DT before, but never like this, never between your legs and teeth glistening in your direction. Sensing your fear, Dante runs a knuckle over your cheek, mindful of his claws. A low, rustling rumble echoes from his vocal chords, bending down to meet his ghastly face to yours.

”It’s still me…” he breathes out, voice altered but still holding his signature lilt. Wings cocoon your body, cradling your form as he lifts you up to dangle in front of his chest. The heat of the flames rippling over his scales threaten to scorch your delicate flesh, the heat making your sweat glands break open and perspire. Dante’s mouth opens and an orange tongue lined with bumps and grooves laps a line across your own chest, taking in the decadent taste of you. Despite your trepidations, you can’t hold in the moan that drops from your mouth, eyes fluttering closed. Transparent, tangerine saliva drips down your abdomen as his tongue roams around, stimulating nerves from your throat to your navel, bumps dragging across smooth skin.

“My mate…Mine, mine,” Dante growls out, clawed fingers pinching at your thighs as he pushes your knees to your chest, wings supporting your weight from behind and below.

”Dante, c-careful, Jesus,” you whimper out, laser-focused on his claws dangerously close to shredding your skin open. All you get in response is another resonant growl, steam pillowing off his breath. Before you can warn him again, the sandpaper tongue swipes at your hole, making you shudder and go limp against his wings, forgetting your train of thought. One thing about Dante was that on the surface, he came off as reckless, impulsive - but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He had backup plans for his backup plans, and thought out every little thing. As much as your body was sounding off alarms to scramble away from the devil, he was taking the time necessary to warm you up before indulging himself - a preliminary ‘thank you’ for being a willing victim. You look up at Dante’s face, or what used to be his face, and lock eyes with the fiery orbs glaring down at you. It was hard to tell, but you could swear that little shit was smiling down at you, knowing you’ve put two and two together. A bass of laughter shakes his form, leaning forward to bump his forehead to yours as carefully as possible.

”Told you. No harm.”

You let out a shaky breath at his smartass remark, but it’s futile to steady your breathing. Dante’s tongue pushes into your hole, pointed and flexed as it slides between your inner walls. The feeling is indescribable, and for lack of a better word: devilish. Your juices coat the length of his tongue as it assaults you repeatedly, twisting in and out while talons keep you folded upright against your squirming. Heat floods your core as your release builds upon itself, gasps and symphonic moans invading the quiet room.

Dante can’t hold his instincts back when the taste and smell of your essence is practically reducing every cell in his body into a lust-driven beast. Ejecting his tongue, his wings cradle you down to the bed, knees kissing your ears in a mating press. Your thighs quake against his scaled palms, missing the fullness of his tongue. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but the words jumble into a whine of pain as his head propels to take a bite at your shoulder. Fangs puncture skin and the devil seems to purr as the crimson nectar dribbles from the bite and into his mouth. The receptors in his brain are screaming at him to bite down again and again and again til you’re a battered, bloody mess - every centimeter of flesh peeled back and consumed in the most carnal way.

Thankfully, the human conscious in him refrains and with another nibble to your neck, he withdraws and centers himself with the pulsating warmth beckoning him in. He doesn’t need to check how wet you are - he can smell it, the pheromones rippling off your sex in waves that rivaled a tsunami. A bulbed shaft stretches into your slick and your head shoots up with a scratchy yelp, pain radiating to your hips. A huff of steam leaves the devil’s nostrils, halting to save you more pain despite his needs. Dante watches your fingers go white against the bedsheets, hanging on for dear life, and you can see his wings wilt at the realization he’s letting his devil instincts get the best of him. A clawed hand grips both of small ankles to hold you in place, the other letting go to scoop up one of your hands. Scales run over the skin gingerly, your fingers curling around his thumb for security.

“Deep breaths, baby. Big, deep breaths for me,” he hums out, the mechanic whirring of his vocal chords carrying his voice past your panicked thoughts. You obey, chest rising and falling as your blurred eyes trace the flame spitting from the top of his head. Dante can feel your walls unclench around him and he takes it as a sign to keep going. It’s a slow and painful process, but inch after inch, he manages to squeeze about half of himself in before hitting your cervix.

‘Damn human anatomy,’ Dante curses internally, but makes peace with the complication, thankful enough that you're taking it like a champ. After a moment of stillness, ensuring you’re okay, he starts to move. Armored hips lurch in and out of your tight hole, hushed growls filling your ears. All you can do is lay there, pliant and accepting. Your hold on his finger tightens as your body rocks around with the thrust of his unnatural cock, his name the only coherent word you can manage while he jabs at your g-spot continuously. Dante’s teeth find their way back to your flesh, leaving bloody constellations along your legs. So consumed by the fullness of his girth, you don’t notice the ruby fluid dripping down your limbs from the bites, barely registering his tongue greedily licking you clean. Bursts of white spot your vision, core muscles tightening as your orgasm tears through you and a scream of pleasure brings tears to your eyes.

“Mine…Mine to fuck, mine to…to take…gonna look so good when you’re full of my cum…” Dante snarls against your skin, pounding his cock into the wall of your cervix with ferocity. He can’t take it anymore - he needs to come, he needs to watch it drip out of you precious cunt. Securing his hand around your ankle, Dante runts himself into your hole, gusts of wind sending goosebumps down your frame as his wings flap behind him with excitement. With a bellowing roar from him, you can feel the powerful deluge of seed swarm your body, gushing out and down your center. You feel like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck, limbs trembling and aching as you lay lifeless under him, gasping for air.

A glare of red light makes you wince, eyes straining against the light to see Dante devolve to his human form, dripping so much sweat it’s like he jumped in a pool. Dropping your ankles, he pushes himself between your legs and plants a sloppy, loving kiss on your mouth, hands threading in your hair. You kiss back weakly, shaky hands holding onto his arms. Pulling his head back, he examines you for any serious injuries, eyes conveying a battle of concern and satisfaction.

“You okay? Hurt? Was it too much? God, sorry- sorry, I-“

“Dante, I’m fine,” you let out a wavering chuckle, sitting up slightly. “That was…incredible. You were incredible.”

Dante meets your eyes again with a surprised laugh, in disbelief you’re praising him in a state like this. His fingers trail down to the bites along the outside of your thighs, vaguely recalling how your skin felt between his fangs in his primal craze. He remains plugged inside you, the intimate mixture of releases leaking between your bodies.

“Look at you…” Dante traces along a more gnarly mark in admiration, blood trickling over his finger. “How’d I get so damn lucky, huh?”

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks off the blood, that all-too-familiar teasing gleam in his eyes as they lock on yours. A throaty moan leaves him as he swallows, fingers falling away with a string of spit. The scene goes straight down to your heat, walls closing around on him with need. Sitting all the way up, you grab his hand and playfully nip at his wrist, dilated eyes devoted to memorizing him in this moment.

“Can we go again?”

“Again?” Dante laughs, raising both eyebrows at you. “Honey, I don’t think th-“

“Please,” you pout at him, kissing along his hand til you can slip two of his fingers between your lips. Dante’s jaw goes slack, a heady breath fanning over your face as his cock twitches inside you from your plea. With a hard swallow, he nods, free hand cupping your face.

“Fiiiiine,” he sighs out, putting on a show of dramatics before a smile tugs at his lips. “Flip over for me, princess.”

[bloatedandalone04]

No One Else

➪the one where you throw a housewarming party, and a.j. isn’t fond of all the guys staring at you in his new living room.

Warnings: this man is such a dom i swear, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, swearing, pda, jealous a.j., alcohol consumption.

Word Count: 3.4k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

A.J. hated house parties. He would much rather go out to the club or a bar as he felt like the parties he threw at his apartment got too crowded too quickly.

But he was doing this for you.

About three months ago A.J. asked you to move in with him. He loved you more than anything else and he wanted you around him all the time, and you felt the same way. You agreed and moved out of your small loft and into his massive condo across the city.

While you were used to the city life, you were a bit overwhelmed since he was in the middle of it all. It was loud and chaotic whenever you opened the sliding door of the balcony, and the lights kept you up at night. You didn’t say anything about it, not wanting to give A.J. any ideas, but it wasn’t long until he discovered your distaste for this side of the city.

It was a big difference to where you lived previously, and he felt guilty about the sudden change. 

So he offered to move away from all of it, to give up the city life he had been living in for around twelve years for a cute and modern house in a neighborhood just outside the city. 

He let you have full control over pretty much everything in the house; from the appliances in the kitchen to the paint color in the living room. A.J. gave you his credit card and told you to go crazy, and you really took his words and ran with them.

You bought countless pieces of furniture and when they arrived at the home, A.J. spent a good day and a half building them with Jake. 

Now, a full week after settling into the new place, you decided to throw a house party to really break it in. 

The house was a lot bigger than his apartment, so it wasn’t as crowded, but he still hated having so many people in his personal space. But A.J. knew it was all worth it when he caught your eye from across the living room and saw the way your lips turned upwards into a happy smile.

He really would do anything for you without an ounce of hesitation. 

A.J. crossed the room after wrapping up his conversation with Jesse, and his hands found their home on your waist as he stood behind you. He knew you were smiling as you listened to the story Rachel was telling you, and that smile only grew when he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. 

“You two are so cute, seriously,” Rachel beamed, finishing off her drink with a smile. “I can confidently say you were made for each other.”

“Just like you and Jake,” came your sweet reply and A.J. felt the corners of his mouth lift upwards as you sipped on your wine. 

“Speaking of,” he trailed off, lifting his head and looking around the packed room. “Where is your fiancé, Rach?”

Rachel furrowed her brows as she, too, looked around the room. “I’m not sure, actually,” she answered. “Let me know if you find him, and let me know if he looks like he’s had too much to drink. If he’s plastered, tell him he’s sleeping on the couch when we get home.”

A.J. laughed as he kissed the side of your neck before moving away from you. “Will do,” 

“Come find me later,” you requested in a soft voice, smiling at him afterwards. “I shouldn’t miss you this much in our own house.”

A.J. held back a groan as he moved towards you again and firmly gripped your jaw, pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. You grin against his lips and tangle your free hand in his hair, his lack of hat tonight making it very easy. “Damn, baby,” he muttered as he pulled away and you ran the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip. “You make a guy not want to leave.”

You grin at him and shrug. “Hurry back, Jay,” 

He bit his lip as he nodded and turned to go seek out his best friend. He found Jake in the kitchen talking to John, and they both looked like they were on the verge of being wasted. “A.J.! Hey, buddy!” Jake greeted as the tattooed man entered the room. “This is a nice place you got here.”

“Yeah, man, I like how secluded it is,” John added as he looked around the room. “You buy it with that two million we snagged from those transport trucks?” He asked loudly and A.J. had to deliver a quick slap to his shoulder to stop John from exposing the source of his income to all his new neighbors. 

And there were a lot of them. 

The neighborhood you were now living in was well populated, and you had taken it upon yourself to invite all of them to the party in hopes to get to know them. A.J. wasn’t very fond of strangers in his house, but it was just another thing he forced himself to deal with since he was so in love with you. 

“Keep your voice down,” A.J. muttered as John gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, man,” he laughed. “Your new neighbors were very generous with their housewarming gifts.” John held up the bottle of champagne with a bow tied around it, and A.J. just shook his head. 

“Just try not to tell the guests all our secrets, yeah?” 

John nodded and gave him a salute before wandering off towards the dining room where Gordon was. “A.J., buddy, I never thought I’d see you get out of the city, man,” Jake said as he leaned against the counter with a beer in his hand. 

“You and me both,” he murmured as he took the half empty bottle from Jake.

“The things we do for the women we love, huh?” Jake asked as he moved to sit down at the kitchen table. 

“Speaking of, Rachel told me that if I saw you and you were drunk, I have to tell you that you’re sleeping on the couch,” A.J. informed the tipsy man, who just laughed. 

“She might say that, but she can’t sleep without me, man, I’m like her personal pillow,”

A.J. shook his head and set the bottle on top of the fridge, knowing damn well that Jake could easily reach it. “Good thing she’s marrying you then,”

“Hey, when are you and your girl getting married?” Jake asked as he grabbed a handful of chips and ate them all at once. “You’ve been together about as long as Rachel and I have, when are you gonna ask her the question?”

“I don’t know, man,” A.J. answered as he avoided the crumbs flying out of Jake’s mouth with each word he said. “Soon.”

“You have the ring, don’t you?”

A.J. nodded and Jake grabbed one of the cookies off the dessert plate on the table. “Yeah, I’m just waiting for the right time,” 

Jake leaned back just as Rachel entered the kitchen and made her way over to the two guys. “Don’t wait too long, buddy,” he advised as Rachel moved to stand next to him. “Putting a ring on this one’s finger was the best decision I ever made.” He wrapped his arm around his fiancée’s waist as he smiled up at her. 

Rachel laughed as she draped her arm around Jake’s shoulders. “You’re planning on proposing?” She asked with excitement lacing her voice. “Do it soon, then Y/n/n and I can be engaged at the same time. Ooh, maybe a double wedding!”

A.J. shook his head with a smile as he looked towards the doorway, expecting to see you enter at any second since Rachel was now in here. When you didn’t, he glanced at your best friend and asked, “Where is she, anyway? You leave her to get lost in her own house?”

Rachel playfully rolled her eyes. “No, I was just making sure this guy was behaving,” she nudged Jake, who just continued smiling up at her. “Last I saw her, she was talking to the next door neighbor who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her all night.”

A.J.’s smile faded at that and he left the kitchen without saying another word. Rachel and Jake’s conversation faded into the background as he entered the living room again, and instead of finding you where he left you by the sliding door, you were by the couch and talking to some dark haired guy. 

While he knew he had no reason at all to be jealous, seeing as this was his own fucking living room he shared with you, A.J. still didn’t like seeing you around guys who clearly just wanted to sleep with you.

And this guy did a very bad job at hiding the fact that he wanted to fuck you. 

A.J. made his way over to you, receiving a slap on his shoulder from Jesse as he did so. You wanted him to find you later, and he was more than ready to take you up on that offer now. 

Your eyes drifted from the brunet and met A.J.’s, and a smile formed on your lips, instantly replacing the barely hidden look of boredom on your face.

The guy probably thought you were smiling at him, but A.J. sorted him out pretty quickly as he stepped around the stranger and wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you into his side and he didn’t even bother glancing at the guy’s face before he was pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. 

You return it immediately and lean into his touch when he lifts his free hand up to grip your jaw and angle your head, and you willingly give him full control of the kiss. He slowly pulls away and smirks at the way you keep your eyes closed for a few more seconds before he looks over at the guy, who did not look happy at all. “New friend, baby?” He asked, making you open your eyes and look over as well. 

“Um, this is….Dean?” You question and A.J. held back a laugh at the offended look Dean gave you. “He’s our new neighbor, Jay.”

“Nice to meet you,” A.J. said and ignored Dean’s outstretched hand as he turned back to you and leaned in close. “Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?” He asked under his breath as Dean stood awkwardly next to him. 

Your eyes widen and you let out a startled laugh. “A.J,” you gasp quietly and look over at your neighbor with a blush.

A.J. glanced over at him, too, before beginning to pull you towards the half-bath next to the hallway that led to yours and his room. You feebly waved at Dean as A.J. made a show of guiding you into the bathroom, a smug smirk on his lips when he saw Dean’s glare. 

Once he entered the bathroom as well, he closed the door and locked it before pushing you up against it. “I gotta say, baby,” he murmured as his hands pulled up the black material of your dress. “I’m not a big fan of our new neighbors.”

You lean your head back against the door as he bunches your dress around your hips and teased your clit through the thin material of your panties. “Why? Not friendly enough?” 

A.J. grunted as he pushed the lace material down your legs and let it drop to the tiled floor. “They’re too friendly,” he answered as he picked you up and set you down on the marbled countertop. 

You squeal at the cold surface against your burning skin and cling onto his shoulders. “Fuck, A.J.,” you mumble and tug at his suspenders. “What’s gotten into you? You were fine when you left to go find Jake.”

He would never admit that he was jealous of that prick in his living room, so he shrugged and kissed along your shoulders. “Nothings gotten into me,” he said under his breath. “But hopefully I can get into you.”

You moan loudly, despite being able to clearly hear the party guests outside the door. “Well, when you say it like that,” you tease and drop your hands to the button on his dress pants. “But we have to be quick, Jay. We’re hosting right now.”

“Fuck them,” he rasped as he reached his hand in between your bodies and sunk his index and middle fingers into your heat. “Fuck everyone out there, baby. We’re in our house. I should take you back out there and fuck you right on that couch.” 

You moan at his dirty words and run your hands through his hair, successfully making it messy. No one else got that privilege as he usually spent a good ten minutes doing his hair - just to throw a hat over it, but he would happily let you mess it up whenever you wanted. “You’d actually do it, too,” 

A.J. smirked at you as he worked you open with his fingers. “I would,” he agreed as he looked down. “You’re dripping, baby. Did the teaser I gave you in front of Dean turn you on that much?”

“That and you,” came your muffled answer as you buried your face against the side of his neck. “Are you really going to fuck me in the bathroom at a party?”

“Yes,” he answered as you unzipped his pants. “Unless you feel like waiting until everyone leaves and I can fuck you all over the house. Fair warning, though, I don’t think this party is dying any time soon.”

You moan and lift your head. “Get to it, then,” you murmur and pull him free. A.J. presses his lips to yours at the same time he enters you with a single thrust, and the feeling has you grasping onto his shirt tightly. “Fuck. Is this how you did it in the Ivy League? Fucking random girls in bathrooms during parties?”

“Had to practice somehow. And you’re not just a random girl,” he said back and you laughed before moaning rather loudly as he began to roughly fuck into you. You slap one hand over your mouth with wide eyes and he smirks. “Can’t be quiet, huh, baby?”

You shake your head as you lean back against the mirror. “No,” you agree and tug on his hair with your other hand. “I can’t be quiet when it comes to you, Jay. You make me feel so good.”

A.J. groaned when you clenched around him, and he knew he wasn’t much better. One of the perks of living in an actual house and not an apartment, was that you and he could be as loud as you wanted. 

Not that the thin walls of your last apartment stopped you from being loud. You’d received countless noise complaints, and they all were ignored by A.J., who just fucked you harder until the bed slammed against the wall with each thrust.  

It was like how he was fucking into you now. 

Your body moved further and further back on the counter until you had to place your hand flat against the marble, accidentally knocking over the bottle of soap in the process and making it fall to the floor. “Jesus,” you gasped as his hips rocked into yours. 

A.J. grunted and kept one hand on your hip while his other reached up to grip the side of your face. “God, you’re tight,” he rasped, making you smirk as you wrap your legs tighter around him. 

The smirk was promptly wiped from your face as he began roughly slamming into you, loud moans emitting from your mouth with each thrust. “Oh, my God,” you cried as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your hands bunching up his shirt tightly. “Fuck yes, Jay.”

A.J. groaned and pressed his mouth to yours, his tongue poking out and parting your lips, coating them in a layer of his spit. “Feel good, princess?” He teasingly asked and you nod uncontrollably. 

“Feels so good,” you answer, clinging onto him as you feel your release approaching embarrassingly fast. “So fucking good.”

He grunted, kissing all over your neck as you squeezed him over and over again. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he praised, reaching behind you to pull on your hair. 

You squeal a bit, hiking your body closer to his as you hear the sounds of the party-goers right outside the door. “I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you warned loudly, no longer caring about the guests hearing you at this point. 

“Already?” He mocked, pulling at your bottom lip with his thumb. “You needed me just as badly as I needed you, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, your body involuntarily bucking forward to meet his thrusts. “Oh, my fucking God, yes, please please please.”

A.J. gripped your waist in both hands, his still clothed thighs hitting the backs of yours as you moaned loudly in the surprisingly big half-bath. 

You grip his back and pull his chest against yours as you feel your release take over. “Oh, God,” you cried out as you clamped impossibly tight around him. “I’m coming.”

A.J. cursed under his breath as he felt your walls pulse around him before a warmth took him over. “There you go, baby. Give it to me,” he muttered, and your whines increased in volume. “Good girl.” He praised, kissing the skin under your ear as you writhed against him. 

“Are you…” you trailed off as you slumped against his chest, his hips still lazily rocking into yours. “Are you gonna come, too?”

A.J. let out a surprised moan at your dirty question and how sweetly you asked it. He leaned in and kissed you hard, using his hand to angle your head so he had better access to your mouth. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” you answer instantly. “I want it so bad.”

His eyes shut tightly as he buried his face against the side of your neck. “I’ll come for you,” he promised, feeling his stomach tighten with each slow thrust he gave. “I always will.”

You whine and pull him impossibly close as he came hard, his hips fucking his release deeper and deeper into you as he groaned loudly. 

When he pulls away, you smile shyly at him as you smooth out his shirt with  a quiet laugh. “Is it all out of your system now?”

“Is what all out of my system?” He asked as he pressed a chaste kiss to your mouth. “My unhealthy need to fuck you all over our new house? No, that won’t be out of my system for quite a while.”

You laugh then bite your lip as he pulls out of you, then he reaches down to run two fingers through your sensitive core. He collects his release onto his digits before lifting his hand again, and you lean in to wrap your mouth around them, hearing him grunt deeply as you clean himself off his fingers. “Tasty,” you smirk once you pull away. 

A.J. had to hold off on taking you right then and there as he felt himself grow a bit hard again. Instead, he cleaned you up, smoothed out your outfit and finished it off with a kiss to your lips. “You ready to go back out there?” He asked and you nodded. “Don’t be surprised when we get some dirty looks, because I think every single person out there knows what we did in here.”

You shrug, looking up at him with a teasing smirk. “Who cares? It’s our house,” you point out and pull open the door. “Do me a favor and don’t fix your hair, okay?”

Then you were walking out of the bathroom, leaving A.J. to look at himself in the mirror with a laugh as he took notice of his post-sex hair. If it wasn’t obvious enough what you and he just got finished doing, his messy hair will definitely get the message across. 

And that was exactly why he left it as it is before following after you.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Cream Filling: Chapter One

Warning: Use of drugs and dubcon.

(MC is dosed with an aphrodisiac and is all too willing... But you know)

This was originally posted on A03 and is my most popular work, so I thought I'd put it here.

I hope you enjoy.

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up pitch black streets for an instant. Elle Shepard nearly slipped on a horribly placed patch of mud. Windmilling, she caught a streetlight and came to a stop. A crack of thunder made her let go. Another bolt struck, enveloping the buildings and pavement in a brightness that was almost blinding, before a loud boom shook the windows.

Finally, she came upon a neon sign, showing a drink being shaken, then poured into a martini glass. The glass then changed to a coffee mug, the shaker into a pitcher. The words read: Ramses Brew, Bar and Café.

Pushing open the door, Elle stepped inside and pulled down the hood of her raincoat. Closing her umbrella, she stuck it in the container with the rest. Music played, pool balls cracked, conversations blurred together in one continuous hum. A bartender passed out drinks, moving with inhuman speed.

Walking up to the bar, Elle took a seat on the stool near the end. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the polished wood.

“What will it-” The bartender flinched at her, their nostrils flaring. Their voice sounded like many people talking at once.

“Oh, you’re the human.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone. Tapping on the screen, they sent a quick message and put it away. They dropped their voice and leaned in closer to her. “Sorry, our drinks are a little too strong for your kind.”

They were most likely a demon, with horizontal lined pupils and a pair of antlers. Their sunken face showed a skeletal structure that was more deer than human, with a slight brown fuzz instead of fur. Their hands were coal black, their fingers tapering off to a clawed end.

“Can I just have water?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart fluttering. Focus! The job was more important than a one night stand.

“Of course.” They bowed their head, before going to a new arrival at the bar.

Sighing, Elle debated pulling her hood back up when she felt the eyes on her. No, she’d have to get used to the stares if she wanted to get this job. A human woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing dress pants and a button up peach blouse. No horns, fangs, scales, or a tail. Not even markings that would signal she was a mage or tied to someone with magic. 

Swinging her leg back and forth, Elle sipped at her water, looking around the bar. There was a pair of trolls playing pool. A pair of drow were in the corner, looking like they were discussing more… Intimate plans. A human looking man sat on the couch, a cane between his legs. A spread of cards were on the table in front of him, small black wisps curling around them. He seemed to be the shortest occupant, he was probably a head and shoulders taller than her. 

“Ms. Elodie Shepard?” The voice made her turn.

An angular face stared at her. It was human in appearance, but black scales appeared like freckles, shimmering in the low light. A pair of ram horns curled around cheeks, the ends sharpened and looking ready to puncture anything that got near them. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a red vest, with a black tie. He was young, appearing to only be in his early to mid 30s.

“Yes!” Elle held out her hand. The speaker took it in shimmering black hands that were very large compared to his body. They left a residue on her skin that she tried to discreetly wipe off when he turned around, looking at the loft above. "But please, call me Elle." 

“Let’s go talk more privately.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs, unclipping a chain that indicated the area was closed until the morning.

Elle nodded and followed him. Stepping aside, he allowed her to go first and clipped the sign back in place. Once the links were formed, a small bit of magic rumbled through the floor, making Elle’s knees weak. Gripping the handrail, she kept herself from falling and quickly climbed up.

Once they were in the loft, Ramses clapped his hands and a few candles lit. The light was warm and calming. There were a few couches set up, with a coffee table between each pair facing one another.

Taking a seat, Elle set her papers on the table and cleared her throat. Even with the water, there was still a tickle in her throat.

“Alright,” The man sat down. “So, as you may know, this is my business. Ramses Sesbrun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I appreciate you coming out so late, but since demons don’t do so well in sunlight…” He shook his hand back and forth like he was tipping a scale. “I still have a limited staff, so I don’t have much of a day shift.”

Elle nodded. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver chain, with wire wrapped around an obsidian stone.

Ramses flinched at the charm, before clearing his throat. Elle quickly stuffed it into her shirt and shuffled her papers.

“Alright. So as you may have noticed, we have a bit of a uniform.” He gestured to his attire. “It doesn’t matter if you prefer skirts or pants, just make sure it’s got a white button up shirt under your apron and a tie or scarf.” Inhaling sharply, he adjusted his glasses again. “We have a very diverse staff. If you do get the job, expect to work with all kinds of people.”

Elle simply nodded. “I know it is probably a strange thing, getting a human to apply.” The thought of being around so many demons and patrons of the “other side”, it was somewhat exhilarating.

“A little. But your safety is promised here,” Ramses insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure that you and your fellow employees are comfortable in this environment. Everyone here is just looking for a place to unwind.” He smiled at her, showing his teeth were fangs.

Shifting uncomfortably, Elle gave a smile. Those fangs looked like they could leave some decent hickeys. Wait, no, she had to remain professional. “Erm, not to sound too forward, but the job posting mentioned pay?” Right. Stay professional.

“Oh, right.” Ramses picked up a staff of his own papers from a table next to the couch. Flipping through the stack, he left small black thumbprints on each page. No wonder he needed help with the kitchen and other places. He probably couldn’t even touch the food he served his customers.

Finally, he stopped at what he was looking for. “I know the pay is high, but that means I’ll be expecting more from you. But if what I’ve heard about humans is correct…” His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to rely on stereotypes, but I know humans are known for getting things done faster.” He clicked his mouth closed, not wanting to insert his foot into his mouth.

“Then you’ll be happy to know I fall into that!” Elle said quickly, hoping her tone didn’t sound too desperate. “I promise I’ll be fast and get the work done!” She clasped her hands together. “I just really… Need a job.” A job that seemed to offer a lot of eye candy...

Ramses nodded, taking her papers and flipping through them. “I’ve already read what you sent me, but I just want to make sure…”

He made a couple more noises of affirmation, before setting the now spotted pile down. “I don’t know if you’ll have a uniform on standby, but I think we might have something in your size. If you are willing to come in tomorrow, then I can have Wrecks and Horac show you the ropes.” Tapping a finger to his lips, Ramses’ brows knit together. “You don’t have Arachnophobia, do you?”

*** “Welcome to Ramses!” Elle called out, bowing her head. When she straightened, she ignored the look of befuddlement from the new arrivals. “Just two?”

After seating the pair, she bid farewell to some patrons as they left. They acknowledged her, but seemed more confused than anything else in her presence. When the door closed behind them, she went to quickly clean their table.

Despite looking bulky, the maid outfit they had provided her was light and cool, with a long skirt, deep pockets in the apron. She’d brought her own tights and comfortable shoes. Her hair was tied into a pair of buns to keep it out of her face.

The morning rush was a surprise. Most demons were supposed to be unable to walk in sunlight, but that didn’t stop the clientele from coming in, carrying parasols, charms to protect them, and even wrapping themselves in bandages.

The newly arrived pair were dragonborn, who had quickly fallen into an in depth discussion about maidens and maids. When she approached them with her notepad, pencil to the paper, they quickly quieted.

“Can I recommend one of our Ashburnt Scones?” She asked. “They’ve got an arsenic glaze!”

After taking down their order, Elle quickly scampered to the kitchen and placed the paper on the counter.

“A pair of Coalpressed Muffins with Ashen Dustings!” She called out.

The Drider at the stove nodded, pulling out some blood red pancakes with a tar like topping that he set on plates, the two smaller legs at his waist doing small clean up details. A pair of triple lens spectacles balanced on his nose, which he was constantly adjusting to allow a different pair of eyes to see. Despite his name being “Wrecks” he actually seemed rather dexterous and nimble.

The second was the boarman, Horac, who was frying several cuts of meat and eggs. He seemed immune to the open flames, casually reaching across them to turn over a large slice of ham. Elle tried to not think too hard about the implications.

“Breakfast rush is almost over, rookie.” He said, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” She took the plates and lined them up on trays, before rushing back out to the main room with the orders.

“I can’t believe a real life human is here,” A goat headed man said as she passed.

“I know. And so fast, too.” Their companion appeared human, but their teeth were too sharp. Enough to pass the line from sexy to frightening.

Just smiling, Elle passed over their food, which they quickly began to ravenously tear into. The remarks, while strange, seemed mostly positive.

By the time the morning rush was over, Elle’s feet were killing her. She collapsed into a chair once the last customer left.

“Elle, can you tell Ram I’m coming in late tomorrow?” Horac said, not giving further details as he went out the back. The bell chimed as he left.

“Sure.” She merely lifted her hand to give a wave he wouldn’t see.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Wrecks said, his voice jolting through her. He hadn’t spoken all morning, only cooked and passed the orders to Elle. The dishes and counters were clean, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Once the ache had mostly gone, she got up and went to change the menus over. The bell chimed again when her back was turned, and she quickly turned back around.

The newcomer had silvery hair, a pair of fox ears twitching on his head. His eyes were closed, his mouth pulled into a vulpine grin.

“Welcome to Ramses!” She tried to pour in the sugary sweetness that customers loved. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Hopefully, Wrecks wouldn’t mind serving up breakfast still. “So, he did have a human on his payroll.” The new patron muttered to himself. “How quaint.” A bushy silver tail waved behind him.

Elle felt herself blushing. “Can I get you anything? Our Blasterjelly rolls are a customer favorite, along with our Hadesfire Pomegranate Tea.” She reached for a menu to shove in his hands. His gaze seemed focused on her, despite his eyes being closed.

“No,” He held up his hand. “Thank you. You served my friend earlier.” Reaching into his sash, he pulled out a box about the length of his hand, the width of two put together. “He’s too shy to show his gratitude in person, so he sent me in his stead.”

Setting the box on the podium, he turned on his heel and gave a backward wave, the bell chiming as he left.

Frowning, Elle used her pen to open the corner of the box. Inside, she saw a small flat pastry, the side of one showing a beet colored paste. Picking it up, she realized they were covered with powdered sugar. Setting it back down, she closed the box and stuffed it under the podium. How odd she’d been given a human friendly dessert.

“Ready for round two?” Wrecks asked when he came back in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“You know it!” She brushed back her hair, pushing the fox man out of her mind.

The bell chimed, a trio of trolls coming through, looking like they’d gotten off a construction job. A goat headed woman burst through the door behind them, looking frazzled. By the end of the second shift, Elle was nearly laying on the table. Her feet and back ached, her hair was a mess, and the uniform was rumpled.

“And my favorite part of the day…” Wrecks said, flipping the sign to indicate they were closed until the bar opened. He laughed to himself as he went to tally up the totals.

“Count this for me to make sure my math is right.” Taking the cash from the drawer, Wrecks slid it to her. He poured himself a sludge looking coffee, enough steam and heat coming off it to fog up his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his brow.

Elle’s stomach growled, and she found herself blushing. While his lower half made her nervous, his upper half was certainly handsome.

Right. Focus.

“Oh, right.” Wrecks paused. “You can’t…” He struggled to find the words. “Eat anything on our menu, can you?”

“Not without getting violently ill,” Elle admitted, before remembering the podium. “Oh! Right!” Rushing to it, she pulled out the box. “I was going to pack my lunch, but I woke up late!” She’d actually slept in her car because she was terrified of missing her first shift. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for her at home. And driving nearly half an hour both ways seemed like a poor use of her time.

Sitting next to the money, she took out one of the cakes and took a bite. Powdered sugar flew around her in a cloud, sending residue all over the uniform.

Keeping the cake in her mouth, she nursed at the paste and counted out the cash, keeping notes. Once she finished, she paused over the calculations and finished eating. Then, she quickly ate a second, barely tasting it as it went down.

“Get some actual food,” Wrecks chided. “I can smell the sweetness from here. Where did you get that if you didn’t pack your lunch?”

“Apparently one of the customers really liked my service and gave me a gift.” Elle shrugged. She looked down at her tips for the day, her breath catching in her throat. How much money did this damned clientele have!? Pulling out her wallet, she quickly signed off on the amount and collected it. Looking down at her uniform, she excused herself to the bathroom.

There was no way she was going to risk getting it dirty and looking unprofessional. If she was going to be making money like this every day, she was going to take this job seriously. Going to the restroom, she did what she could to clean up her uniform. No way was she going to take a dock in her pay to pay for the outfit.

Her face felt hot. Slipping off the apron, she unbuttoned her blouse and splashed water on herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw her cheeks and neck were crimson. The blush spread even further, hidden by her shirt.

Slipping off her blouse, she stared at the sleeveless shirt, which only showed off more of her flushed skin. It was still hot, but more bearable. And she was NOT undressing more. Splashing her face again, she got her hair damp. Slicking back her loose bangs, Elle took in a deep breath.

When she walked out, she saw Wrecks looking at the cakes. Holding one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed it. The paste oozed out, dripping onto his fingers. He had his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to answer.

Elle was about to complain he’d ruined part of her gift, but his expression was serious. It sent a twinge of worry through her, followed by another hot flash. This one made her head spin, and she quickly sat down.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was sharp.

“Some guy dropped them off. Um… Foxy.” She started to recall his face, but all it did was cloud her mind with other details she’d overlooked. The way his collar bone peeked out over his robe. How veiny and strong his hands looked. His lips, perfectly glossy, the fangs peeking out with his grin.

“Shepard?” Wrecks asked.

“Hmm?” She smacked her cheeks to try and refocus. “Where was I again?”

Before Wrecks could answer, the person on the other end picked up.

“Yeah.” Wrecks tossed her a damp towel.

Wiping it across her sweaty skin, Elle began to inhale deeply. She felt hot all over, her body starting to shake. Every fiber of her clothing brushed against her, scraping her raw.

“I’m sure it was him,” Wrecks’ voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Bet my first born on it. I could smell fuckery on the box.” He looked over to Elle, licking his lips nervously. “She seems fine now, but I don’t want to touch her, could you get a hold of a human doctor?” He paused, nodding along with the speaker, small grunts escaping his mouth.

“Alright.” He hung up, inching closer to Elle.

“That was Ramses. He’s on his way.” He pulled another towel off the counter and soaked it in icy water, before passing it to Elle. “Those cakes were laced with… Something.” He frowned, brows coming together.

“I guess it was Tanpopo’s way of saying hello…”

“Who?” Although Elle was sure she had a good idea who the Drider spoke of. Her insides twitched, needing to be filled. Sweat trickled down her neck and back. Slowly, she laid down in the booth, her legs facing the wall.

“An asshole who runs the bakery down the road.” Wrecks jerked his thumb behind him. “He thought it would be funny to “prank,” He added air quotes. “Some of our staff last year by spiking some cakes and tea with Hellfire Mint.” Three pairs of eyes watered at the memory. “Most of them were fine, but one of our hosts got sent into early labor and had to go to the hospital.”

Fanning herself with a menu, Elle panted. “I wish I’d been warned.”

“Well, there hadn’t been any problems since then,” Wrecks explained. “Horac was a pretty decent deterrent.”

Elle’s mouth was suddenly dry. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her legs refused to budge, each breath making another flash of arousal go through her. “I’ll get you some water.” Wrecks excused himself, quickly coming back with a glass. He passed it to her. “Now, I’m not sure how long this is supposed to last, but Ramses seemed pretty sure he knew what it was.”

Their hands touched. Elle let out a cry, dropping the glass. She shook, nearly convulsing as the need seized her.

Wrecks jumped back, his legs skittering across the floor, unable to gain traction.

Elle was on her feet, grabbing the front of his vest and pulling him to her. Their lips nearly brushed.

“No no no no no no!” He said rapidly, using his front legs and arms to push her away. “It’s flattering, but you are in no condition to be initiating this!”

His skin was scalding hot against hers. She grabbed his clothing so tight she thought it would rip. Pulling him close again, she ignored the impact of his front legs against her skirt.

“I’m terribly sorry, Shepard.” Wrecks said, before she suddenly couldn’t move.

Looking down, she saw she was covered with white bindings. Webbing kept her still, binding her legs together below the knees, and her arms below the elbows. He then pushed her back into the booth.

The bell chimed. Nostrils flaring, Elle thrashed around to try and sit up as the scent of Demon hit her.

“Oh, thank Arachne.” Wrecks backed away. “You made good time.”

“Of course.” Ramses' voice thundered in her ears. Elle’s lips parted slightly as she continued to wriggle around, trying to get free of her bindings. “Leave us. This is easier if there’s only one target.”

Wrecks didn’t have to be told twice. He picked up his scant belongings and quickly scampered out the door.

Ramses stood in front of the booth, his crotch the perfect height for-

And he was gone.

The door locked.

Then, he was back.

“You’ve ingested Asmodeus Fruit,” He explained, pulling out a knife. “Better known as Lustberries.” Looking at the blade, he set it down on the table. “Hold still.” His visible skin was wrapped in bandages. To protect him from the sun?

The order made Elle still, the only movement was her shaking with desire.

“I’m going to cut you loose. But you have to promise me you’re not going to jump on me. Okay?”

Despite the words barely registering, Elle nodded, her body still trembling.

Ramses cut the bindings, his bandaged hands brushing against her. Unlike with Wrecks, it didn’t send a jolt through her. But his scent, the way he panted with exertion… She found herself leaning forward.

“KNIFE!” He yelled, shoving her back. His hand hit her protective charm, and both of them went flying back. She hit the wall hard, and he slid into the front counter in front of the kitchen. Wincing, he slowly got back up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Her legs were still bound. She started to climb out of the booth.

“Stay!” He commanded, getting up.

Elle’s legs became weak, and she nearly face planted on the floor. Catching herself, Elle held onto the corner of the table. Her charm hung low. 

Ramses rushed over, cutting her legs free.

“Now. Listen.” He shook his finger in her face.

Nodding, Elle leaned forward.

“Go to the loft.”

She rose up, the charm snagging on the corner of the table, the wire wrapping coming undone and the stone falling to the ground, sliding under the booth. 

Her feet slapped against the floor, she nearly tripped over the chained sign as she ran. But she was up the stairs, lungs and chest heaving. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt the heat rolling over again, almost unbearable. Clothes continued to rake against her skin so roughly she thought it would make her bleed. Her hands went to her top, trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Elle. I need you to listen to me.” Ramses said, coming up in the loft. “Normally this stuff wears off after a few hours. But it’s demon fruit, so humans suffer-” He let out a surprised noise as Elle rushed over to him.

When her hands touched his shirt, she realized he wasn’t wrapped under his clothes. Working her fingers through the gaps between his buttons, she touched her fingertips to his bare chest. The heat of his skin made her shudder.

Dropping to her knees, she started to unbuckle his belt.

“Elle!” He said sharply. “Hold on!” Grabbing one of her buns, he held her head in place. Lips parted, she looked up. Panting, she reached for him. Despite denying her advances, his erection was growing quickly.

“Here.” He pulled out a vial, a white liquid inside. “Drink this first. I know it’ll be nasty, but-” As he spoke, the white liquid suddenly yellowed and seemed to become crusty.

She grimaced.

“I know. But the other cure is… Not ideal.” He offered her the vial. Uncorking the top, he pressed the glass to her lips.

Slowly, he tilted it. Once the liquid touched Elle’s lips, foul gelatinous sludge tried to worm its way into her mouth. Pulling back, she sputtered and coughed. Eyes watering, she shook her head.

There was glass breaking, and the liquid spilled all over the floor. The fog was gone, but Elle suddenly felt so hot she started to claw at her clothes.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ramses grabbed her arms, straddling her. His erection dug into her as he pinned her to the floor.

“Elle, listen to me.” His breath was warm against her skin, caressing skin, the wetness from it sliding down her body. 

Closing her eyes, Elle thrust against him. Ramses let out a distressed yelp, before gripping her tighter.

“Fuck me…” She moaned, rubbing against him. A wet spot was left on Ramses pants, although she wasn’t sure if it was from him or her.

It was getting so hot she felt like she was going to pass out, black spots filling her vision. Her clothes felt like they were tearing large chunks of her skin off.

“I’m… So sorry.” Ramses picked her up off the floor, setting her down on the couch.

“For what?” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips almost touched, but he turned his face so she kissed his horn.

“You’re in no state of mind…” He knelt between her legs. “Just let me try something.” Taking her tights, he clumsily pulled them down. Catching the waist of Elle’s panties, Ramses left her completely bare. At the sight, averting his eyes, Ramses cheeks turned crimson.

“Yep…” He struggled to find the words. “That’s certainly Asmodeus fruit.”

Elle touched herself, spreading the soaking lips wide. Grinding against the couch, she felt herself drenching the fabric.

“Okay.” Ramses draped her legs over his shoulders. “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, then we have one option left.”

Elle nodded, but her mind was buzzing. Grabbing Ramses by the hair, she shoved him into her drenched folds. Whatever response he had was muffled, making her shiver.

His tongue began to trace her lower lips, before he slipped it inside. Ellen held his head in place, biting her lips as he continued to lick. Reaching up, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wider. His breath made her tingle.

Closing her eyes, Elle focused on the sensation, the heat now concentrating in her lower half. Ramses’ head bobbed back and forth, the sounds of licking and sucking so loud in the empty loft. She let out several moans, trying to lock her legs around his head.

Keeping her legs open, Ramses continued to lick, before exposing her clit and swirling his tongue around it. Elle moaned, releasing his hair and grinding against his face. “Come for me, Elle.” He groaned into her, his breath so warm. “Come for me, please.”

Letting her head lull back, Elle moaned and grabbed the couch tight enough to feel the fabric start to rip. She felt the orgasm start to build, each lick eliciting another cry from her. Eyes watering, she nearly screamed when Ramses plunged his tongue inside.

But before she could release, it was like slamming into a brick wall. White filled her vision as the heat became a searing pain. A scream escaped her and she shuddered, falling to the side.

“S-stop…” She panted, tears streaming down her face. “It… It hurts.”

Ramses pulled back, his bandages around the lower half of his face now loose. They were soaked with Elle. Small bits of skin were visible. Despite the pain in her lower half, Elle grabbed Ramses by the shirt. She then climbed on top of him, rubbing her aching groin over his crotch.

“Fuck me, please.” She begged, continuing to grind against his hardness.

“Hold on.” Ramses pushed the table to the other couch, his glasses askew. Picking Elle up, he placed her on the couch. Unzipping his pants, he let them fall to the ground. His fully erect cock came forth, beads of precum dripping from the tip. Elle leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it.

Ramses let out a surprised moan, knees nearly giving out as Elle sucked. Once the few drops of precum were swallowed, the heat drastically reduced. Panting, Elle pulled back and let her tongue swirl around the tip.

Then, she felt herself blushing. The reality of the situation began to crash around her. Pulling her head back, she quickly let go of Ramses cock and put her hands at her side.

“Um…” The wetness between her legs was almost unbearable. “I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ramses panted, sitting down on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. I understand if you want to leave now.”

Elle stared at his cock, swallowing hard. It was glistening with her saliva. She should leave. This was not only inappropriate, but they were both in a bad spot. But her body was literally hurting with need.

“Ramses.” Her face was probably tomato red. What had she just done? Ramses probably thought… “This wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I should have warned you.” He was attempting to put his dick back in his pants, which seemed to be a challenge.

“Erm…” She prodded her forefingers against one another, biting her lower lip. “This is super inappropriate. But is the antidote for this fruit…” Her voice trailed off as she became more flustered. “You know, demon semen?”

Mutely, Ramses nodded. “I didn’t want you to either get too excited or too disgusted.” He looked up at her when she stood over him. “Because I’ve been told it can be rather potent.”

“So, are you sure you gave me enough of a dose?” She lifted her skirt, showing him her wetness. “Because I would, uh, prefer not to go back to how I was.” Her legs shook, the blush filled her entire body.

Ramses’ eyes went wide, and he took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “I’m not sure. It’s not an exact science. But…” He was cut off when Elle kissed him, straddling his lap.

“Oh.” He kissed her back, looping his hands around her waist.

“Elle,” He said, his voice muffled by her mouth. His pupils dilated slightly, the blood vessels thickening.

“Hm?” She pulled back, her arms around his neck.

“If you want to wait, the lust will wear off.”

Elle thought about it, but shook her head, “I want to do this.” She nibbled at his exposed skin, hands running up and down the nape of his neck.

“Very well.” He stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

Setting her back onto the couch, Ramses straddled her, pinning her arms above her head against the armrest.

“Are you still hot?”

She nodded.

Taking Elle’s shirt, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her skirt.

“Aren’t you?”

“Sunlight.” He gestured to the windows.

“Oh.”

“Consider this… Paid overtime.” Nudging her legs open, Ramses lined himself up, prodding against her slit. Each touch made Elle gasp, grinding against him.

Then, he slid inside. Elle gasped, instantly clenching around him. Ramses gripped the back of the couch, letting out a surprised whimper. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust. Once her arms were free, she let her hands explore him.

The touch seemed to encourage him further and he hilted himself.

Elle screamed in pleasure, digging her nails into Ramses’ shirt. Covering her mouth with his, Ramses began to pound into her, each thrust making her see a flash of color.

“God,” He said between thrusts. “You’re so tight.” His breath was warm against her face and neck. Leaning down, he nibbled her neck. “I…” The blush returned to his face.

Elle pulled him back, their lips meeting again. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she let them dance as he found his rhythm and continued to pump back and forth. Each moan encouraged him, and he went harder.

As the thrusts went deeper, Elle cried out, her back arching. She ran her hands down Ramses shirt and vest, the fabric chafing against her skin. Unlike her own clothing, it pushed her closer to the edge, but she felt herself hitting the wall again.

Her breasts began to bounce, and Ramses groaned, his legs and buttock suddenly clenching.

“Please!” She begged, squeezing him tightly. “Finish inside me!”

“Fuck!” Ramses yelped, before he released, the fluid spilling out of Elle. Panting, he shuddered, placing his hands on either side of her head. Sweat trickled down his face. Clenching, he thrust against her as he emptied everything inside.

The orgasm finally came, and Elle clenched, wrapping her legs around his and pulling Ramses close. Shivering, she panted and closed her eyes.

“I think… That’s enough.” He slipped out of her and sat up on the couch, his softening cock still shimmering with her wetness.

Elle shuddered, then slowly sat up, rescuing her shirt from the floor and holding it up to her chest. She was covered with the strange black residue from his hands.

“I am very sorry about that.” Ramses zipped his pants up and buckled his belt. “I completely understand if you want to quit.”

“Umm…” Elle worried at her lower lip. “You see, I didn’t exactly dislike it and I really need this job.” She couldn’t even look at him without blushing.

“I could tell.” Ramses eyes went wide and he put his glasses back on. “Although I’m not sure how much of that was me or the Fruit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to kill that fox the next time I see him.”

Elle swallowed hard, thinking of the cakes. “Um, before you get all worked up, shouldn’t you get ready to open the bar?”

Ramses rubbed his face with a sigh. “I’ve got some time.” He looked her over. “I know you live farther away, but do you want to get cleaned up at my place? Er, not that I’m inviting you back over for...” He let the silence hang in the air. 

Sighing, Elle nodded. “One thing at a time. I need to get this ‘antidote’ off me before it leaves a stink.” The scent of sex was already making her dizzy and flushed.

Helping her up, Ramses helped her dress and helped her back down to the main gathering area, collecting the charm from the floor. Stopping at the umbrella holder, he pulled out a parasol and opened it. When he took a few steps outside, he suddenly staggered.

Wrapping his arm around her, Elle helped him walk.

“It’s not too far," Ramses explained. “Erm, so, about what happened.”

“My lips are sealed,” Elle mimed locking her lips and throwing away a key. “As long as you don’t tell the others about me trying to blow you. And everything else.”

Ramses stifled a noise and looked away. “It’s fine. Just erm… Expect a bonus on your first check.”

“A bonus?” Now she was starting to feel like it was some sort of hush money.

“I take… Very good care of my employees.” Ramses frowned. “It’s hard to keep them on.” Swallowing hard, he sighed. “Elle, what I did back there, I promise I’m not normally like that. I know demons have a reputation for being sinners, but I don’t want you to feel I took advantage.”

“Too bad, I had a lot of fun.” Elle blushed at her words. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Ramses bit at his lip. “No, but I am your boss. I don’t want rumors to spread.”

“I understand.” She felt the rest of the heat finally leave her body, leaving her head clear. “But don’t… ever be afraid to ask. I um, headed after this job for a reason. Not just for the pay.”

Ramses hid his face and nodded.

If every day was going to be like this, then this new job was going to be interesting. She’d have to apologize to Wrecks tomorrow.

At least there was hazard pay.

(You can read part 02 here!)

[mikkomacko]

a request for mob boss Nico, is there ever a time where the boys call y/n for help because they trusted her and didn’t want to upset Nico?

Oh definitely it happens all the time. They use her to soften up blows to Nico when they mess up or help clean them up if things get out of hand.

The first time they realized they could call her though was when her baby Holtzy needed help

——————————————————————

Alex Holtz joined the Devs after he got into legal trouble back home and reached out to Jesper for help. He had been disowned by his family and was living on the streets, and he made a mistake that was gonna haunt him forever now that he was aging out of being a juvenile. So Nico and Jesper brought him in, sent out the private jet and moved him to Jersey where he moved into a loft with the Hughes boys.

Bad idea off the bat but they’re all young and Nico thought they’d click (They do, a little too well).

Late on a Friday, you and Nico were sprawled out on the living room floor with piles of Lego pieces between you. You were racing to see who could build their set the fastest, not that it mattered because there was no real prize, but you two loved the competition.

Nico was finishing up one of the succulents on his set when a ringing phone interrupted the romcom you’d put on the background. Assuming it was work phone based on the hour, you went about your business until Nico fumbled with his silent phone and looked at you in confusion.

“S’yours baby.” He catches your attention, and you look over to the coffee table where you left your phone. Sure enough it’s vibrating across the glass, the screen lit up with Alex’s name.

Quickly, you grab the phone and slide to answer.

���Hi Holtzy, you ok?”

Immediately you know something is wrong. You can hear it in his breath, how it shakes and quivers. And you can hear the frantic voices in the background, whatever boys he went out with tonight obviously panicking.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s the matter?”

By now Nico is on his knees, watching you with concern. You can tell he’s ready to jump up and run, to fix whatever is going on. But Alex didn’t call him, he called you.

“I-something happened,” his voice is small and weak through the speaker and it makes your chest ache. “I didn’t mean to, I just-“

He’s cut off by a sob, one so shattering you can feel it in your own chest. “Ok, it’s ok. You wanna tell me where you are? I’m gonna come get you, ok?”

“Nico will be mad, he won’t want you here. I shouldn’t have-“

“Alex, he doesn’t care. We care about you, kid. Tell me where you are and I’m gonna fix it, ok?”

And Alex has always been good at responding to authoritative tones, better than any of the other boys that are his age. But he’s let down a lot of grown up’s in his life and you know how scared he is to do that to you and Nico.

He mumbles out an address not too far from the loft, telling you he’s in the lot out back with Jack and Luke.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

Alex sniffles, chokes back another cry. “No, no drive safely. I can be ok.”

“I’ll be there in ten, don’t move and don’t touch anything ok? Unless someone’s gonna hurt you, you stay put.”

Mumbling his agreement, you tell him you’ll see him soon and hang up. Nico, having picked up on the conversation, has already collected the keys to the Range Rover and his gun, his feet tucked into his shoes.

“Where are we going?” He asks you and you pull on a jacket and shoes. Taking the pocketknife he holds out to you, you tuck into your pants.

“I’ll give directions.”

~~~~

Whatever Alex and the Hughes boys had been doing, they ended up outside an abandoned factory in a lot that is closed off.

Not that it stopped them seeing as the gate has been pried open and Nico is able to drive into the gravel covered lot.

You can see the Hughes boys kneeling over something on the sidewalk, barely illuminated by the street light. Alex is sitting a few feet away, curled into himself against the brick wall of the building. Before Nico can even stop the car, you’re jumping out.

Whatever scold Nico shouts after you is lost.

Jack and Luke look up at you helplessly when you jog up to them, panic stricken in the poor light. It only takes you a second to see why.

There’s a man under them, one that’s strangling out breathes and covered in blood. He doesn’t appear to be awake, but you realize the two brothers are both pressing their hands into the wound on his abdomen.

“Oh fuck,” you mumble, crouching down to feel for the man’s pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there so you rise again, wipe the blood on your finger onto your pants.

“Keep holding, I’ll be right back.”

Jack and Luke call after you but you don’t hear them. You’re too busy approaching Alex, sinking down to your knees in front of him. He doesn’t lift his head out of his hands until you gently touch his knees.

The sight of him almost has you in tears. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks splotchy from crying and he’s matted his hair with the blood that was on his hands.

Somehow, he looks even younger than he actually is.

“Alex, are you ok? Are you bleeding?”

He shakes his head, a fresh set of tears streaming down his face. “I don’t know what happened, one minute we were joking around and then he was talking shit and shoving Luke and I-“

“You did what you had to,” you assure him, reaching for his hands. “You were protecting family, Alex and that’s what we do.”

You stroke over his knuckles, nod along as he tells you about how he just went blank, he was so angry he couldn’t even see anything and then the man was bleeding and they didn’t know what to do.

So Jack dragged him into the empty lot and told him to call Nico. He couldn’t though, he couldn’t let Nico know that he messed up so badly already.

You wait for him to finish talking, push his hair off his forehead. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” you assure him. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. You were smart and you were quick, and you protected Luke.”

“Nico told us to protect you,” he mumbles sadly “I shouldn’t have brought you into this but he’s so scary sometimes. What if he sends me back?”

You squeeze his fingers, make him look at you. “Holtzy, you’re a Dev.” You say firmly, “Nico knows what that means, we all know what that means. You’re here, you’re with us no matter what. And if you think me being here is putting me in danger, you’re wrong. It’s my job to protect all of you.”

Finally he relaxes, shaking as you rise and help him to his feet. You cup his face, wipe away the tear tracks on his face before pulling him down into a hug. He squeezes you back, grateful.

“Go to the car, there’s clothes in the back.” You instruct, nudging him towards the parked vehicle. “Ignore Nico, he’s just a driver tonight, ok?”

You can see the reluctance in his eyes but he nods anyway and drags his feet to the car. Taking a deep breath, you join Jack and Luke again, and Nico who’s now crouched down with them.

“He ok?” Nico asks you, glancing towards Alex. You nod, rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie. Accepting the answer, Nico hands you the med kit he’d brought out from the car.

“Didn’t know the plan,” he tells you “you gonna fix him or are we leaving?”

Jack and Luke look between the two of you, and then at each other. They’re obviously thrown by Nico’s behavior, and it’s then that you realize this is the first time one of them has called you in crisis.

“Fix him,” you decide, flipping open the large box and digging out everything you’ll need to clean him up and stitch him. “And when he wakes up, you’ll make sure he forgets everything.”

Nico’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised and impressed with your answer. “Yeah?”

You nod, pulling on some gloves. “But make sure he knows that if he ever touches Luke or even thinks about Alex, I’ll personally be undoing all the hard work I did on him tonight.”

You don’t miss the smile that rises on your boyfriend’s face, how his eyes crinkle and dimples sink into his cheeks. “Sure thing, boss.” He agrees, moving around you so he can pull your hair back for you and tie it up.

Pressing a kiss to your head, he rises to his feet and moves towards Alex and the car.

“Nico,” you stop him, and he turns to look at you. “He’s shaken and he’s sorry. Be a friend.”

Biting back another grin, he nods. “And clear out the backseat, these three are coming back with us.”

He nods and turns on his heel, doing as told. Certain that he’ll listen to you, you get to work on fixing up the man below you. And you swell with pride when Jack and Luke follow your lead like obedient soldiers.

[fleuraliasave]

*OUTDATED NEW VERSION AVAILABLE HERE*

❤ Version 6.0 Fleuralia Save File ❤

Download link down below (please read entire post before installing)

This save file uses all EP’s, GP’s (not Journey to Batuu), SP’s and most of the kits (Country Kitchen, Blooming Rooms, Incheon Arrivals, Retro Fit, Industrial loft, Moonlight Chic, Little Campers, Pastel Pop, Everyday Clutter, Bathroom Clutter, Simtimates Collection, First Fits and Desert Luxe).

What’s new in this update?:

San Sequoia has been completely redone, added multiple new lots, updated other lots and provided make-overs for the households.

All households that are currently living in the different worlds have set sim characteristics and conversation topic prefrences.

Added new households.

Updated existing community lots with objects for infants like changing tables and toys (where it would make sense to have them, so not in night clubs and such). Added infants to some of the households.

Added splash pad items to some of the pool lots.

Changed up some of the older lots (example Boba Tea shop in Copperdale, ice cream shop in Brindleton Bay).

Current Status of Worlds:

Finished worlds: Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, Magnolia Promenade, Windenburg, San Myshuno, Forgotten Hollow, Brindleton Bay, Del Sol Valley, StrangerVille, Glimmerbrook, Sulani, Britechester , Evergreen Harbor, Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale and San Sequoia (NEW!).

Finished vacation worlds: Granite Falls and Selvadorada.

Finihed other lots: Hospital, Science Lab and the Police Station.

To be updated: the Magic Realm, will either be included in a future update or on the gallery (OriginID: fleuralia)

What do you get with this save?:

For my save file all lots are either completely new builds (almost all) or renovations, ofcourse created by me. Exceptions: I have added the official builds for the releases of the Paranormal SP by Dr Ashley and the Dream Home Decorator GP by Deligracy to this save, since I thought they deserved a spot. These two are therefore not my own creations, credits are given in the description to Dr Ashley and Deligracy. Mt. Komorebi, Henford-on-Bagley, Tartosa, Moonwood Mill, Copperdale and San Sequoia lots are largely created by GameChangers. Most lots have gotten small updates, others are completely new builds by me.

All the townies had make-overs plus I added new families to spice it up a bit. Some of the townies are made by other creators, who are given credits in the description of the household. All the townies in the different worlds have a story, some include sentiments and adjusted relationships to the story.

Added plenty of community lots to give your Sims something to do (YAY!). Almost every world has one restaurant, but it also includes festivals that represent the four seasons (park lots) and a fully functional shopping street in Magnolia Promenade (toy store, bridal store and more).

I have added rental lots so you can go on vacation in more worlds. For example in Sulani, Willow Creek and Windenburg.

Other details:

As mentioned at the beginning, this save uses almost all packs (except Journey to Batuu and some kits). This means that if you download it without owning or installing most of the packs a lot of objects will disappear from the save, but if you are not bothered by this you can still download and play in it.  

I disabled the autonomous fame gain and neigborhood action plan voting/environmental changes, you enable them again in the pack settings menu.

I would love to add some households in this save created by all of you! Add your household under the hashtag #fleuraliatownies in The Sims 4 Gallery, you can add a storyline and world in the description but thats not obligatory. If I respond on your creation it means that I have incorporated it in the save for the next update.

Sadly every game update comes with a lot of bugs. I suggest before reporting problems in the save to me, to check on forums if its related to a general bug/glitch or to mods (if you use them).

Questions and supportive feedback are always welcome, you can reach me here via a comment on this post, an ask or through a DM 😁

How to make it work in your game:

Download the save file from the link below.

Drag it in your saves folder under: PC/Documents/Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/saves.

Change the numbers if you already have a save with the same name.

It should now show up in your game as: Fleuralia Save Version 6.0.

DOWNLOAD (SFS) (outdated)

!!Don’t re-upload or claim as your own!!

Future updates will follow after each pack release (if it includes a world). The time the update will be uploaded after each release depends on how much I have to change and on my work schedule around that time.

Last but not least, enjoy and till next time! XX

Fleuralia

Feel free to support me ❤️: Ko-fi account

[mountedeverest]

7x10 Coda | BuckTommy date + Bobby call | T

Starts cute and then I rip your heart out 🙃😘 sorryyyyy

NP tags 💖 @tizniz @hippolotamus

“Not to be a U-Haul lesbian but if you keep cooking like that every time, I’m gonna have to ask you to move in.” Tommy said, bringing the glass of wine to his lips once more.

Buck almost choked on his own wine as he ducked his head and laughed nervously. “Don’t tempt me ‘cause I’ll say yes.”

Buck lifted his eyes to reach Tommy’s, half hopeful in spite of him. They both knew it would be too soon, but Buck’s emotional baggage and fear of abandonment still rang a clear ‘what if’ in his head. Though they may have been joking, Evan’s eyes betrayed him, as if to say ‘I’m serious. If you ask me now, I’ll say yes.’

“Interesting.” Tommy answered, gaze lingering. His eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth curled upwards slowly, tightly from atop his wine glass, a shield between them. His eyes said something as well, ‘Not now, but soon.’

The air now hung heavy, promise being held back by the fear of spooking the other, overshadowed by immense desire and suffocating devotion. Buck was so giddy he could burst.

“Be-besides, many lasagnas were sacrificed for this skill. The cooking, I mean.”

“Aaah so that was the smell here the other night.” Tommy laughed. His nose scrunched up and Buck could melt. Just like that, the tension was gone. Buck squirmed in his seat all the same, like his skin was too tight, except he loved it. With Tommy, Buck felt exposed in the best way, like every nerve was a string on an instrument, every touch a new note in a new melody. It made him feel so alive.

They ate, and they talked, kicked their feet under the table. Fingers lingered upon fingers, pinkies touching in a whisper of a touch only to momentarily satisfy the itch of being apart. Their chairs pulled closer as they leaned in further in their conversation, and their wine glasses emptied and filled up, and emptied and filled up. Every moment they inched closer without noticing, knuckles now brushing against the side of a thigh, or fingers idly tracing up a forearm.

Soon, they were so close they could feel each other’s air. Buck broke first, a small satisfied groan escaping him when he finally closed the distance between Tommy and him.

It wasn’t long before Tommy pulled Buck into his lap, the chair wincing slightly in protest. Hands soon found purchase everywhere they could: hair, neck, shoulder blade, ass cheek. Dirty dinner plates and near empty wine glasses were now abandoned for desert. Perfectly sweet and with just enough bite, Tommy tasted exquisite.

Things heated up fast, becoming sloppy and needy and everything Buck needed to be right now. He felt the burning shape of Tommy’s massive hands under his shirt, dipping into the back of his pants, gripping at hard flesh. Every slight rock of their bodies together punched little gasps out of Buck, like he’d forgotten how to breathe properly.

“I can’t fuck you in this chair.” Tommy grunted between two biting kisses, sounding lost. His eyes were swimming in Buck’s, pupils blown wide.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go up to my bed.” Buck dove in for another deep kiss, tongue rolling and swirling against Tommy’s own, and then another, and another. They were unable to tear away from each other, even as they made their way to the stairs and up the loft. They’d reached the top when Buck’s phone started to ring from where he’d left it on the kitchen island.

They let it ring until it stopped, hands going to buttons and belts. Then, Tommy’s phone started ringing, which gave them pause for the first time that night.

“Whoever’s trying to reach you seems adamant. I better answer.”

Reluctantly, Buck let Tommy trot back down the stairs to pick up his offending phone.

“Go for Kinard.”

Buck made his way down the stairs and plastered himself softly behind Tommy, hugging him loosely as his fingers toyed with the hem of Tommy’s shirt.

“Okay. Yeah. Which one?” Tommy placed his free hand on top of Buck’s, soothing and stopping him at the same time. “Okay. We’re on our way.”

Buck froze then. Something was wrong. Tommy sighed and hung his head. From the back, Buck couldn’t see his expression, but he felt the tensing in his back, like hackles raising.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“That was Hen. Bobby… something happened, he and Athena are in the hospital. She’s fine but Bobby, it’s… it’s not good.”

If Buck were made of glass, there would be a very apparent crack going through him head to toe right about now. Gears started turning in his head, but with absolutely no coordination. Usually in a crisis, he could tell the order of things, which questions to ask and when. Now, he felt like a mess of Christmas lights, unable to see the beginning or the end of the cable for the tangle in between.

“Hey, hey hey stay with me Evan, don’t go there yet.” Tommy took hold of Buck’s shoulder, searching for his gaze in eyes that now stared at nothing. “I’m taking you to the hospital, I’m driving. I’ll grab you a coat, just put your shoes on I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Tommy?”

Tommy stopped, looked back eyes wide at his boyfriend. Buck looked so small, his eyes rimmed red and threatening to spill with tears.

“Bobby’s not just my captain, y’know?” Buck’s voice sounded strangled, like wrestled from deep within. “He’s pretty much my dad, I-I can’t lose him.” He looked so scared.

Tommy’s eyes softened and filled with sadness as he grabbed Buck into a big hug, squeezing him tight and bringing Buck’s face into his chest.

“You won’t, baby. You won’t.” Tommy murmured softly as he held Buck, promising that also to himself, hoping that luck once again favoured them tonight and that Bobby would be okay, that Buck would be okay.

[saucerfulofsins]

I haven’t seen any posts comparing Buck’s coming out to Eddie and Tommy breaking up with Buck, which is a shame because the similarities drive me insane.

Or well. I say similarities, but that’s wrong. What I should be saying is: these scenes mirror each other. This post is more about the highlights than shot by shot comparisons – for that, I’d recommend you watch them side by side yourself.

Let’s start with the first and most obvious structural parallel: both scenes happen around 32 minutes into their respective episodes/between two-thirds to three-quarters in.

Now, for the scenes themselves. They follow the same basic outline, which I’ll discuss one by one. I’m following the same structure throughout: I discuss the coming out scene, then the breakup, and then give some analysis. At the end, I’ve included a section on further things of note that I couldn’t neatly fit into this structure and my final thoughts. Is this the first time I’m using the media analysis I was taught during my minor in Arts, Culture and Media with a focus on film in 2019? Yes, yes it is.

Buckle up, because this meta/essay is nearly 3k. For that reason (i.e. accessibility/readability and the amount of work I put in), this entire piece has been cross-post to AO3 (CLICK FOR LINK).

Opening shots

Seating 1.0

Buck in the kitchen

Seating 2.0

POV shots (both perspectives)

Eddie and Tommy leaving

Miscellany

Final thoughts

Analysis under the cut:

1. Opening shots

This part includes some of the most noticeable differences between the scenes, which explains why they feel different – at least at first.

CO: Eddie’s phone comes into view first – this is his chat conversation with Marisol, which the first part of the CO scene is about (note how this mirrors the gym scene, where Buck intended to come out before the conversation lingered on Eddie and Marisol). Eddie is also closest to the door during this part of the scene – which is where he will remain throughout.

BU: The first shot is of a closed door, which Buck opens for Tommy, i.e. Tommy certainly has no keys to Buck’s place, and this might well be a callback to doors as a recurrent theme. They greet with the briefest kiss possible. I rewatched this several times to make sure it really happened – it happens immediately after a cut and it’s filmed in such a way this could easily have been an air kiss lmao. (No seriously, I had to watch this screen by screen to properly catch it, and the audio is a lot more obvious than the visual). They make small talk about the movies and Tommy having ordered an uber (clearly a throwback to 7x05), and they switch positions so Buck is actually closest to the door.

As for clear similarities: Eddie and Tommy are standing up and remain mostly in the same place; Buck is moving around the loft – it’s an expression of his nervous energy, and the major changes in these scenes are about Buck, not Eddie or Tommy.

2. Sitting down

I made this a separate point for one reason, and one reason only: In CO, Eddie takes his own initiative to sit down, while saying he should go home and Buck offering him a beer, so clearly he won’t be leaving to go home any time soon(ilu Eddie but I’m begging you, stop putting yourself and also us through this 😭). In BU, Buck tells Tommy to sit down... which is in part to signal they need a more serious talk than can be done on the way to the cinema, but also shows a massive contrast in terms of familiarity and comfort, regardless of what Buck tries to tell Tommy later.

Both Eddie and Tommy sit down on the leftmost stool (closest to the door, i.e. it’s easiest for them to leave and Buck can’t get between them).

3. Buck in the kitchen

Fun fact! Before writing this post, I checked the scene where Buck confesses to Taylor that he kissed Lucy. During that scene, Buck is sitting down at the kitchen island, while Taylor lingers in the kitchen proper (i.e. with the island between them). She has moved in at that point – kitchens represent ‘being at home’ – but there’s a physical barrier between her and Buck, and it doesn’t actually keep from her leaving (even while saying she has nowhere to go).

CO: The camera uses a dolly shot to follow Buck throughout the kitchen – to the fridge and then back to the head of the kitchen island. He’s attentively listening to Eddie complain about Marisol and God watching him have sex (cursing God while sluttily drinking his beer).

BU: Buck walks out of view of the camera, through the kitchen, and there’s a dolly shot to the right to focus on Buck finding his place on the head of the kitchen island. He leans on the counter at this point. He does have a pretty open posture (identical to CO); Tommy sits with his hands/fingers folded together but he’s turned to Buck i.e. paying attention.

This is the position Buck has when he comes clear to Tommy about having dated Abby in the past; it’s also when his phone comes into the picture. Well. Pictures. Of Buck and Abby.

4. Seating 2.0

This is the longest section of analysis, and contains the part that makes me SCREAM but let’s start at the beginning. From the moment Buck sits down, the conversation turns serious in both scenes. This dialogue consists of mostly POV shots (which I will discuss next), and these medium shots that show Buck and Eddie, and Buck and Tommy.

CO: Buck sits down while Eddie says, “You and Tommy have the right idea, stay single.” This very clearly introduces a new section of the scene. Overall, the lighting of the loft is muted besides the yellow for visual interest and gay Eddie, thank you for your hard work Buddie colour theorists. Buck’s dining table is unlit and barely visible, so the space really takes a back seat and allows us to focus on Buck and Eddie. Please take note of the chair between them – this serves as a physical barrier, where someone is getting between them (a place for Marisol and Tommy, respectively).

BU: Here, the segway happens right after Buck’s come clear about being Abby’s ex 2.0. He sits down on the middle chair, but it’s quite obvious he’s shoved it away from Tommy. In fact, compared to CO, Buck is almost at the same distance from Tommy as he is from Eddie. There’s a barrier between Buck and Eddie, but there’s space between him and Tommy. This is emphasized by the lit dining table, which draws even more attention because of the white decorations: the loft is a space to be distracted by, focus on or even flee into.

Now. This is what kickstarted my obsession with these scenes, especially the coming out scene. The chair between them? Buck reaches out to Eddie, leans his arm onto it and in the process drawing attention to it. He actually leaves his arm there for an extended period, throughout several of the following shots, and only seems to pull back when he says he and Tommy were on a date.

The following shots – of Buck’s coming out and Eddie’s initial response – are back and forth POV shots. The first shot from medium distance, is this:

Do you see it. DO YOU SEE IT. Do you see what drives me crazy! Eddie is mirroring Buck’s earlier posture – also this is immediately after Buck says Tommy left him on the curb (i.e. Eddie realizes there’s no Tommy getting between them). Eddie’s not just opened up, he’s reaching out, extending his arm back onto that empty chair between them. And again, like Buck, he leaves it there for several shots. It’s still there when he tells Buck to call Tommy, although he briefly vaguely gestures to himself during the “He’ll love you! We all do!” It’s not clear when he takes his arm away; no shots show it and then he’s getting up.

This just. This drives me insane.

For comparison, Buck doesn’t reach out to Tommy during the BU scene. And, compare Tommy to Eddie:

5. POV shots

Okay, the section header is a bit of a misnomer because the scene consists mostly of dialogue and therefore has POV shots. Like I said, there’s also overlap between the POV shots and the wider establishing shots I used in section 4. The bulk of this part of the scene, however, shows a lot of over the shoulder close ups with quick POV switches. In both cases, this is where the subject at the heart of the scene is discussed.

Now, these differences are pretty small and they could be a consequence of these episodes having different directors. However, there’s zero doubt in my mind that Chad Lowe closely studied the CO scene for its sheer number of cinematographic parallels and therefore it might be entirely on purpose too YAY.

There’s some variation in the distance of these shots, but the most intimate ones look like this:

(Still not over that face he’s pulling here, dear Lord). Buck takes up most of the screen – his shoulders are visible, but the top of his head isn’t. I guess this is technically still an over the shoulder shot, but barely. Eddie is out of focus, just enough there to be a blurry ear. These shots are intimate. This is almost what Eddie is seeing – and actually these shots make it feel like they’re sitting a lot closer than they actually are.

"Until now.” Buck’s entire face (including hair) is in the shot, and we can see Tommy’s shirt. This is the closest/most intimate we get to see him (and Tommy, in reverse). For both sides, they’re very clear over the shoulder shots. Yes, this is intimate – but it is not intimate. A quarter to a third of the screen (esp as the conversation moves on) is dedicated to the other person. Buck is more visually interesting too. He has more colour in his face and his background is more clearly white than in CO, whereas Tommy blends in more with the brown coat rack background (shout-out to @sparklespiff for pointing out that difference while I was trying to figure out why Buck felt more noticeable, btw).

SIDENOTE: I know some posts have already been made about the pictures on Buck’s fridge and Eddie’s mantelpiece, like they seem thematically relevant (or perhaps not yet, but soon). Buck’s walls in general have more pictures on them in S8, which is evident both in Buck’s background and Tommy’s. I am nowhere near talented enough to identify them, but going by their general colour and composition, I believe all of Buck’s wall art pieces are that, art, not family photos.

6. Eddie and Tommy leaving

These scenes have some of the clearest parallels, and of course an incredibly clear difference in how Eddie and Tommy are leaving Buck.

CO: Eddie leaves not because of Buck (well, not technically), but because he has to go do something: “I gotta go talk to Marisol.” Buck is smiling while Eddie gets up and is on his way out. Of course, this is when Eddie stops, turns around, and Buck looks up. In fact, Eddie says “Come here” but he’s the one to walk up to Buck to give him a hug. Buck just stands up from the chair. During the hug, we get shots of both Eddie’s and Buck’s faces, and of course Eddie holding Buck’s shoulder. When Eddie leaves, we hear the door open and shut – the focus stays on Buck.

Again, when Tommy leaves, we only hear the door while the camera cuts to Buck. The show then picks up his response (with the same expression) during his arrival at Eddie’s, where Eddie lets him into his home.

BU: Of course, Tommy has nowhere he needs to go to (hello, return of the failed cinema date) – when he says “I should go” it is because of his conversation with Buck. There’s a medium wide shot of him getting up while Buck looks confused, looking like he’s about to reach out for Tommy – the first time during their conversation. The camera uses a slow dolly to the left, which is when Buck calls back Tommy to ask for clarification: “Did you just break up with me?” Tommy says, “Yeah, I guess I just did.” This has been pointed out before, but they’re clearly not sure. Tommy also says, “Believe me, I didn’t see it coming either.” (Was LFJ speaking from Tommy’s perspective in that interview?). That line is fascinating, actually, because only moments ago, he was incredibly adamant about being Buck’s first, not his last. This feels like a throwback to “Enjoy it while it lasts,” leaving them both overwhelmed/confused.

Look at how similar these shots are! Also, the reason I was adamant about calling these scenes mirrors and not parallels is because Buck and Tommy greet each other with a moment of physical affection (which, as I mentioned before, is incredibly short and barely visible). Eddie wouldn’t have ordinarily but feels it’s important to hug Buck to show him nothing has changed. In terms of meaning and cinematography, their interaction is a lot more substantial and reciprocal. They’re also making sure to leave on good terms – whereas Buck and Tommy meet on good terms, but part essentially as strangers. Buck and Tommy ending the scene like truly feels like an end. Buck and Eddie’s scene feels like a significant shift in their relationship, and for me part of that is a result of Eddie hugging Buck, and shaking up their routine.

7. Miscellany

Just some bits and bobs I couldn’t fit elsewhere in the analysis!

“I like him too. Just not the same way as you.” 7x05 was truly out there foreshadowing 8x06’s “I am not gay.” (I want to do a full 7x04 + 7x05 parallels post at some point, but that’s going to be a fuckload of work and possibly even larger than this post).

Like I pointed out, Buck and Eddie drink beer during their scene (which they often do during their conversations). Buck and Tommy are breaking up without accoutrements. Of course, we know Buck brings over beer to Eddie after the breakup. Because the scenes mirror each other so closely in every other aspect, it feels incredibly poignant: Eddie again fills a role in Buck’s life Tommy should have had. I also figured I’d check their fake brands, and they are different labels. I would assume Buck brought a new flavour, considering Eddie’s looks.

Speaking of continuity, Buck opening the door to Tommy in a sense mirrors Eddie opening the door to Buck at the end of 8x06. The key differences in their cinematography is that during BU, the establishing shot of the entire scene is of the closed door without a peephole shot. When Eddie opens the door, it follows his Risky Business tribute so the door takes up less presence, and even when it’s closed, Buck is clearly visible through the peephole.

Phones clearly are connected to (past) female love interests; Eddie is interacting with Marisol but it’s through text and impersonal – we don’t see the messages, we just hear Eddie complain. On the other hand, Buck is out of contact with Abby but he still treasures that relationship – otherwise he wouldn’t still have those pictures on his phone after 7 years. I guess that’s kind of cute? Idk, I never really liked Abby or how she treated Buck, but Tommy’s speech has turned me into an Abby defender lol

Like Buck, Maddie also stands at the head of the kitchen island during her conversation with Chimney. Chimney’s in the kitchen proper, though, and Maddie walks up to him so they can actually stand face to face and be happy about the new pregnancy together! (I genuinely missed that scene the first time I watched the episode, I was so caught up in the bones of it all SORRY MADNEY I LOVE YOU FOREVER).

8. Final thoughts

I mean. Are we really surprised? I’m not! Actually that’s a lie. I saw the similarities but was shocked at just how close these scenes are in full. However,I do think this scene in particular does a lot to show just how deliberate these parallels between S7 and S8 are (and between S8 and previous seasons in general – we’ve seen similar/near identical cinematography a couple of times now), and how deliberate the parallels are between Eddie and Tommy (who are literally taking up the same position in these two scenes).

And just. The fact it’s the coming out scene between Buck and Eddie, which was about opening up & telling the truth, and it doesn’t change anything (allegedly), versus Buck and Tommy, which is about opening up & telling the truth, which changes everything... it reaffirms how I feel about the coming out scene – this is a major moment of change, and that change is deeply entwined with their respective romantic relationships. AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

-

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone. 

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it. 

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum. 

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him. 

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash. 

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears. 

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

[blondiedae]

dry house, wet clothes (four)

𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃 dry house, wet clothes, four

pairing. johnny suh x afab!reader x jeong jaehyun

genre. angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn (for jaehyun), friends to lovers (for johnny)

warnings. swearing, mentions of drinking, kissing, groping, dry humping (for real this time), mild burn injury to main character, smut tags will be added when it applies. big miscommunication trope, it is what it is. it’s so much angst i’m so sorry

word count. 9,303

plot. the four of you have spent years building the world around you, your friendship, your weekends together hidden in jaehyun's loft. you, mark, johnny and jaehyun. shaking the foundation of that by being in love with your best friend, jaehyun, is a risk you've never been confident enough to take. but, johnny suh is confident and johnny suh has been known to shake the world around you.

other's mentioned. mark lee, kim jungwoo, lee taeyong, nakamoto yuta, na jaemin and lee jeno (briefly)

author's note. hey everyone. how are we feeling about angst? the theme of this chapter is hard conversations. but also jonnny is cute!

taglist (open). @xiaojunsdino @yoursyuno

playlist. here !

Johnny woke up first. He didn’t move, he kept his breathing even and, most importantly, he kept himself tangled in you.

November felt so different, barely the first day and it was so incredibly different. Johnny thought that it might not have been November at all, that maybe he was different and you were different and the possibility of the two of you becoming an us made everything feel different. It had been two and a half weeks, give or take, since he’d confessed. It had been six months and two and a half weeks since he started falling, since he’d been able to look at you without his heart skipping beats. Johnny had felt his heart swelling for six months and two and a half weeks, letting whatever he was feeling solidify and find a secure place in his heart, in his mind, before he did anything about it.

But, now that he had you here, now that he’d kissed you and held you and only you through the night, Johnny was thinking about the time he might have considered wasted. He didn’t regret it, but Christ he didn’t want what he was feeling to go away. Johnny wanted to be selfish, at least a small part of him. He wanted to be demanding, to fully go after what he wanted; you. Your lips, your touch, your heart, your mind and every bit of you that you’d give to him. To spend every day of November with you, like this. Or as many as he could.

To see you like this in December and January, to February. Hold you the same way in March, kiss you until April when it would have been a year for him, six months for you. In April, if time was the same for everyone, you would feel the way he did right now. In November.

April would feel different for you. The air, his arms, the way he kissed you and held you. April would feel different with the trees sprinting back to life, leaves vibrant and green and hanging tight to branches instead of brown, orange, red and falling to the ground. April would find Johnny and April would find you and things would be so different.

For now, he’d stay in November. In the chilled days, the shortened days that ended as soon as they started, in this room and in your bed with you.

You stirred next to him, wiggling closer to him still. He could feel the goosebumps on your arms wrapped around him and pulled your blankets up to cover you; slowly, softly, secure. Johnny smoothed down your hair, moving the strands that tickled your cheeks so your nose and eyes and lips would stop twitching. He took you in, the way you looked and breathed against him. A much different feeling, in November, than any other time he’d woken up with you.

His eyes wandered to your lips, plump from biting them as you slept, from the blood flowing to them through the night. He’d kiss you if he could, if you were awake and pulling him closer, eyes on him. You shifted once more, nose wrinkling and mumbling to him, “Stop staring.”

Johnny smiled, softly, and let that smile turn into a laugh. The soft beams of the sun came through your window behind you, gradually filling the room, “I won’t.”

“I don’t want to open my eyes.” Your voice was low, in tone and in volume. The way your fingers stretched around him only to settle back where they were warmed Johnny, “S’too bright.”

“I’ll close the blinds.” He told you.

Johnny had barely moved and you still pulled him back, “No. Stay here.”

So, he smiled some more, holding you how he was - maybe tighter. Johnny shifted closer to you and rested his chin on top of your head, “Are you hungry?”

“Head hurts.”

“Do you want coffee?”

You nodded, “I do.”

“Then I have to get up.”

“Please, no.” Maybe it was your mind, still wrapped in blankets and slumber, fogged over. Maybe you didn’t think of it, at all. Still, you pressed your lips to his bicep, the one draped over you and holding you close. You kissed Johnny’s arm softly and neither one of you did anything to stop the shiver that followed, “Stay here just a little longer.”

Your lips were still pressed to his skin when you spoke, Johnny would never be able to argue so long as they were. So, he stayed and even half awake, you noted how different November already felt.

The way Johnny tucked you into him, away from the light that melted into the room. How your breathing was in tandem; every time you’d take a breath in and your chest would rise, it would bump against his and press the two of you closer together. You had one knee bent, Johnny did too. The position felt close to how you’d been dancing together last night or at the festival. But, today, your heart skipped, completely and unmistakable.

You swallowed the thought, the feeling, the unexpected butterflies milling about, readying yourself to speak. Johnny’s voice broke through first, “Can I be selfish?”

“What do you mean?”

Johnny leaned away from you then, you opened your eyes and took in the sight. Beautiful as he’d been the night before, as he’d always been. He smiled at you, eyes down on your lips before he said, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

It woke you up fully, to hear him say that. The butterflies in your stomach broke into a frenzy, your heart stopped long enough to warrant concern, but you only blinked up at him. The way he smiled at you was teasing, it was perfectly Johnny. He waited and held still with that smile, watching your reaction like it was a performance just for him. Johnny let out what had to be a giggle when your eyes widened.

You tucked your head down, “I just woke up.”

“I know that.” He laughed, chest bouncing against yours, “I’ve been here all night.”

You mocked, “I know that.”

“I don’t mind.” Johnny’s hand slipped from around you to pull at your chin, lifting your head to look at him. You let him lead you, once again, “I really don’t mind.”

You blinked again, “I…”

“You can say no.” His voice was so gentle. Johnny kept his teasing smile on his face, but his tone was so sincere and unmistakable. He told you again, “You can always say no. You know that, right?”

Nodding up at him, you mumbled, “I do.”

He nodded back, “We’ll say it’s a no, then. I’ll go make coffee.”

He didn’t make a move to leave, not yet, and your eyes locked on his lips. You could still feel them on you, the exact way they’d felt the night before. You could feel the bark of the tree scratching at the skin of your back, could feel your wings folding and you could absolutely feel his lips. The sound of him moaning, breathing, saying your name.

It was a rush, a memory you were grateful alcohol hadn’t wiped away. You wanted to feel all of it, again, but sober. You wondered if Johnny kissing you and pressing you down into your mattress would feel the same as him holding you against a tree; if it would feel better. You sighed.

You moved first and sighed and when your head stopped spinning, you stood up. Your legs wobbled a bit before you turned and held out your hand, “Come on.”

“Come where?”

“With me.”

He watched you circle around the bed to stand in front of him. Noted how soft your thighs looked and how the sight of you in just a shirt might’ve done more for him than he’d readily admit. Johnny thought about kissing all the way up your leg, the sounds you’d make, the ones you made last night by the tree.

But, Johnny didn’t say anything, only let you pull him from your bed and across the hall to your bathroom.

When you bent over to rummage through a drawer, Johnny watched that same shirt slide up your thighs, enough to make him turn his head. He pushed his hair back. Everything felt different.

You turned to him, holding out a neon green toothbrush, “Here.”

Johnny laughed, fingers brushing yours when he took it, “Babe, you have a toothbrush for me?”

Goosebumps littered your skin; babe. The world picked up pace again, spinning and spinning and spinning around; babe. Internally, you fought with reacting or not reacting to the word, his smile, his touch; babe. Johnny looked so perfect, the word coming from his lips. He looked so natural, standing in your bathroom. Johnny’s smile started small, but it grew and it grew until he raised his eyebrows and turned to watch you in the mirror.

“I have a lot of spares.” You cleared your throat, flicking on the water, sliding on your toothpaste and handing the tube over to him, “You can write your name on that one.”

Johnny teased, of course he did, “I can?”

“If you want.”

Johnny kept his eyes on you in the mirror, catching each time you’d glance over at him and smile around his newly appointed toothbrush. He didn’t know it would get you flustered the way it did, a pet name he was sure he’d called you before. Johnny reminded himself that it might have been before November, before October, before everything was different. Still, he smiled, because you faltered and it made his heart swell even more.

You didn’t move when you were done, either one of you. Johnny put his toothbrush down next to yours and watched as you adjusted yourself, distracted yourself from the word that echoed between you two; babe.

“Did you like it?”

You stopped, the fussing or fidgeting, whatever you’d call it. You stopped and looked at Johnny fully, “Like what?”

“When I called you babe?”

Yes. The shortest answer was yes. So, that’s what you told him, wishing it would come out as unwavering as possible, “Yes.”

“Okay.” He nodded his head slowly, fingers tapping on the counter in no particular rhythm, taking two tentative steps closer. He kept his eyes down, asking, “Can I kiss you now?” Emphasizing, “Babe.”

The shortest answer, “Yes.”

Johnny stepped in front of you, smiling still; you were so glad that he rarely stopped. He rested his hands on your hips, leaning down towards you and waiting, as he always did, for you to give him permission to move. When you did, his lips touched yours. Round and round, spinning until you were so dizzy you thought it was only in your head. You braced yourself, palms flat on the countertop. Johnny’s lips moved with yours, his fingertips held firm, thumbs working the fabric of your shirt up until they met your skin.

He whispered the word again, “Babe.”

And you whimpered against his lips, feeling the constant chill that hurried through you whenever Johnny touched you. He worked you up to burning, teased you and taunted until your cheeks were on fire and your palms sweat. He’d call you babe just to watch you fumble with one word. Then, Johnny would hold you and cool you down, spin the world for you, comfort you and keep you safe. It was intoxicating. It felt like shock, it felt like a dream, it felt like it was natural to be here. In your bathroom. Kissing Johnny Suh.

“Johnny.” His hands moved down to your ass, holding still until you were fidgeting again, against him, and he laughed into the kiss. The way his fingers dug into your flesh made your head fall back and away from him, a moan floating into the air instead of letting him swallow it down. Johnny was pleased, beyond that, at the sight of you, the sound of you, the feel of you against him, “God, Johnny.”

There were fewer layers between you now. You could feel his skin on yours, his leg between yours, pressing against you. He could feel how wet you were getting, the goosebumps he’d caused. He was losing his mind, a sensory overload. But Johnny would continue until you asked him to stop. He lifted you up, placing you on the counter as gently as his shaking hands would allow. He tried to breathe, to calm himself, to think clearly. Truly, all he’d wanted was a kiss. He wanted to wake up to you, to kiss you and not think twice about it. But, now that he was here, perfectly between your legs and pressed against you, he didn’t want it to end.

He just wanted you.

Johnny could feel the heat coming from your core, could feel blood rushing through his body and making his cock harder with every whimper you let out. It was his favorite sound, a sound he would chase, a song he’d play over and over until he grew sick of it. Johnny didn’t expect that would ever happen. He was breathing so heavily in time with you, your hands in his hair, lips kissing down his jaw, his neck and back up to his lips. His hips moved up, how they did last night, grinding against you. You moaned, he moaned, and it echoed into the spinning world around you.

He found a rhythm, one you easily matched, rutting against each other through only one layer of clothing. Johnny placed his hands where yours had been behind you, against the counter and holding, white-knuckled, onto the edge of the sink. Johnny moved harder, faster, kisses becoming sloppy and hurried. You were the same, moaning into his mouth, pulling tightly on his shirt, his hair, hands falling down to hold his hips against you. Johnny did the same, one of his hands on the small of your back, holding you in place. The place that felt right, the place that felt different.

His lips placed kisses down your neck, biting marks into the skin all the way to your collarbone. Johnny was shaking, you could feel it. If it was adrenaline, nerves or if he was teetering on the edge, you didn’t know. You couldn’t ask. You only knew that you felt the same. Felt your toes curling up, felt your heart pounding hard against your chest, felt the tip of his dick against your clit with each thrust and it was becoming too much. Overwhelming in a way that turned your vision white, the last sense that hadn’t been occupied by him; the way he felt, the way he tasted on your lips, the smell of his fading cologne and the drawn out moans, sighs, whimpers, whispers of your name.

“I think I might…” He stopped himself. Johnny was almost too embarrassed to admit it out loud; the rush he was feeling, the way he was close to exploding. He lifted his head, his hips never stopped moving, and looked to you. His eyes locked on yours, forehead falling against yours, and Johnny lifted his other hand to secure you there, “I’m going to…”

You watched him with hooded eyes, afraid of admitting the same. But, looking at him might have ended it all for you; his swollen lips, the tangles in his hair from your fingers, the look in his eyes when he thrust against you. The sight of him was enough, suddenly every sense was Johnny. So, you told him, “Me too. Johnny, fuck, me too.”

“Say my name again.” He was so close, “Please say my name.”

You did, eyes never looking away from his, “Johnny.”

“Again.”

Laced with a moan, “Johnny.”

Music to his ringing ears, the only sound that broke through. His voice wavered, more like a whimper and quiet right before you, “Again. Please.”

“Johnny. Keep going, Johnny.” You sighed, wanting to feel his lips on yours again, feeling your stomach tense every time his cock rocked against you, “Feels so good.”

“Feels so good.” He repeated, “Want to - fuck…I-together. Want you to cum with me, babe. Can you do that?”

You nodded, “I’m close.”

“Kiss me.” You did. Your hips rolled against him, Johnny’s rocked into you until the two of you were breathless and borrowing gasps from each other. His air filled your lungs, your toes curled and your fingers found the spot at the nape of his neck that made Johnny let out the most impossible sounds. Another echo in your bathroom, another new element to November. Johnny groaned, so drawn out and low, vibrating against you. He told you, “Cumming.”

Your legs wrapped around him, angling yourself perfectly for him, for you, for what might be an us. He moaned your name, repeating it with heavy breaths like a mantra keeping him grounded. Johnny was losing his mind, pressed against you like that, cum leaking from his cock between the two of you. His body shook, yours followed, eyes shut tight so you could watch the stars behind them. Your head fell back, a scream desperate to come from your chest was replaced with a broken, strangled whine of his name, one more time, “Johnny.”

The air in the confined space of your bathroom was heavy, holding you two still as you both came down. Johnny’s head rested on your shoulder, every breath he took was followed by a full bodied shudder. He let out a laugh, bringing what must have been ease into the air. You pressed kisses into his neck and thought back, only briefly, to two and a half weeks ago. How you’d woken up with him, and him and him. Tangled and temperate and tired, watching the rain roll down the windows.

Your face was buried in space between his neck and shoulder when you said, “I can’t stop shaking.”

“Me too. I’ve got you.” Johnny told you, unmoving but soft, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“That was incredible.” He let out a slow, wavering breath, lifting his head for a moment only to put it back down and laugh, once more, “That was…so good.”

You breathed him in; Johnny Suh, wrapped around you, “It was.”

Johnny finally lifted his head, taking you in; the way your hair stuck to your forehead, how your body hiccuped when you let out the breath you’d been holding and how your legs held him still. He didn’t mind the last bit, not at all - he never would. Johnny untangled only his arms from around you, fingers cracking as he stretched them out. Then he held your face in his hands and kissed you, as softly as he possibly could; always like it was the first and last time he’d be doing it, always like he was cherishing every possible millisecond with you.

Then, Johnny huffed another laugh, “Kissing you in bed after you’ve just woken up is a no, but dry humping in your bathroom ten minutes later is a yes. Noted.”

You covered your face with your hands, “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t get shy now.” Johnny cackled, pulling your hands away. He kissed one palm, then the next, eyes on you as he did. He felt the goosebumps that had faded come back on your legs, your arms, “You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He pulled your hand up so it was around his neck, “When you’re sleeping, when you first wake up.” He tried to stop himself from smirking, but Johnny let it settle on his face before he said, “When you cum.”

“Johnny.”

Even warning him, his name had never sounded so perfect. He kissed your lips, “I mean it. We’ll slow down again, I promise. I know you’ll still want time. But this,” He pressed himself against you, “Meant so much to me. I need you to know that.”

Simply agreeing didn’t feel like enough, but Johnny was saying everything so perfectly, “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay.” He stepped back. You missed his warmth the moment he did, the world halted as soon as his fingertips trailed off your thigh, “Come on. Clean up and then coffee.”

You were in the kitchen the next time either of you spoke. Johnny rummaged around your kitchen, familiar and easy, making a pot of coffee and whistling a song you’d hoped he’d share with you, soon. You leaned against the fridge, eyes on him, mind somewhere in the sky. The comfortable air that had settled was nice enough to drift away in. You knew Johnny had a secure enough hold on you, a certain and assured tether, in case you drifted too far. The coffee pot grumbled and whirred, brewing in the silence. You turned to pull away October from your calendar and welcome in November, the quiet tear of the paper another layer of sound

Johnny came up behind you, close enough for you to feel him, close enough to brush but not fully touch, “The year is almost over.”

“Mhm.” You looked over your shoulder at him. Johnny was already looking right at you, “What do you want for Christmas?”

“You.” He laughed. You knew it was meant to be a joke, but something about November made it feel more real. Something in his eyes, in that smile, in the way the morning had gone, the night before, the last couple of weeks. So, you didn’t say anything for a moment and Johnny stepped back, pouring your drink into a mug and asking, “What? Nothing about it being corny?”

He handed the cup to you, a perfect grin on his face. And, when his fingertips brushed yours, when you took a sip from the steaming cup and kept your eyes on him, you asked, carefully, “What if I said yes?”

“Yes to what?”

“If I said yes…” You looked down into the pitch black liquid in your hands, felt the warmth of it, let it settle in your stomach and let your words find their place, as well, “To you having me…for Christmas.”

Johnny’s eyebrow raised, challenging as he’d always be. He took a drink from his own mug and placed it on the counter with a quiet clink, “Only until Christmas?”

You shook your head, a Johnny-specific shyness, something so unfamiliar to you, creeping through your veins. Wanting to be bold in the moment, you looked up, “For however long.”

He didn’t hesitate to tell you, “I’d like that a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Certainty, ease, it was all as simple as that. Johnny took a step towards you, “But, I want you to do me a favor, okay?”

You nodded, “Okay.”

“Think about it.” Your breath caught and Johnny caught onto it. He smiled again, hands reaching out to hold you still, steady, at ease, “I’m not saying no. I just want you to think about it some more, okay?”

“Until when? Christmas?”

“Not until Christmas. But, at least until the end of the week. Does that sound good?” Another nod, “Are you free on Thursday?”

“I should be.”

“Can I take you on another date?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at your lips, “You can.”

His face twisted in curious thought, like he was putting on a show of whatever plan he had; securing your interest in what he was going to say next. So, you laughed and Johnny said, “Then, I’ll take you on a date Thursday and you can tell me how you feel on Friday.”

You teased, “What if I change my mind?”

Johnny kissed you, chaste but lingering, “I’m really hoping you won’t.”

📻

It was raining when Johnny left your house.

It had just started, not heavy enough for it to matter; not heavy enough for Johnny to worry about walking to the bus stop, unprotected. It was small drops, scattered and infrequent, when he stood on your doorstep and prolonged his goodbye. Lingering, lingering, lingering and hoping the kisses he left you with do just the same.

They did.

He told you, “I’ll call you later.”

That butterfly fluttered in your stomach. You said, “Okay.”

And Johnny stole one more kiss before he was gone in the rain, stopping at your gate to wave at you. Stopping in the rain to look at you, one last time, like he hadn’t seen you one million times before. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t stop your mind from thinking, again, have you always looked at me like that?

So, you let the butterfly flutter, let it rattle inside you. And, when it felt like it was growing tired, when the wings slowed and it started to settle, you thought of Johnny; of his kiss, of the morning, of the way he called you, “My Juliet.”

And it took flight, again.

It was raining when Jaehyun woke up.

His fingers aching from the grip he’d kept on his phone all night. Somewhere in the early afternoon, some time later that he ever intended to wake up. He could hear the drops before he was conscious enough to see them, hitting the roof of his bedroom with no particular pattern. He felt his head pounding a beat after them.

Jaehyun lifted his head, his phone, whatever pride he had at whatever time it was, and groaned. His phone was a block, heavy in his palm, and completely dead. So, he rolled over, plugged it in and hoped when it came back to life, he would too.

He didn’t.

Jungwoo poked his head inside Jaehyun’s room, he wasn’t sure how long it had been - minutes to an hour. He looked exactly how Jaehyun felt, they’d split the blame between the rainy morning, Yuta’s party and the empty bottle of whiskey in Jaehyun’s kitchen sink. He barely looked at Jaehyun, last nights makeup smudged around his eyes, when he asked, “Coffee pods?”

“Middle cabinet.” Jaehyun’s voice was in worse condition than he’d anticipated, his throat raw. He pushed his covers back, shivering at the first morning of November, and continued, “I’ll get them.”

Jungwoo mumbled something back, scuffling after Jaehyun, back down the stairs he forced himself to climb up. While the coffee brewed, when they took their first sips, when Jungwoo moved to sit at the island and Jaehyun leaned back against the fridge, they stayed silent. The only other coherent thing either said for a while was Jungwoo asking, “Did she text you?”

Jaehyun sipped at his coffee, eyes closed, chest warming and stomach in knots, when he replied, “I don’t know. My phone died.”

It was raining by the time Mark made his way back home.

It was late afternoon. He’d spent most of the morning at Jeno and Jaemin’s dorm, shoveling take out leftovers and scattered snacks into their mouths to fight their hangovers and wait out the rain. Clambering down the stairs and to the door, Mark wished he’d waited it out a bit longer. It was impossible to see anything in front of him; the only thing visible were the raindrops directly in front of him, their path to the ground and the splash they made when they hit the concrete.

He watched it a minute, he thought for a minute, he considered going back upstairs for a minute before Mark reached his hand out into the downpour. He stretched his fingers out, closed them and cupped his hand. He tried to catch enough drops to make a puddle in his hand and, when he did, Mark titled his hand and let it spill to the ground with a resounding splash.

His phone vibrated against his leg. Mark shook his hand of any remaining rain drops and fished it out, letting the screen light up his face. Four new messages.

One from you, 10:36am are we still on for tomorrow? jaehyun isn’t answering me :(

He quickly replied, 1:27pm Yeah! 😃

1:27pm Sorry was at Jeno and Jaemins

1:28pm U want me to text him?

Three from Johnny, 10:42am Dude

10:42am Call me when you wake up

1:03pm If I knew it would take this long, I would’ve made other plans today 😒

Mark tapped the screen until he was calling Johnny, phone pressed to his ear while it rang. He knelt down, rolling up the leg of the sweatpants Jeno had loaned him, and when he could hear the line connect, Mark laughed, “This was your only plan for the day?”

“Shut up.” Johnny huffed on the other end, “I stayed at her house last night.”

Mark, assessing the rain, asked, “Who?”

Johnny, monotone and maybe slightly annoyed, asked, “Is that a joke?”

“What? Oh.” It clicked. Mark was hoisting his backpack over his head, looking across the courtyard at where he assumed his dorm was, and it clicked. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, one that was almost painful. Mark did try his best to seem appropriately excited - not as over the moon as he was - when he said, “Oh shit. What does that mean? What comes next?”

Whatever Johnny said next was muffled by the rain, the thunder, Mark’s own footsteps splashing into puddles he didn’t anticipate being so deep. What he could make out, though, Mark repeated, “A date on Friday?”

He could definitely hear Johnny say, “Yeah.”

📻

“I’m early.”

“S’okay.” Jaehyun stepped inside, the chill of fresh November air followed him and raced down your spine. You blamed that gust of wind for the change in atmosphere as soon as you saw him, “Mark is on his way. He just left campus.”

Jaehyun nodded, looking at you through the mirror in the foyer. It was the first time you’d seen him since Halloween, the first time he’d looked at you since October. Now, three days into November, he could barely even do that directly. Jaehyun had spent the last three days in a fog; one that matched haze covering the ground in the morning. He’d typed and typed and typed dozens of messages to you, fingers hovering over an arrow that could reach you, directly. There was a chill in his skin, through his bloodstream, down to his bones that he’d recognized as uncertainty every time he thought to just talk to you.

Instead, the last conscious, cognitive thing he said to you echoed in his head and mocked him. He could hear his own voice on repeat. Jaehyun could still taste the bitterness of the alcohol and his words, days later.

It’s not the same thing he’d said.

He knew it wasn’t. You knew that, as well. You both knew something was shifting; seasons didn’t only exist in the changing of leaves, a chill in the air, frost on the grass. Everything had its season and Jaehyun found it impossible not to think yours, together, might be changing. Johnny was the first leaf that sprouted, thrived and quickly turned and turned and turned until it went from green to vibrant gold.

You and Jaehyun were approaching winter; frost on your fingertips, fire burning somewhere deep to keep you warm.

It was silent between the two of you, uncomfortable and unsure. From the kitchen, you could hear music - music that was new to you, music that was curated for you, music from a playlist that shared a name with you. It was the only sound filling the room; that and your breathing. Just as uncomfortable. Just as unsure. Jaehyun pulled his shoes off, dropping them to the floor with a dull thud, before he spoke again, “Should we start cooking, then?”

He didn’t like how his voice sounded. To you, it fit perfectly in with the melody behind him - another new song, another flame desperate to keep you warm.

“Yeah, sure.” You thought the way your head nodded was too much, excessive in the way it bounced a few too many times. But, you stepped past Jaehyun and down the hallway to the kitchen, hearing him follow behind you and the way his footsteps fell in time with yours, “Do you want to do the sauce or the vegetables?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer, he stood in the doorway perfectly still and silent. It’s not the same thing pulling bile to his lips. Jaehyun looked at you then, staring back at him from across the kitchen, standing in the dim light and looking so… looking exactly as you should. Exactly as you always had. Exactly as he’d picture you when he missed you most. You were the stars in his sky, constellations burst from you, and he’d memorized every single one of them.

He looked at his feet, the pattern of his socks, and Jaehyun sighed, “Can we talk?”

Your hands were shaking, reaching out and organizing ingredients in front of you. They trembled and it had to be noticeable, but you told him, “Yeah.” You asked him, “What’s up?”

Jaehyun took one step, “You and…”

He paused. You begged him not to say it. Silently, you pleaded for more time, looking at the calendar you’d only just peeled away two days before. November was so new and open and there was so much time for you to think this through. Jaehyun could grant you that time, Johnny had told you that too much time to dwell and you could talk yourself out of anything.

Your stomach twisted and Jaehyun persisted, “You and Johnny.”

“Oh.” Swallowing, hands still shaking, you nodded too many times, again, “Okay.”

He met you on the other side of the island, contrasting your busy hands by laying his flat on the counter. Jaehyun let out another breath, the song filling the silence ended and he filled it with, “Are you dating?”

“No. Not yet.” Spinach, onions, mushrooms. “We don’t have garlic.”

Jaehyun’s head titled, “That’s why?”

“What? No. We, for the sauce, we don’t have garlic. I forgot garlic.” He waited for you to elaborate, coming around closer to read over the recipe in front of you, “We’re not dating because we’re moving slowly.”

“Are you?” The bitterness reprised its role, making a mess of his intentions. He hated the way you looked at him, the incredulous look he deserved, “I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“I said I’m sorry.” Silence again. Jaehyun couldn’t think of the next thing he wanted to say, all the questions he felt nauseous asking. They were lost on him, so he sought out something else lost, rifling through your cabinets for misplaced or missing garlic, “Do you think Mark could stop for it?”

“For what?”

“The garlic.” Neither of you moves to text Mark, “But, you want to date him?”

“I forgot Mark’s beer, too.” You leaned back, arms crossed. The answer could have been simple if you could find it, the answer could have been simple if Jaehyun wasn’t the one asking, “I think so.”

“Since when?”

“Since…since he told me, I guess? Or, maybe a little bit after.”

Jaehyun filled a pot with water, stepping around you to put it on the stove. You reached in front of him, turning the knob on the burner and brushing against his stomach; another flame, another flame. You stopped, so did he.

Jaehyun looked at you, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to be sure about it.” You kept your eyes on the flame under the pot, hand still pinched around the knob, “Johnny told me what you said.”

Again, his head fell to the side, “What did I say?”

“It’ll ruin the dynamic.”

More words to taunt him, more words from his lips that would echo in Jaehyun’s head until it drove him mad. Words Jaehyun didn’t even remember until you’d reminded him and, suddenly, it was the only thing he could think of. I don’t know, John. It was near your birthday, It could make things awkward. It could ruin the dynamic.

“I’m so fucking…” Jaehyun’s head dropped down, shook twice and then turned to look directly at you, again. He could remember the conversation, the way Johnny was beaming and bursting - like he’d explode if he didn’t tell you. Jaehyun could relate, he knew the feeling better than he would ever admit. He knew how it felt to look at you and melt, look at you and smile, look at you and feel everything. It was the feeling that was the most familiar to him, the feeling he was sitting in, now, “You’re worried about it.”

You nodded, still too attentive to the water in front of you, “Yeah.”

He was too. He had been for years. It was the only thing that kept his heart at bay. Jaehyun had been telling himself for years that it was best to keep quiet, that it was best to have you as he did. If the alternative was not having you at all, he would choose to let his heart skip beats in secret. It was the only thing that stopped Jaehyun from spilling the only secret he’d kept from you, “I..”

“I don’t want to lose you.” It was a whisper, a quiet confession in your kitchen, “Or Mark.”

“You won’t.”

“I want us all to be normal.”

“We are.”

Mimicking, taunting him, you questioned, “Are we?”

You looked at him, then. The water gurgled gradually behind you, the music played. Jaehyun stood so close to you that you could feel him breathing, only when he inhaled. He tried to smile, keeping you between him and the boiling water. The corner of Jaehyun’s lips lifted, his dimple gave way, he looked just as you needed him to. Just as he always had. Your hand reached up, pressed against his cheek for a second. It was natural, the way Jaehyun leaned into and closed his eyes. It was expected, the way you both let out a breath you’d been holding. It was anticipated, the way you melted into him, the way you’d burn, the way Jaehyun kept you burning.

When your mind spiraled and begged you to lean forward, when that heat - his heat - thawed out your fingertips, you dropped your hand.

It bounced off the burner, just barely grazing the edge of the pot and the iron wrapped in flame beneath it. But, enough that you yanked your hand back and hissed, “Fuck.”

Jaehyun was quick to pull at your hand, pull you away from the stove and into him again. He took you to the sink, cool water running over the burn, “Are you okay?”

You wanted to say yes. Instead, you laughed and shook your head, a particular uncertainty you were growing to despise even more, “I don’t know.”

“Stay here.” Jaehyun was halfway out of the kitchen, “Keep it under the water.”

Every sound you heard was too much; the floorboard creaking under Jaehyun’s feet, the faucet pouring out water, the gurgle and bubble of the water in the pot, every song Johnny had picked for you - the playlist that never seemed to end, that was always growing. Every thought and feeling made your skin itch; Jaehyun in your bathroom, the burn, Jaehyun in your bathroom and the memory of Johnny in your bathroom. Jaehyun in your bathroom, digging through drawers, seeing the toothbrush you’d labeled with Johnny’s name on it. You could be sick, you could lean over the sink and let it out.

Jaehyun was back before you could, “Here.”

He pulled your hand from the water, dabbed it dry, put something on it that soothed the itch and peeled open a bandage. Jaehyun held your hand for a moment, inspecting it more, breathing evenly as he could. He lingered there, eyes unfocused and so, so quiet. Jaehyun’s vision was stained green, written over with black sharpie and spelling out someone else’s name. Some part of him knew it shouldn’t bother him, he willed it not to bother him. Begged and begged and begged for something so small to be just that. But, it was positioned so nicely, right next to yours; a bright green toothbrush with ‘Johnny’ written across the handle in bold, fresh ink. In the corner, in a cup, gathering dust was something similar; his own blue toothbrush, his own name. And, it was fading.

Jaehyun felt like he was fading. It might have been desperation, something to keep him from dwindling, dimming in front of you. The inevitable first leaf of your season had fallen, but Jaehyun would hold out until the snow started to fall. He’d break his own heart, that way, he’d make himself sick. Your hand was cradled in his. Your hand fit so nicely in his; from the time he’d met you, as a child, through every year since. It had always seemed like your hands were growing perfectly so they’d always fit together. Jaehyun wasn’t ready to let that go.

So, he didn’t think much about it before his lips moved to kiss your palm, “Jaehyun.”

“I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t look at you, again, lips still hovering in the center of your hand, “I’m…”

Mark’s voice caught you off guard, “You home?”

Your voice was more disorienting, cracking when you called out, “In the kitchen.”

Neither of you moved. You counted the steps Mark took until he was in the doorway, counted the seconds that ticked by while Jaehyun hovered and you held your breath, again. You repeated his name, close to a warning and just as quiet as before, “Jaehyun.”

And when Mark’s footsteps halted, Jaehyun secured the bandage on your hand and leaned away; his lips tingling as he gnawed on them and shut off the water. Mark asked, “What happened?”

Jaehyun cleared his throat, trying to sound cheerful when he greeted, “Hey Mark.”

“I burnt my hand.” It didn’t come out evenly, it came out rushed, “I don’t have garlic and I forgot your beer.”

“Oh shit. I could’ve picked stuff up.” He came to you, then, picking up your hand and inspecting it, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shrugging and avoiding Jaehyun, shrugging and reassuring Mark, you said, “I think we can still make dinner without the garlic.”

“Yeah, but my beer.” Mark winced, playfully, thumb hiking over his shoulder, “You want me to run to the store?”

Jaehyun pushed himself off the counter, “I’ll go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You get settled and I’ll be back.” He grinned at Mark, then turned to you, “Anything else we need?”

You faltered for a moment, blinking and blinking and feeling the last of the heart Jaehyun had kissed into your palm. Then, you said, “Maybe more popcorn.”

“‘Make sure it’s the extra butter one, though” Mark dropped his backpack, crossing to the sink the scrub away at his hands, “Thanks, man.”

Jaehyun nodded, then he left. Slowly, your fingertips frosted again, missing the way he warmed them. You still felt sick again, felt uneasy and uncertain, standing in a room that was completely still. Mark chopped at the vegetables, he might have been telling you about his day, it was all lost on you. You could hear Jaehyun’s footsteps, the door opening and closing and the blood pumping in your ears.

Mark was a blur in front of you, fiddling with the burner and mumbling - maybe speaking clearly, you couldn’t tell, “Water’s boiling over.” Then he looked at you, Mark came into focus when he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

And you lied - maybe you hoped and by saying it, willed it to be, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

📻

Mark had pulled a chair up to your kitchen counter, a yellow Ticonderoga pencil clenched between his teeth. You’d watched him gnaw at it, the bite marks in the chipped wood, while he stared off and out and up at the ceiling. He’d made himself at home in your kitchen, as he always did, books spread out in front of him. He focused on and scribbled his notes, you chopped away at spinach, onions, mushrooms. Mark would hum in thought, tapping out a beat on the granite surface and the syncopated sound of the knife on your cutting board twisted together like percussion.

You used every sound, every slice, every small movement as a distraction; from your thoughts, from the aftermath of a conversation you knew was inevitable, from the way the center of your hand felt like an epicenter. Jaehyun had been gone thirty minutes and it felt like an eternity, and unfinished, unending eternity.

Mark was distracted, tuning into songs you couldn’t hear; his melodies, his rhythms, his words in his head. There were moments when the melodies seemed familiar, he’d look over at you and ask, “What song was that?”

You’d make a guess, it was always wrong, and Mark would go back to what he was doing; one part studying, one part scribbling, one part tracing the small patterns in the granite. He looked at you over his glasses, back at his notes, then back to you, “Can you check this phrase for me?”

“Yeah, let me finish the bread.”

He nodded, pulling the pencil from his teeth and using it to point towards you, “How is your hand?”

“It’s fine.” There was no way to tell Mark that it had frozen over, all except the center. That the burn was inconsequential, almost lost to a completely different sensation. You cleared your throat, “What are you supposed to be studying for?”

“I have a vocal assessment. It was a required class.” Mark tapped the eraser on his notebook, next to a line he’s visibly erased before, “Which is like the absolute last thing I want to do.”

“So what? You have to sing?”

He nodded, “In front of the whole class. Then they, or we, assess whoever sang to their face and I just-“ He cut himself off with a groan, drawn out and bubbling over with distress, “I don’t want to do it.”

“If a dream is the sun, my mind is like revolving Earth all day. That’s really good, Mark.”

He hummed again, “It felt pretentious. It makes sense, though?”

“Of course.” You watched him, sympathetic and careful, “Why don’t you want to sing, Mark?”

Mark shook his head, pulling his glasses from his nose to push them up on his head, “The last time I sang for an audience I was six.”

“It’s been a while.”

“It was for a Christmas pageant. I was wearing a green suit.”

You smiled, letting his memory unfurl in front of you, “A bold choice.”

“I was singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and I puked hot chocolate all over myself and the stage and a couple of the preschoolers in the front row.” Mark closed his eyes, dragging the memory from the archives - likely kicking and screaming,, “I also started crying so hard the teacher asked my mom to take me out of the gym until the end of the program.”

“Oh.” It was hard to choke down the giggle, watching the way Mark winced helped. You moved until you were next to him, pushing his books from the edge and hoisting yourself onto the counter. Mark looked at you, closed his eyes again and dropped his head so it was on your lap, “Are you…are you worried that’s going to happen again?”

“A little.”

“It won’t.” You had no way of knowing if that was true, but it felt right to say. Mark was always confident in the moments he needed to be - getting him there was more than half of the struggle. He kept his eyes closed while you smoothed down his hair and tried to joke, “Just don’t wear green or drink hot chocolate.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Johnny.” It was muffled enough that you could’ve pretended not to hear, but Mark was too close to your ear for that to be believable. The topic of Johnny Suh seemed unavoidable. Mark knew, of course he knew, and you knew that Mark knew. Still, you balked a bit, clearing your throat.

Mark continued, “I need you to be serious, okay? Please?”

“I am. I promise.” You exhaled, “Do you want to practice?”

Mark didn’t open his eyes, not yet, leaning more into your method of soothing him. His arms wrapped just under your knees, “Like right now?”

“Sure. Or we can wait until Jaehyun is back.”

“There are like…opera singers in that class, you know? Actual vocal majors, professionals and shit. I’m not…that's not me.” Mark’s whole face scrunched like he’d bit into something sour, wrinkling around his eyes and nose, lips pulled in tight, “No. I don’t want to practice.”

“Are you sure?”

Mark pressed, “I want to change the subject.”

“To what?”

There was a certain kind of smugness to the way Mark grinned at you, lifting his head only slightly like the action made a point, “Johnny.”

Of course. Unavoidable. An unforgiving topic. You sighed, gently pushing Mark’s head back down to resting, and tried to keep your tone nonchalant, “What about Johnny?”

“He stayed here on Halloween.”

The memory of Johnny in your bed, Johnny in your bathroom, Johnny brewing coffee in your kitchen and kissing you on your doorstep was still fresh. In Mark’s company, it felt safe to indulge in; like if you closed your eyes, you might still feel Johnny holding you, see him standing at the coffee pot, taste him on your lips. It played like a feature film, an exclusive release, in your head while you nodded once, twice to Mark, “He did.”

“In your bed?” Mark’s eyebrows wiggled.

You laughed, “Can you chill the fuck out, Mark?”

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but in a very chill way. So, again, let’s just-“

“You know I knew before you, right?” Mark had a habit of speaking a thought halfway through, it often felt like you were playing catch up in a conversation. It was something to admire, how quickly his mind would move, think, process. This time, it felt like whiplash. But, it seemed like a point of pride for Mark, “He told me before you knew.”

“How is that possible?” Your head titled, eyebrow up and curious, “What did he tell you?”

Mark sat up and looked at you, “That he was into you. Remember when we went camping? In May?”

“He told you in May?”

“Yeah. Said he thought he might be into you, but you know Johnny. He was downplaying it, you know? It makes sense to me, I think.”

“You think?”

Mark nodded like it was a decision he needed to make, “Yeah, you two balance each other out. Like, you’re kind of two sides of the same coin. That’s the saying, right?” You nodded this time, Mark went on, “You’re the side with the face on it and Johnny’s the other side. Does that make sense?”

“Not at all.” You joked, “Kind of, I guess.”

Mark settled into his chair a bit more, “So he told me when we went camping that he might be into you. Then, I think it was Taeyong’s birthday party, he told me he was for sure into you. He saw you dancing with Yuta and got weird, wanted to leave. I think he was just drunk.”

“Huh.”

It was like he was painting a picture; the timeline of you and Johnny from Mark’s perspective sprawled out before you in vivid memories, exact dates, exact moments. You knew that party, you knew that camping trip. You’d missed everything else. Mark, of course, never would. Mark, of course, cataloged it, cherished it, kicked his feet and giggled at memories and moments that were given to him, like a gift.

“Then there was your birthday.”

Your birthday would’ve been a few weeks before Johnny had shown up on your doorstep, walked you to the movie, looked at you like that, “What happened on my birthday?”

“He told me and Jaehyun he was going to confess.” The younger let out a sigh; listfull in a way you imagined poets sighed before penning a masterpiece, “Not on your birthday, just like…soon. Then he did.”

It might ruin the dynamic.

You echoed, “Then he did.”

Mark slapped his thighs, “Now we’re here.”

It’s not the same thing.

Again, like the sound of Mark’s words ricocheted off the walls, past your lips and settled in your mouth, you repeated, “Now we’re here.”

“He really likes you.” You lingered on that thought, something about the confirmation from Mark warmed you, wrapped you up, comforted you. Chipped at the frost taking over your body. That same, increasingly familiar butterfly rustled for a moment. Mark’s voice broke through that comfort when he said, another thought spoken halfway through, “Jaehyun.”

The feeling of your heart dropping into your stomach, made you jolt, “What about Jaehyun?”

If your expression matched the disorientation you felt, internally, Mark didn’t react to it. He only shook his head and pointed behind you, “Jaehyun is back. I just heard his car.”

Your head whipped around, “Oh.”

“What was that?” Mark did notice, you did react and of course Mark noticed. You lifted Mark’s head off your lap, sliding off the counter, needing an escape. The spinach, onions and mushrooms needed something, needed attention, needed you. The bread needed to be checked on, sliced thinner, more cheese. Anything to pull yourself away from Mark. He called your name, followed behind you and asked, again, “What was that?”

“Nothing, Mark. Leave it. I just zoned out and got confused.”

“He’s been weird, too.” His tone was thoughtful, soft even, but every word made your head ache. He didn’t give you a moment to think, a moment to protest, a moment to breathe. Mark was directly behind you, laughing as quietly as he could, like he was masking a secret, “All of you have been.”

You looked over your shoulder at Mark, “Damn, okay?”

He laughed, louder, “Johnny told you what he said, right? I think that’s when it started. But, it’s just an adjustment, I guess. So don’t worry.” Then, Mark perched himself on the counter behind you, the same position you’d been before, “Halloween was weird. Kind of like Taeyong’s birthday.”

You stirred the tomato base bubbling in a pot, eyes down but ears perked at every unavoidable word Mark said, “Weird how?”

Mark mulled over his memories, again, flipping through that catalog and studying every page, “I don’t know. Weird how you and Jaehyun didn’t match this year, first of all.”

The center of your hand, the aftermath, the epicenter felt impossibly warmer, wrapped around the spoon in your hand, “We don’t always match, Mark.”

“Yeah, but you do a lot and you never match Johnny. So, weird. Also, Jaehyun kept asking where you were. I feel like he never does that, like he always just knows. Weird.”

“Things are different now.”

“Earlier when I got herewas weird, too.”

It had been forty-five minutes, now and you could hear Jaehyun opening the door.

A shiver ran down your spine and then clawed its way back up. You only turned to look at Mark when it subsided, when Jaehyun pushed open the door, when you had to beg him, “Can we change subject again, please?”

Mark only said, “Sure thing.”

Then Jaehyun was inside, standing in the doorway with Mark’s beer, the garlic, the popcorn and a look on his face he’s never let you read. He looked at you, just for a moment, something shifting quickly in his eyes, before they dropped back down to your hand. Your palms were burning, where he’d bandaged your hand, where his lips had touched. And Mark was behind you, watching it all. If you were quiet enough, you could hear the reel of film in Mark’s brilliant head spinning, whirling - cataloging.

Jaehyun looked to the youngest on the counter, “They didn’t have extra butter.”

To which Mark replied, “The girl Jaemin switched majors for is his professor.”

previous. masterlist. next.

[sturniolocafe]

faith in love ༺☆༻

summary: in which alt!reader support matt through thick and thin and life with celiac disease (part of the kissing in cars universe!) warnings: autoimmune disease

You frowned as you rubbed Matt’s back, hating how small he looked, despite the fact that your bed was a twin XL. “Can I get you anything?” You asked gently. 

Matt shook his head, clutching the heating pad that you’d loaned him closer to his stomach. “No. ‘M okay.”

You curled up behind your boyfriend, allowing him to be the little spoon as you always did. This was the fourth time this week that this had happened, and it was only Wednesday. Matt would go about his day, only to end up curled in fetal position in either your or his bed less than an hour later. He had tried what felt like everything; smaller snacks instead of large meals, no greasy food, no dairy, and nothing seemed to help the awful stomach pains that would render him debilitated. 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well, baby.” You mumbled, tucking a curl behind Matt’s ear. 

“‘S not your fault,” he groaned. “Fuck this shit. Can you hand me my phone?”

You nodded, sitting up and plucking Matt’s phone from the bed caddy that hung on your lofted bed. Matt whined at the pain in his abdomen as sat up, pressing the phone to his ear. You were curious for a moment until you heard the soft “hi mama” fall from his lips. Matt had always been a mama’s boy, so it didn’t surprise you that he was calling MaryLou while he wasn’t feeling well.

You continued to lay next to your boyfriend throughout the conversation, rubbing his knee softly. Finally, Matt hung up and tossed his phone towards the end of the bed, curling back into your side. He whimpered for a moment, clutching his stomach before he looked up at you with teary eyes. 

“Mom thinks I have celiac,” he mumbled. “So I have to get tested for it.”

Now that you thought about it, that would make sense. Matt’s stomach problems seemed to arise after a wheat-heavy meal; like today, when he had downed a plate of pasta for lunch. You hated the fact that he was dealing with all of this while, especially when the two of you had just moved away to college a few weeks ago. 

“That could explain it, sweetheart,” You hummed softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “Besides, getting tested might help you figure out how you can help yourself feel better.”

Matt groaned but nodded, shoving his face into the soft fabric of your System of a Down hoodie. The boy whimpered as his stomach let out a long, low grumble. “I hate this.”

You kissed his forehead, your hand snaking under the soft knit of his green sweater to rub his warm, bloated belly. “We’re gonna find a solution, babe. It’s not gonna be like this forever.” You promised. 

-

That’s how you found yourself standing over the stove four years later, stirring a pot of gluten free pasta. Matt had ended up being diagnosed with celiac disease over Christmas break of your freshman year of college. It was rough at first, having to find swaps for all of his favorite foods, but when you had made the pact to go gluten free with him, things had become a little easier. Obviously, he still had to worry about the risk of cross contamination and accidentally getting “glutened”, but the brunette’s quality of life had drastically improved since then. 

You both had graduated college with honors, Matt receiving a degree in social work and you in music education. There had been rough patches of course, including a break up for a few months somewhere in there, but things had worked out for the better. The love you and Matt shared for each other was stronger than anything else.

As your Spotify flipped from the previous song to “Kissing in Cars” by Pierce the Veil, you couldn’t help but to smile. That had been your and Matt’s song for years. Despite being quite literally polar opposites, you both loved the lyrics. As if on perfect cue, you heard your fiancé’s keys jingling in the lock of your front door. A few moments later, Matt appeared in the kitchen, shedding his flannel and tossing it over a chair.

“You’re still playing this song, huh?” he murmured, coming around the island and wrapping you in a hug from behind. 

“Don’t even play with me,” You joked, kissing his cheek. “You know you love it too.” You said, smiling as you noticed the vampire-red lipstick stain you’d left on his soft skin. 

“Gluten free?” Matt asked, peering into the pot of pasta. 

“No.” You said deadpan. 

“Oh,” Matt feigned sadness. “I guess you want me to die then, huh?”

“Not until we’re married.” You giggled. 

Matt smiled, taking in your beauty as drained the pot and plated the food. People were shocked about you two as a couple, but to Matt, you were the most perfect person in the world. You had been there for him through thick and thin, supporting him through his journey with an autoimmune disease, and even going as far as to still be kind to him when his mental health had gotten so bad he had broken up with you for a few months. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts as the song playing from your phone ended. Rather than sitting down for dinner, he hit the rewind button and grabbed the plates from your hands, setting them on the counter. 

“May I have this dance?” he joked, smile lopsided. 

“You may.” You smiled. 

Matt pressed his forehead to your own, swaying softly. “I love you.” he hummed. 

And he meant it. He would mean it every day until he died, and then every day after that. You had saved him in so many ways and continued to do so. No matter how different the two of you were, he was sure that you were his soulmate. He'd find you in every lifetime if he had to.

“…Cause there's faith in love”

a/n: me when i google "how to make fictional people real" so kissing in cars matt can be my bf

[desperate-gay]

Q&A

Mary Earps x fem!reader

Recently, all of the lionesses have had to deal with a lot of media attention and interviews after winning the euros. Today it is your turn; luckily, it is just a quick Q&A interview along with signing a few jerseys. These kinds of interviews never bother you too much because they usually ask pretty mild and entertaining questions, and most of the time if there is a question that may be risky, they’ll ask you if it’s okay to answer before rolling the cameras.

Your alarm blared throughout the bedroom, causing you to groan and stretch out as little as you can. Your wife’s arms are wrapped around your waist and your back is to her front. You feel Mary’s arms tighten to keep you in your spot.

“Baby,” you turn your head and place a kiss on her flushed cheek, “I have to start getting ready.” She just groans as a response and continues to keep her limbs wrapped around you.

“Honey-“

Her mouth hangs open and she lets out a booming snore to cover your protests.

“Mary!”

That gets her attention right away as her eyes shoot open and she sits up a little. Her lip juts out in a pout, “Don’t call me that.” Whenever you fight, you’re generally the calm one and never raise your voice along with only calling her by pet names like “Baby” or “Honey”. So now that you used her first name, she is wide awake and probably a little scared.

“There! That’s one way to get your attention.” You smile in triumph and lean over to place a small peck on her frowning lips. Her mouth drops open a little with her eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.

“That’s not fair! You can’t do that to me!” She shouts, seeing as you already made your way to the bathroom.

“I love you!”

She grumbles back a quiet “I love you”.

—

After a quick see you later and a couple of kisses, you make your way to your vehicle and head to your destination. Luckily, the directions your manager sent to you are not too far from your loft.

As you walk in, you greet multiple directors and writers before making your way to the seat where all the cameras are pointed to. A makeup artist and hairdresser come over and make a few tweaks to your look just to be sure everything is perfect. There will be an interviewer behind the camera asking a series of questions, so all you’ve got to do is answer and be polite.

The camera rolls and the producer gives you the sign to introduce yourself. “Hi! My name is Y/n Earps, I play for the England Lionesses, and today I will be doing a quick Q&A. Most of these questions are asked by you, the fans, and viewers. If your question didn’t make it, you can always drop more on Twitter or Instagram and I will do my best to answer them. Now let’s get started!”

The producer gave you a thumbs up and started to roll again. Your hands lay on the table intertwined while you look at the interviewer standing behind the camera.

“Out of everyone in your squad, who do you think is the funniest?”

“Oooh, that’s a tricky one. There are a lot of jokesters on the team, but I think it would be Tooney. She’s always so random and it makes it even funnier. I’d say Daly is right there too”

You hear the man flip through the cards to get to the next one. “Okay next, growing up, which club did you support?”

“Oh no. I hope not too many people come after me, but I grew up an Arsenal fan and I even play for them now. All my teammates who play for Chelsea, United, or Barca all argue over who’s second to me. Leah just looks smug and lets out snarky comments, teasing the rest.”

You go over plenty of more questions; some about your personal life and some about your football opinions. A couple of the questions you’d have a conversation with the interviewer and the crew behind the camera. Now you’re down to your last one, which is a little relieving. To be honest, you didn’t want to get out of bed at all today, but this wasn’t the worst thing to do.

“Last question for today isssss…out of all women’s football, who is your favorite goalkeeper.”

You let out a small chuckle and stare at the camera. “This feels like a setup. Well if I don’t say Mary Earps I think she’d be quite angry with me and would sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Wouldn’t you sleep on the couch?” The man’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“Yeah, you would think, right? But one time Mary told me and I quote, ‘Just because I don’t like you at the moment, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you’. She claims she doesn't want my back to hurt the next morning.” You smile softly at the words of your wife. A few awes can be heard from the crew which makes your smile widen even more.

“It’s really difficult being married to a cocky sweetheart sometimes.” Sighing, you shake your head and look at the camera. “Back to the question, I guess Mearps isn’t all that bad,” you jokingly look around and cup your mouth, acting like you're whispering, “I do fancy Zecira Musovic though.” You place a finger on your lips and wink before the cameras stop rolling. The workers clap and thank you for doing this and you smile back and reply with my pleasure.

Once everything is edited to your and the producer's taste, they post it on YouTube straight away. You bid your goodbyes one final time and go run a few errands to get some snacks for movie night.

—

“Baby! Can you help me with a few of these groceries?” You shout through the empty-looking house. Footsteps begin to make their way slowly to the front door, near you.

“Well well well, look who needs goalkeeper Mary Earps’s help. Why don’t you call and ask your favorite Zecira Musovic?” She taunts with her arms crossed over her chest. Her steps are even slower than before, taking her time to get to you.

“You saw the interview, huh?” You wince and give your best innocent smile while you bat your eyelashes. Mary nods and runs her tongue around the inside of her cheek, which most people are familiar with during games.

“Why should I help you?”

“Because you; darling, love of my life, angel, are my dear sweet wife, and you wouldn’t want your wife’s arms to snap before the World Cup now would you?” You say with the same smile, but now your nose is scrunched. “Please?”

Huffing, she makes her way to you grabs all the bags, and goes to the kitchen to set them on the counter. You follow her and give her the biggest hug you can. Her hands place themselves under your thighs, signaling for you to jump. Your legs wind around her waist as your arms wrap around her neck. Mary carries you back into the living room and bends down, placing only you on the couch. You reach up with grabby hands and try to bring her down. She lowers her mouth just above your ear and whispers, “Your back can hurt tomorrow, so you can sleep on the couch tonight.”

She places a kiss on your lips and walks away leaving you in shock, seeing she just mimicked your moves from this morning. Your wife smirks to herself and heads back upstairs to your shared bedroom. As quickly as you can, you sit up and run towards her.

“It was a joke, baby! I’m sorry!”

[momotonescreaming]

Night Light

Rating: G | WC: 1.2k | Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard A mini Tommy Kinard character study [Read on AO3]

Tommy has an antique lamp in his entranceway and a child’s night light in the hall.

A small unassuming thing in a plastic white cover, subtly plugged into an outlet halfway down the hall to the master bedroom. Buck thought it was an air freshener at first, didn’t think much of it. Which was kind of the point. It wasn’t until he stayed the night that very first time when he noticed. Padding through Tommy’s house on unsure, socked feet, making his way through unfamiliar rooms. It was getting dark, Tommy’s house aglow in the lamplight, when he saw it projecting little golden stars up the wall.

Buck wondered if there was a story there. Of army flashbacks, and gifting yourself the childhood you never had. Of not holding yourself back, of letting go of the man people wanted you to be. Of loneliness.

He wondered if it was his place to know it just yet. Another piece of the Tommy-shaped puzzle, aglow with tiny stars. They had started touching at things like this, merely breaching the surface, hinting at the things below. The things that lurk in the dark. Quickly, swiftly, dropping hints and then diverting away. This felt like it might be one of those.

Tommy doesn’t have any kids, and from the hints Buck’s already gathered — he doesn’t have any kids in his life, period. No nieces and nephews. No kids of friends or co-workers.

So the night light can’t be for any of them. Those children that don’t exist. Buck thinks Tommy might have gotten it for himself. Buck kind of likes it. He doesn’t want to go too far down the rabbit hole, too far into research and facts and theories about why. Doesn’t want to dig this up and risk exposing something he shouldn’t. Not before either of them are ready. He wants Tommy to give it to him. Revealed in time.

So Buck walks past the night light, goes to the bathroom, and then walks straight back past them on his way back to Tommy. To the living room, where his boyfriend is waiting. Curled up on the couch, soft and inviting. Curtains half pulled shut and room lit by lamplight. As soon as it got dark, Buck Noticed, Tommy always leaned towards a lamp first. Not an overhead light.

None of the lamps have stars.

He thinks that might be an easier conversation. Might not poke what’s lurking beneath. But he likes it too. It feels very Tommy, his house. Warm. Cozy. Safe. Buck knows it wasn’t always that way. That Tommy’s house was a fixer-upper and was in a perpetual state of construction for years. That Tommy learned what he liked and built it himself. And it appears his boyfriend likes soft lighting.

Buck doesn’t say anything about the night light, but he swear he sees something flicker in Tommy’s expression. He stops thinking about the topic entirely when Tommy draws him into his arms and holds him close.

They spend more and more time together. Going on dates, getting to know one another. Spending time at each other’s places, slowly mapping out the shape of each other’ homes. They way they act in a place that’s theirs. When no one is around but the other.

A part of Buck will never understand why Tommy seemed so impressed with his loft — considering his house is so much cooler. A cozy renovated bungalow with a home gym and an extra large garage with a car lift. Lined with many a bookshelf, filled with romance novels and car manuals. Piles of DVD’s, a modest collection of vinyl and a CD collection he had been growing since he was a teen. All shelves dusted, in a very particular order. Tiny helicopters on display. Little figurines and models, breaking up the wall of things.

A large comfy couch in the middle of his living room, framed by a plush rug and draped in throw blankets. A lamp on the side table, and another in the corner. Some subtly queer artwork on the walls, if you know where and how to look. He’s not hiding who he is, but he’s not shouting it from the rooftop either. It’s nice. Homey. It suits Tommy.

Paint swatches on the wall of his dining room, and his kitchen, with the old wallpaper half peeling off. He hasn’t renovated that yet, Tommy tells him. Hasn’t found the time, he says with a smirk. As if it’s a hardship Tommy’s been spending time with him, going on dates, inviting him round — instead of ripping up and renovating his entire kitchen.

Next to one of his bookcases, is the night light. Halfway down the hall.

A part of Buck wondered if Tommy would hide it, after that first night when Buck saw it on his way to the bathroom. Would unplug it and squirrel it away where Buck couldn’t see. Until Tommy was ready to talk about it. But he didn’t, and yet Buck still didn’t say anything.

He finds out about the lamps, earlier. The collection of them scattered throughout his house — the antique one in the entranceway.

Tommy turns it on every time he leaves the house. It’s a part of his routine. Shut the windows, lock the doors, wallet, phone, keys, turn on the lamp. Says he likes the soft lighting better, as compared to the harsh lighting from the overheads. Makes it feel warmer, and enjoys the way it makes everything glow. Orange soft around the edges. He likes coming home to the light on, he says. Makes it feels less imposing, more inviting. Seeing the gold from the lamp light shining through the curtains. Distorted and hazy from the lampshade.

Buck’s getting better versed at Tommy-speak. He knows how to read between the lines on this one. It makes his house feel a little less empty. Makes him feel a little less alone.

The night light makes a little more sense then.

Tommy got the lamp at an estate sale, he says. Went sifting through for things to help fill his house with. He got the lamp, a table, and a large worn-in armchair with pride of place in his living room. Things to make his house seem a little more lived in, a little more homey, a little less empty.

Buck still doesn’t ask when he got the night light, but he thinks about it more now. He thinks about it when he gets off shift and heads straight to Tommy’s, seeing the lamp light shine through the window. He thinks about it when he gets up early to get ready for a shift, and sees the little golden stars glow as he makes his way down the hall to Tommy’s kitchen.

It makes him sort of sad, to picture it. Young Tommy, trying to figure out who he is, to unpluck threads while the pressure of the macho fire house presses down around him. And then turning around and coming home to an empty, pitch black house. Putting the lamp in the entranceway so it’s the first thing he sees when he gets home. Buying a little night light to lead his way down the hall.

When Buck was living in Abby’s apartment, way back when, he thinks maybe he should have bought himself a children’s night light with little golden stars.

[sanakimohara]

“Tongue Tied” H.J.

{ MDNI } [ SEMI PROOFREAD ]

++++++

Jisung is so cute when he laughs and you get giddy hearing it but oh does it hurt to know he can’t be yours. You sit alone, mind running rampant with less than pure thoughts you’ve had about him, and not a single person suspects why you’re so quiet.

You’re always silent, everyone knows that, so you sit and imagine scenario after scenario.

You keep from staring at him by occupying yourself with a game on your phone. It works for a while but at some point Jisung sitting near you, talking up a storm as usual, and barely acknowledging your presence.

That is until he accidentally bumps into you. It’s not on purpose. Just a little nudge against the back of your head. You wince, not because he’s hurt you, but because you weren’t expecting to be this close to him all of a sudden.

Jisung smiles at you before apologizing, “My bad. I didn’t see you there. We good?” He holds out his hand, suggesting a fist bump to reconcile his mistake. You don’t say anything, just flash him a small smile before bumping a closed fist against his, and just like that he turns around to resume his conversation. You frown at the loss of attention and decide to leave your spot on the couch and go to the bathroom instead.

You want a minute alone, just to think, and maybe unwind yourself to get through the rest of the night with your sanity still intact.

Jisung is just…he drives you crazy…and you can’t do a thing about it.

You’d risk being hated by everyone, people would question your morality, and he’d definitely reject you. If locking yourself in a bathroom to get off on the thought of him was what you had to do to keep things the way they are now…it wasn’t a problem for you.

So, you stand, slipping past everyone towards the farthest bathroom. It’s upstairs and you doubt anyone will come looking for you up there. No one ever notices your absences in the first place. Jisung did though.

The moment you stood up from the couch he was leaning against his attention shifted from the conversation to your empty seat. He’d ask himself why you would leave, not aloud, but a singular thought he keeps to himself. His focus would be disconnected, trying to come up with reasons you’d disappear, and he comes to the conclusion it’s his fault. Maybe it really bothered you when he accidentally hit you. Maybe you felt even more alone when he continued to speak to someone else after apologizing.

These tiny assumptions about your behavior made him feel guilty and so Jisung excused himself, “I’m gonna go use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” He followed the path he’d seen you take upstairs, jogging up the steps, and heading down the hall to see which room you were in. Not his old one. Nor the master bedroom. You weren’t in the loft either. So that left the bathroom.

He hesitated to check there but eventually decided it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. He was about to knock, but instantly froze when he heard your soft moans and trembling whispers.

You were so quiet, barely mumbling louder than the running faucet you’d turned on to muffle any noise you make that might be heard outside. That little diversion doesn’t work too well since he’s inches away from the door, unable to speak, and even less capable of moving as he eavesdrops on you.

“Jisung…” you moan shakily, face burning up as the sound of his name edges you closer to your high. He bites his lip, having to shut his eyes to keep from reacting impulsively to your delicious little sounds. You, of all people were saying his name, chanting it between breathless sighs and strained whimpers. His cock twitched to life, growing firm in his jeans as he listened more closely.

You slid down to the floor, two fingers deep inside your cunt that was dripping cum at this point. Your clit was slick and ever so sensitive each time your thumb circled it in slow repetition.

You were sure his tongue could do so much better than your small fingers. His hands firmly gripping your inner thighs, pushing your legs apart as far as he needed to have unrestricted access to your count while eating you out.

Fuck, you swore his dark eyes would look so gorgeous staring up at you when your cum flowed onto his tongue. He wouldn’t hesitate to lap up the mess you make, smiling proudly when he spits on your overstimulated cunt.

Jisung is always so chaotic, charming, and easy to get along with. Just the thought of him being shamelessly filthy with you is a sin you indulge in.

He wouldn’t care about the disassociated look in your eyes when he sits up, admiring the sight of your fucked out state before rising to his feet, and fisting your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You whine in pain but he doesn’t care. “You’re okay sweetheart,” he reassured you, taking his belt off and setting it on the counter before unzipping his pants. A deep sigh rumbles in his chest as the confines keeping his erection hidden are loosened. You help him, expertly tugging his cock free from his boxers and pants.

Jisung bites back a groan feeling your bare hands wrap around his shaft. Your touch is soft and your fingers are still damp from touching yourself. A perfect combination. He can’t help the smile on his face as he stares down at you, on your knees, kitten licking his leaking tip with the most lustful look he’s ever seen.

You lick at his cock like candy, savoring how salty his precum is, and pumping his cock for more when it’s gone. Jisung leans back, dragging you with him, and bucking his hips towards your face for more. He’s not ready to force himself into your mouth, no, he wants to see how long you’ll tease him despite dreaming of tasting his cock for god knows how long.

“Come on, pretty girl. Let me fuck your face…” he pressed the tip to your pouty lips, a longing look in his eyes as he waits for you to oblige him. You do without a warning, deep throating him in one go.

He nearly moans too loud, head reeling back as the warmth of your mouth envelops his dick generously. It’s heaven on earth for him. Your delicate tongue swirling up and over his length in intricate patterns and your hands fondle his base gently with every bob of your head.

He’d be lying if he told you he wasn’t jealous of the other men who’ve had the honor of getting head from you.

A strangled chuckle leaves his chest as you deep throat him again, inviting his tip to abuse the back of your throat, and each time you’d moan like it was a personal reward for you.

Jisung looked back down at you, drops of sweat forming on his temple from the unrelenting heat coursing through him, and it was no help to him that you looked perfectly in love with him fucking your face. Drool trickled down your chin, tears glossing your half lidded eyes, and your face a shade of light pink.

He could only admire you for so long before his eyes rolled back slightly in pleasure.

You moaned on his dick, vibrating it with pressure, and then you felt him twitch. He was close and you were eager to feel his release coat your tongue and slide down your throat. “Fuck…fuck you’re so…gooooddd Ahm…” he moaned quietly, whimpering in utter bliss, and struggling to find any other words to praise you.

Your heart swells with pride hearing Jisung’s compliment and you take extra care in sucking him off then. Your tongue circled his tip slower and your hands pump his base faster.

The overstimulation paired with the impending height of his climax has him growling and groaning like a touch starved man .

You think it’s so cute.

“Want you…need you to take it alll…” he stutters, nearly pleading for you to swallow his seed as it pours out into your dainty mouth.

There’s so much of it, warm, salty, and thick. It flows down your chin but you keep milking his tip with your tongue for more as you swallow it down greedily.

You’ve got him shaking at this point, whining in immense pleasure, and it’s so intoxicating. Jisung has no words, only a stunned expression when you finally remove your lips from his cock with a soft ‘pop’ a string of cum and saliva connects you to him and you lick it up with a content smile.

“M’ sorry if I did too much…I’ve just wanted to do that for a while,” you break the silence with a genuine apology and a heartfelt smile.

He regains his composure and starts to fix himself up, shaking his head in disbelief from what just happened.

Jisung doesn’t regret it though and he lets you know that with a pleased smirk on his face. “No need to apologize. I needed it anyway and…” his gaze trailed over your body, dark eyes hazing over with lust again when they met yours, “I have a few things I want to do to you too…”

Your face heats up and you have to look away from him as he leans down to caress your face with one hand. “I want to keep you as my little secret alright? You’d like that too, right sweetheart?” Jisung kisses you, knowing you’ll say yes, knowing you’ll chase his lips for another kiss.

He’ll let you have it, dominating your tongue with his, and only pulling away when you’re panting for air.

+++++++

I wrote this for a crush a while back but it fit Jisung so well that I decided to tweak it to feed all the Jisung stans 🖤 hope you enjoy it…

BONUS CONTENT +

[oozedninjas]

can I please get something featuring sick!Leo, and a reader that is taken by surprise when he shows symptoms? it could be anything pls and thx

But Tim, are you implying Leo's going to self-sacrifice himself even in small circumstances??? YES HE IS

SFW / Still an 18+ blog so MDNI / Leo and the reader are early -hirties

"Careful, baby," you kindly cautioned him.

Leo shot you a glance as he positioned the recently unpacked television over its designated cabinet. He wiped his forehead as you approached with a glass of cold water.

You had recently landed a new –better paying– job and found a nice loft near the lair. The place was a chaos of boxes and scattered things. Moving was always a bit messy at first, but that was precisely why you asked Leo for help. Who better than him to put things in order?

"Thanks for coming; you saved me," you said, placing a kiss on his cheek.

He smiled at your words, accepting the glass. You noticed his hand was shaking slightly.

"My pleasure," Leo said, half-panting before gulping down the water.

You frowned. Did he get tired just by pulling the TV up the cabinet? That wasn’t like him at all. You sharpened your eyes, observing his movements. They weren't as smooth as usual, and he hadn't tried to make conversation. In fact, Leo looked rather... well, less vibrant.

"Hey, are you alright?"

You reached out to cup his cheek, but he rejected the contact, kindly motioning back.

“Yeah. What else do you need help with?”

A stiff smile appeared on his face. Your brow quirked. Judging by the way his gaze deliberately avoided the illuminated points of your apartment and how his lips looked dry even after recently drinking water, you knew he wasn’t telling the truth.

“Leo,” you scolded. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look kinda… pale,” you said after a few moments, trying to find a word to describe his new –definitely not normal– skin tone.

“I’m okay, just tired. Let’s finish, shall we?” he said, avoiding your gaze as he walked towards the kitchen. “You want the clock here, right?”

Leonardo gestured to the place above the counter, but before he could do anything else, his body simply short-circuited. In the blink of an eye, he lost balance, tried to reach out to hold himself on the small round table near him but failed, falling and taking the table with him.

“Leo!” you rushed to his side.

He pressed a hand to his temple. “It’s pounding…” he commented in a lower voice, more to himself than to you.

“I knew something was off. What's going on?”

“I’m fine… I just-" He paused, looking at your worried expression and feeling a pang of guilt for hiding the truth in the first place. “Donnie wanted me to join him in this video game contest. We were at it for about two days straight.”

“Jesus,” you whispered, shaking your head, “Babe, we're not nineteen anymore. You can’t mess up your sleep schedule like this.”

“I know. But it was important to him.”

You hummed, your gaze softening as you helped him up.

“Well, you should’ve told me. If I had known, I wouldn’t have asked you to come here in the first place,” you told him, gently.

“Sorry. I wanted to see you, and lend a hand.”

You looked at him with a softened gaze. You couldn’t really be angry when the only thing he always did was try and be there for you, even when it wasn’t good for his health. You let out a deep sigh.

“It's okay. Just make sure to tell me if it happens again, okay? For now, let me take care of you.”

“What? No, I’ll go back to–”

“I’m not taking no for an answer tonight, babe. I won't let you walk around half-fainting in the night,” you asserted, cupping his face in your hands. “Let me take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Leo whispered, leaning a little more on you.