#that the fact that it was leaked weeks ago

[olicitydaydream]

Maybe you don’t need everyone in the world to watch your show… maybe you just need to make an episode of the gay witch show that is so good that all the gays watch it on repeat from the moment it airs? Maybe it should star Patti Lupone.

[saintedbythestorm]

Not dad trying to tell me about some big fallout news he heard about from some work colleague 😂 oh what the poor man just subjected himself too.

[theultracharmingladynoire]

Added a 'not ml' tag for posts about shows other than ml!

[soggypotatoes]

aw beans. I think my cut is infected

[babybluebanshee]

So I finally got my water heater replaced after more than half a year of it leaking and nearly destroying my floor, but that's not the story. The story is of the handyman that installed it.

Dude's name is Chris, and he's your typically midwestern schlub - friendly, apologizes too much, really likes the Cardinals, maybe a little younger than my parents. Hella nice tho, gets the heater installed quickly, and even offers to fix the floorboards it warped (after nearly tripping over the hump it made in the floor twice). Overall, a stress-free experience.

Then, as he's gathering up his tools - "So, I noticed your, uh, banner. Over your bed."*

*(The closet where my water heater is is located in my bedroom because I live in a mobile home, dude wasn't just wandering creepily into my bedroom)

He's referring to a giant pride flag that's hanging over my bed, with the words "Sounds gay, I'm in"

My anxiety spikes instantaneously, thinking oh christ I'm about to get hatecrimed or at least microaggressioned.

But then he says "Yeah, my daughter is gay, and I was wondering, like...where do you guys, ya know, meet up?"

What.

"Because she met her most recent girlfriend when she was in jail, and I keep asking why she doesn't just find a nice lesbian librarian or something and she said 'dad I know they're out there, I just don't know where'. So...like...where do you?"

So I ended up confessing to this nice man who installed my water heater that I don't know of any real gay culture in our mostly Baptist Missouri town of about 18,000 that routinely freaks out over pride displays in the library (I'm sure it exists but I'm lazy and haven't gone looking for it). My girlfriend lives in an area with a rather bustling gay community (we just did a face painting booth for their pride festival a few weeks ago), so maybe have her go out there with some friends, and also a lot of queers I know play dnd so maybe find a nice group of them and network. I then apologized that I wasn't more helpful in getting his daughter settled with a nice, wholesome dyke.

On the plus side, he was not deterred at all, and seemed to be very interested in the fact dnd was so popular amongst the el gee bee tees. I told him the names of some dms I know and told him to go to town. I do not know if the names will be given to his daughter or hoarded for himself so he can join a group and play like he did when he was a teenager and not be called satanic for it.

He's coming to fix my floor next week.

[prickly-paprikash]

Pushing aside the fact that I am, quite possibly, a Kendrick fan—disregarding my biases, I think Drake needs to stop. Push Ups was a good diss. Surface level, vapid, but it possessed that mean, petty spirit that carries a diss track all the way. Even bringing up accusations that are, realistically speaking, unlikely still works because a diss is supposed to show just how much you hate a person and how cleverly you can bring it.

Taylor Made was weird. I get that it was a strategy. Drop the main diss first and then drop this one to really prod at Kendrick. Using Pac and Snoop AI voices sucks though. Distilling Kendrick as Taylor's underling also doesn't work because Kendrick only collaborated with her once (twice when they remade Bad Blood) and that's it. Meanwhile Drake is out here always looking for new, up and coming artists to pounce on their trends or cling to established artists. Then it got taken down, because of course it would have been. You used 2Pac's voice. Did you really think his estate, his family, wouldn't do anything?

So he bought Pac's ring and used his voice without permission. More and more we see just how much of a vulture Drake is.

And then Euphoria drops.

Your first diss was met with solid reactions. Your second got taken down. Kendrick drops on a random hot Tuesday, and in a matter of hours surpasses your numbers that took weeks to accumulate. Kendrick did that. Euphoria was also harsh, clever, and sounded so good that people kept replaying it over and over again. Once more, Kendrick schools you.

A few insiders then say that Drake will drop that night. Right after. But he then allegedly gets cold feet. A few hours later from when Drake was supposedly ready to drop but backs out, Kendrick drops 6:16 in LA.

In your previous disses, you begged Kendrick to drop something with quintuple entendres. Euphoria did that. But he took it a step further by naming his second diss 6:16 in LA.

June 16: Father's day. Referencing the fact that Drake has been proven to be a deadbeat father.

June 16, 1971: Tupac's Birthday. Kendrick idolizes him. Drake steals from him.

June 16, 2019: First episode of Euphoria drops. A show Drake is listed as a producer on. A show about underage girls entering a life of sex, substance abuse, and more. Things that Drake has been accused of repeatedly in the past.

June 16, 2011: in June 2, 2011, Kendrick posted on his twitter that there will be a concert at Toronto on 6/16. Allegedly this is where Drake and Kendrick first met.

6:16 AM: The time of release for this track.

6:16: Multiple possible Bible verses, given Kendrick's Christian background.

Other claims felt like reaches though, so I'll stick to that.

The final two lines of 6:16 also reference the Michael Jackson, R. Kelly, and their song "You Are Not Alone". Drake, who has always claimed he is Michael Jackson or at the very least his equal/successor, is now tied to him in a way he does not want. Because we know all of the dirt that came out after MJ's death. We all know what R. Kelly was sent to prison for. And we all know what Drake has been accused of multiple times.

Kendrick also alludes to the fact that you have a leak in your circle, Drake.

So Drake drops Family Matters. A scathing 7 minute song that makes fun of the GKMC van. Saying that Kendrick's daughter isn't his. Saying that his wife cheats on him with security. Saying that he beats his wife.

Now, these are enormous accusations levied. But Kendrick has responded before, years ago, that the DV accusations were false. He has also always been open about his faults. Adultery. Sex addiction. Insecurity. God complex. Kendrick, for better or worse, has always laid out nearly every aspect of his younger life on his songs. This also helped by the fact that in both Euphoria and 6:16, Kendrick says that Drake has spent millions on finding dirt on him but came up with nothing. Again, these accusations can still be proven true and if so, Kendrick needs to be held accountable for them.

But if not? Then Drake just adds another to the pile of "He's a liar and a master manipulator."

Drake also posts a Parody on his Insta that gains little to no attention because 30 minutes after dropping Family Matters and supposedly going on his victory lap, Kendrick drops meet the grahams.

Another thing. 6:16's cover was a glove. That meant nothing to us, the audience. meet the grahams makes it make sense by zooming out of the glove and showing off a shirt and drugs that Drake supposedly uses. Drake has not had any receipts with his accusations against Kendrick. Kendrick puts Drake's supposed prescription, his full name, on a bottle of Ozempic. Kendrick, for now, seems to make good on his threat. OvO, Drake's company, is full of leaks. And they're leaking it straight to Kendrick Lamar.

Nearly 24 hours later, Kendrick drops Not Like Us.

Euphoria was a general character dissection and assassination of Drake: Insecure about his identity as a biracial man. Culture Vulture. Blaccent user. Code switcher. Fake abs. Womanizer. Misogynist. Using black features just to feel black enough. A deadbeat dad that knows nothing of raising a child. And even revokes Drake's ability to use the N-Word (I have no stake in that I am Asian so I will keep my brown mouth shut for that).

6:16 in LA was an ominous threat that slowly reveals that Kendrick has insider information on Drake. That he is ready to leak so much more should Drake continue.

meet the grahams is a brutal open letter to Drake, his parents, and even to Adonis, Drake's son. Saying that Kendrick could be a better mentor to Adonis. Saying that Drake abandoned you and that's not your fault. Don't be like your father—whatever anyone says, for better or worse, you are a black man and don't code switch just to make yourself feel better. He says that Drake failed his mother for what he did to women. Saying that Drake's father is the cause of his gambling issues. Drake is a body shamer. Leaving the mother of his children to rot. And of course, the reveal that Drake has a secret daughter, the same way Pusha T revealed Drake has a son. Adonis.

And of course, now. Not Like Us. Where Kendrick goes all in on one topic that he has alluded to in every diss track before. Drake is a groomer. A pedophile.

I am sick. I should not be tuning into this beef. But my fever can go ahead and end me, I need to know how this ends.

[flanaganfilm]

Mr. Flanagan, I’d like to ask a question and I deeply hope that it does not offend or upset you. I am strongly considering canceling my Netflix subscription due to their new password sharing policy. However, Midnight Mass is one of my favorite shows of all time and I know it isn’t available on DVD, and I’m also profoundly anticipating your take on my favorite Edgar Allen Poe story. So I wanted to ask your take on people accessing your work through, uh, other means. If it’s something that’s offensive to you or will harm you or the other people who work so hard on these shows, I’ll happily keep my Netflix just so that I can keep supporting your work. I respect you far too much as an artist to do otherwise.

Again, I really hope I’m not upsetting you by asking this question. Thank you for everything, and I hope you’re having a great day!

(NOTE 6/4/2024: I'm editing this entry because, well over a year since it was posted, some journalists dug this up and used it to create click-bait headlines that are misleading, out of context and artificially combative. While I was of course disappointed over the years that Netflix opted not to release my work on physical media, I never experienced any hostility or aggression in those discussions, and I sincerely regret the manner in which this post was used in the press this week.)

Hi there - no offense taken whatsoever, in fact I think this is a very interesting and important question.

So. If you asked me this a few years ago, I would have said "I hate piracy and it is hurting creators, especially in the independent space." I used to get in Facebook arguments with fans early in my career when people would post about seeing my work on torrent sites, especially when that work was readily available for rent and purchase on VOD.

Back in 2014, my movie Before I Wake was pirated and leaked prior to any domestic release, and that was devastating to the project. It actually made it harder to find distribution for the film. By the time we were able to get distribution in the US, the film had already been so exposed online that the best we could hope for was a Netflix release. Netflix stepped in and saved that movie, and for that I will always be grateful to them.

However...

Working in streaming for the past few years has made me reconsider my position on piracy.

In the years I worked at Netflix, I tried very hard to get them to release my work on blu-ray and DVD.

It became clear very fast that their priority was subscriptions, and that they were not particularly interested in physical media releases of their originals, with a few exceptions.

While companies like Netflix pride themselves on being disruptors, and have proven that they can affect great change in the industry, they sometimes fail to see the difference between disruption and damage. So much that they can find themselves, intentionally or not, doing harm to the concept of film preservation.

The danger comes when a title is only available on one platform, and then - for whatever reason - is removed.

We have already seen this happen. And it is only going to happen more and more. Titles exclusively available on streaming services have essentially been erased from the world. If those titles existed on the marketplace on physical media, like HBO's Westworld, the loss is somewhat mitigated (though only somewhat.) But when titles do not exist elsewhere, they are potentially gone forever.

The list of titles that have been removed from streaming services is growing.

I still believe that where we put our dollars matters. Renting or buying a piece of work that you like is essential. It is casting a vote, encouraging studios - who only speak the language of money - to invest more effort into similar work. If we show up to support distinct, unique, exciting work, it encourages them to make more of it. It's as simple as that. If we don't show up, or if they can't hear our voice because we are casing our vote "silently" through torrent sites or other means - it makes it unlikely that they will take a chance to create that kind of work again.

Which is why I typically suggest that if you like a movie you've seen through - uh - other means, throw a few dollars at that title on a legitimate platform. Rent it. Purchase it. Support it.

But if some studios offer no avenue for that kind of support, and can (and will) remove content from their platform forever... frankly, I think that changes the rules.

Netflix will likely never release the work I created for them on physical media, though I'll always hold out hope.

Some of you may say "wait, aren't The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor available on blu-ray and DVD?" Yes, they are, because they were co-produced with Paramount, and I'm grateful that Paramount was able to release and protect those titles. (I'm also grateful that those releases include extended cuts, deleted scenes, and commentary tracks. There are a number of fantastic benefits to physical media releases.)

But a lot of the other work I did there are Netflix originals, without any other studio involvement. Those titles - like Midnight Mass, The Midnight Club, and the upcoming Fall of the House of Usher - along with my Netflix exclusive and/or original movies Before I Wake and Gerald's Game - have no such protections. The physical media releases of those titles are entirely at Netflix's discretion, and don't appear to be priority for the studio at this time.

At the moment, Netflix seems content to leave Before I Wake, Gerald's Game, Midnight Mass, and The Midnight Club on the service, where they still draw audiences. I don't think there is a plan to remove any of them anytime soon. But plans change, the industry changes.

The point is things change, and each of those titles - should they be removed from the service for any reason - are not available anywhere else. If that day comes - if Netflix's servers are destroyed, if a meteor hits the building, if they are bought out by a competitor and their library is liquidated - I don't know what the circumstances might be, I just know that if that day comes, some of the work that means the most to me in the world would be entirely erased.

Or, what if we aren't so catastrophic in our thinking? What if it the change isn't so total? What if Netflix simply bumps into an issue with the license they paid for music (like the Neil Diamond songs that play such a crucial role in Midnight Mass), and decide to leave the show up but replace the songs?

This has happened before as well - fans of Northern Exposure can get the show on DVD and blu-ray, but the music they heard when the series aired has been replaced due to the licensing issues. And the replacements - chosen for their low cost, not for creative reasons - are not improvements. What if the shows are just changed, and not by creatives, but by business affairs executives?

All to say that physical media is critically important. Having redundancy in the marketplace is critically important. The more platforms a piece of work is available on, the more likely it is to survive and grow its audience.

As for Netflix, I hope sincerely that their thinking on this issue evolves, and that they value the content they spend so much money creating enough to protect it for posterity. That's up to them, it's their studio, it's their rules. But I like to think they may see that light eventually, and realize that exclusivity in a certain window is very cool... but exclusivity in perpetuity could potentially limit the audience and endanger the work itself.

[sweet-as-kiwis]

I feel like I should be making a list of all the violations I’m seeing at work

[shockercoco]

Cheer Up

Art Donaldson x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial

Word count - 1135

a/n - I watched Challengers a couple days ago, and it's safe to say I’m a mike faist supporter lol. Also I kind of just skimmed through this so ignore the errors. I hope you enjoy :)

You haven’t been having the best week, and losing a match today to an opponent who you clearly should’ve beat didn’t help at all. Your irritation didn’t go unnoticed by Art either, but he decided to leave you alone in hopes you would calm down.

Art could see the anger radiating off of you from his seat in the stands as you walked off the court after the game. You were pretty much silent for the ride back to the hotel and still once you got into the room. You took a shower in hopes that it would ease the tension in your body, and it did, but not enough. 

Sitting on the couch in front of the tv, you opened your laptop to watch the playback of today's game. This is something you did after every match to help you become a better player, but if you were to ask Art, he would just say that you were torturing yourself.

You were so into the video playing on your laptop that you didn’t notice Art entering the room until you felt him sit down next to you, resting an arm on top of the couch behind him.

“You’ve been sitting here watching yourself for hours, don’t you think it would be better to just close this and relax,” Art says as he dips his head down to try to get you to look at him, but you ignore him and keep your eyes on the screen.

“This is me relaxing,” you tell him.

“You know what I mean,” he says.

“Well this is what I want to do, so if you could leave me alone that would be great,” you turn to give Art a sarcastic smile before looking back at the laptop. He rolls his eyes at your attitude.

“How long are you going to be in this bitchy mood?” he asks, and you just shrug in response. Luckily for you, he knows just how to

You thought he would just leave you given the fact that you clearly don’t want to talk, but he stays in his spot next to you. Suddenly you feel Art grab the laptop from your lap and lean forward to place it on the coffee table in front of you, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him.

“Helping you relax,” he says as he turns his attention back to you and dips his head down to start placing kisses on the side of your neck and up to your ear. 

“Art-,” you begin, but you cut yourself off when you feel a moan rising in your throat. Once you feel like you’ve composed yourself you say, “I’m busy.”

“Then tell me to stop,” he whispers in your ear before attaching his lips back to your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. 

He places his hand on your thigh and trails it up until he reaches the fabric of your panties. Lucky for him you just like to sleep in underwear and a shirt. He begins to lightly rub you through your panties, not adding any pressure on purpose. Your eyes drift to your laptop on the table that’s still open and playing.

“This isn’t the time,” you say breathlessly as you naturally buck your hips.

He hums in response, waiting for you to tell him to stop, but it doesn’t come. He dips his hand into your panties and runs his finger up and down your slit through the arousal that has started to leak out of you, circling your entrance before moving up to your clit, and this time adding pressure.

“You’ve had this little attitude all week, and I think it’s time that it goes away,” he says in your ear, then leans back to get a look at your face as he pushes a finger into you. “What do you think?”

Your mouth falls slightly ajar as you let out a small moan, but no answer. The video may be playing, but the screen has turned into a blur.

“What, nothing to say? You sure did have something to say these past couple of days,” Art fake pouts with a tilt of his head. “If this is what you needed all along, why didn’t you just say something?”

He then inserts another finger and watches as you fall apart as he curls his fingers inside of you. You move one of your hands up to grip the armrest as your eyes close and your body leans back against the couch.

“I mean this is what you wanted, right? For me to fill you up and make all your worries just disappear?” he questions with a smirk. 

Art feels your walls clench around him at his words as he continues his measured pace with his fingers.

“An answer would be nice,” he states, his tone a little more firm. You shake your head no, but that isn’t enough for art. “No, say it out loud.”

“No,” you manage with a whine.

“No? Are you sure because the way you just gave in so easily tells me otherwise,” Art fake pouts. “It’s not like I have a problem with it, though. After all, I get to be inside you,” he smirks at you.

All you can do is moan as he increases the speed of his fingers. Your legs start to involuntarily close, but you hear him tell you no, so you listen and force them back open. You feel yourself coming closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust of his fingers, and Art notices too by the way your whimpers and whines become more consistent. 

Right when you feel yourself about to tumble over the edge, Art quickly pulls his fingers out of you and out of your panties, causing you to gasp and your walls to clench around nothing. You finally open your eyes and look at Art, who still has the stupid smirk on his face.

“What are you doing?” you ask in confusion and irritation, and he just laughs at you.

“You were the one that said this wasn’t the time,” he tells you as he licks the fingers that were inside you only a moment ago.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he repeats with his eyebrows raised. Art begins to stand up, leaving you more tense than before. He motions to your laptop still playing the video from your tennis match and says, “I don’t want to bother you, so I’ll let you go back to what you were doing. Come find me when you’re done.”

You watch with an open mouth as Art walks out of the room with a smile and heads into the bedroom, not giving you a second look.

Part 2 out now!

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Breaking the Fourth Wall

Only, he’s not. He’s talking to the Divine Twitch Chat, but just to be a little shit, he’ll talk to them on some Dora type of nonsense. They eat it up cause they don’t know what Dora is. They’re just happy they get to interact with the stream.

A great example of this was when Billy got kidnapped by Sivana for the 50 million time. He got out of his binds, transformed into Marvel, busted through the doors and knocked out some guards. He was then met with a decision. He could either go left or right. Right lead somewhere unknown, and left lead to an exit. Time to consult the chat!

Marvel: *talking in Dora/Amanda the Adventure voice* “Hmm… What do you think?” *Turns to a random direction as if he’s talking to someone* “Should we go left or right?”

Solomon: “I believe it would be wise to go left, Billy-”

Heracles and Achilles: “RIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”

Atlas: “No, stupidheads. That’s probably gonna lead him to robots.”

Mercury: “That’s exactly why we should go.”

Zeus: “I agree with Hermes.” *just wants to spite Atlas*

Marvel: “The votes are in! It looks like we’re going… right!” *starts walking right*

He in fact did run into a bunch of robots. But hey, at least he found Sivana. Back to jail he goes.

Also, someone recovered this footage from a security camera and they saw Marvel ask the question and just stand still in complete silence for a solid minute before saying the thing about the votes. They posted this online and he got called a schizo like twenty times over. Marvel was later brought in so Black Canary could have a little session with him.

Marvel: “Ms. Canary, I’m not crazy I swear.”

Black Canary: “Cap, I’m not saying that, but well, this footage suggests that you might have some… problems.”

Marvel: “But I don’t. Pinky promise. I was just talking to the gods in my head. That’s it.”

Black Canary: “Mhm. Mhm. I see. I see.” *scribbles down on notepad*

Marvel: *concerned* “What’re you writing down?”

Then, there was another incident where some guy tried robbing an old, homeless man that Billy knew. Marvel took him up to a building and let him dangle by his leg off the side of it. What could he say, the old man gave him a buck anytime he could. Billy’s loyal like that.

Marvel: *does the Dora/Amanda voice again* “Hmm… It seems we’re stuck with a decision.”

Heracles: “He’s doing the voice! He’s doing the voice!”

Marvel: “What do you think we should do?” *turns to no one again* “Should we drop him?”

Robber: “WHAT?” *stops flailing around*

Marvel: “Or should we turn him into the police?”

Zeus: “DROP HIM.”

Solomon: “Do NOT do that, Billy.”

Atlas: “I agree, drop him.”

Achilles: “Drop.”

Mercury: “Ooh! Ooh! Drop him, then catch him just when he’s about to hit the ground.”

Heracles: “I second that.”

Marvel: “Just kidding! This isn’t up for vote. Alley-oop!” *slings robber over his shoulder and flies to a police station*

Gods: “BOOOOOOOOOO”

The police report for this got leaked and now the residents of Fawcett got to know their lovable teddy bear hero dangled a man off the side of a building. Also, this is a recent thing by the way. Billy only started doing this about a couple weeks ago so all of the Fawcett citizens are so concerned because he never used to do this before. They’re all like, oh my God, is Cap going crazy? Point is, they’re worried.

One of their ways of showing they care that’s still fresh on Billy’s mind is when he was taking a dealer to the police station and the man offered him some of his stash because and he quotes:

Dealer: “Hey, man, you saved my kid brother from getting kidnapped. You’re good in my book. You gotta help people out especially if they help you.”

This stunned Billy a little if he was honest. He didn’t know if he should’ve been touched or offended. He was offered drugs, but I was as a token of appreciation. He’ll go with a little bit of both instead.

[moechies]

lactating sukuna (*ﾉωﾉ) fluffy !!

it was an accident.

you were laid against your shirtless boyfriend, sitting in between his huge thighs whilst resting on his bare chest.

you pulled your eyes away from your phone, whining with a slight rub to your tired sight. upon looking up at your boyfriend, you earn a small glare with a short stroke to your hair. you turn your head to notice the pink bud of his nipple that bulges slightly from his chest, smiling at the mischievous thought before pressing your plush lips onto his nipple.

but something's wrong.

in the second you were attached to his nipple, a thin sweet liquid fills your mouth.

before you're able to blink twice, the man has you pulled off his body with a singular hand, many feet away from where you had just had your mouth a second ago. he holds you above him by your shirt, body hanging low, but your head is hoisted to face him.

"what the fuck do you think your doin' stupid fuckin' brat? why'd you do that?!"

"rwyomen.. dere's sumthin' in my mouf.."

you open your mouth slightly to show him the liquid, and you can swear his face turns a light shade of pink as he clenches his teeth in an anger.

"why the fuck did you do that?!"

"cos your nipple's cute..." you smile, accidentally swallowing a bit of the liquid. your eyes widen at the taste but its awfully.. sweet..

"spit it out brat!" is exactly when you decide to swallow the liquid in your mouth, flashing him a grin.

you extend your arm to reach him, a silent ask for more. when he pulls you back further, is when you notice his gaze has been distracted from your face, and his face was still painted with an unusual rosy blush.

"ryomen, are you embarrassed? look at me! tell me what that was now! please?!"

"it's milk," he grumbles.

he drops you down below, causing you to land in between his legs.

"oof.." he looks at you, his gaze awfully piercing but with no bad intention.. maybe.

"you can lactate?! can i have more?! it was so sweet!"

"you're fucked in the head." but you don't know that his heart thumps at the request, hiding his shock at your extremely normal reaction, and the fact that you weren't ashamed of his secret.

"maybe. gimme more," your head quickly move towards his nipple, but he is obviously quicker. his left hand cups his tit before you are able to reach, his other pressing against your insistent head.

"please ryo! i want more.! you'd let me if you loved me!"

"that's not how it works brat!"

"it is!" "the fuck? no it's not!" he releases your forehead, your body falling forward straight into his chest. "ryomen!" he chuckles.

"well since i'm already here, let me suck on your tit ryo." you nibble at the fat of his peck, meeting his red eyes as you look up. you attempt the best puppy eyes you possibly can, a smile spreading across your face with excitement when you hear the familiar sigh of surrender.

he removes his hand, and you quickly move yourself to latch onto him once again.

"yummie.."

he couldn't say it out loud, but you reminded him of that one black kitten with its face pulled out of milk captioned, "lost in the sauce." a meme you showed him a couple weeks ago that you believed was so insanely hilarious.

he loves you.

i literally don't know what this is, but it has literally been stuck in my head ever since gege's leaks Lol i know it was a mistranslation but it's so funny to me n i love lactating big men

[dwaekkicidal]

free use with a frustrated minho <3

wc» 1k

cw» fem!reader, free use, rough sex, slightly mean dom min?, some dirty talk, p in v, multiple creampies, oral (both f and m receiving), 1 mention of shower sex, 1 mention of somno

an» take this minho hard thought that i forgot to post earlier this week as a double post bc the chan.in x reader is fucking 2k words and im still not done yet lol... ><

“This literally never happens. Why did this have to happen?? I practiced this dance for fucking HOURS.” You surprisingly miss your boyfriend's indecipherable mumbles and continue to watch your TV.

Minho walked through the front door less than 5 minutes ago and is still sporting his stage outfit and makeup. He plays the part of some sort of lunatic all too well when he’s pacing back and forth and mumbling incoherent curses to himself. And you already tried asking him what was wrong- all you got in return was ignored as he slammed his keys on the kitchen counter and began this weird manic spell.

But all of this is in the past now. You eventually came to learn that he slipped up on stage today; you learned that all that fuss was because he kept making minor blunders during the recording of their MNET performance. And although it was a recorded thing, something videoed multiple times anyways and not seen live, and he wasn’t the center during these mistakes, he was still pissed.

Minho does not make mistakes very often, so he was upset that he even made one today. But the fact that he managed multiple across the many hours they spent in that god-awful building made his blood boil. But! Luckily for him, he has this very convenient agreement with his beautiful, lovely girlfriend who just so happens to be you.

And this agreement is exactly how he stopped dead in his tracks as he came to this “revelation” an hour after he had arrived at home. It’s also how the oversized shirt of his you were wearing got lifted up to your chest. He didn’t even blink towards the food you were cooking on the stove before he shoved your panties down your legs and slid himself along your already wet folds.

“Dirty girl. Wet when I’ve not even touched you.” He landed a playful smack to your ass and gave you no time to react before he slid into your walls, stretching you out almost painfully. You were thankful that you fingered yourself just before he got home, so the stretch was more tolerable than it would have been if he went in dry.

Minho ignored your pleas of “The food!! It’s gonna burn!” and “Give me one second, babe!” Instead, he wrapped one of those veiny hands around your throat and squeezed as he started moving his hips. He started off nicely, giving you slow, deep strokes. But he quickly found a different pace, one more to his liking.

And that pace included fucking your brains out, pounding you into the cold kitchen counter. If it wasn’t for the refreshing cold of the ceramic, you think your cheek would get some sort of “rug” burn. Well… you can’t really think anything, not when his hips slam into yours so intensely that you can feel your ass stinging from each thrust.

Although he holds you in place, one hand on your head and the other on your hip, he still gives you more than enough chances to actually stop him if it’s what you want. It comes out in the form of dirty talk as he goes on about how good of a hole you’re being for him and how he should “freely use” you more often.

It’s more of a hint to the recent kink you’ve been discussing, but it doesn’t go over your head, so you nod as best as you can. And, even though he’s pissed off and needs to fuck you into every surface he sees, he’s not mean enough to leave you high and dry. So he lets you cum right as he does.

You’re barely catching your breath after the fact before he’s pulling out and admiring your messy form; your cheek still firmly against the kitchen counter even though his hand is gone. He manages to pull out and watch his cum leak from you before another revelation hits him. One that encourages him to help you step out of your panties before pocketing them and shoving himself back into his shorts.

One that also encourages his next comments along with the pat on the ass he gives you after the words have sunk into your mushy brain. “You don’t need these anymore. Keep cooking, I’ll be back.”

But don’t worry your pretty little head about it!! He won’t be gone for very long. In fact, you’re in the middle of setting the table with dinner when his hands return to your body, folding you in half and grabbing a handful of your hair as he immediately slides himself back into your walls.

The only “reward” you get is his groans of happiness as he fucks your brains out again, making sure not to leave out the comments here and there about how, “You’re such a good fucktoy. Letting me fuck you whenever and wherever I want.”

And he’s not done there, oh nooo. He’s still fuming about those slip ups from earlier. Now, at this point can he remember exactly what mistakes he made? No. Will that stop him from using you as his personal stress reliever? Absolutely not. So you should expect to be fucked into every and any surface.

So when he disappears to clean up after dinner and you’re returned to your TV for entertainment, he’s gonna walk up nonverbal and drop to his knees. Then, your legs will be lifted from the floor and he’s gonna shove his head between your bare legs, eating you out and even fighting back when you push his head away from you in overstimulation.

Oh and when you’re showering later that night and you let your guard down for a split second to wash yourself off, he’s slipping into the shower and forcing you down to your knees. He’ll get his fill from using your mouth, his favorite fleshlight, and walk out completely soaked like nothing happened.

You may or may not be overstimulated and sensitive to touch by the time you’re laying in bed, and you’ll be lucky if that stops him from taking you one final time. You’re also lucky if he’s mad enough to let it sink into the next day. If he is, he’ll go as far as to repeat positions/situations from the previous day.

Oh but don’t be mistaken! All of that isn’t happening until after he’s waking you up with a nice, warm, homemade filling.

[undressrehearsal]

dare to fuck this up

summary: ever since your last game of truth or dare ellie's been avoiding you and it's time for an intervention

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs and alcohol (not used), oral (e receiving), fingering (r receiving), finger riding (r receiving), little bit of angst, afab reader, the knee thing

a/n: this took me 2 months cause i work full time and it's 10k words so. enjoy (thank u for all the love on part 1! <3) also for anyone who doesn't know the tiktok dance i mentioned i linked it. don't look under the sound you'll spend way too long watching hot women dance

part 1

You hadn't talked about it. 

You had woken up the next morning, the sun blinding you from the window that was still left open. A cold autumn breeze ruffled your curtains, pricking at your bare skin. With one foot still in a dream, you'd groaned, turning over and pulling your blanket over your head. You had burrowed your head into your pillow - it still smelled earthy, rich with cologne and the faintest smell of weed. It had made your nose wrinkle only briefly, before you had reached out, searching for the warmth of another body - but your fingers only landed on the sheets, now cool to the touch. 

You sat up with a gasp, the blanket pooling around your lap. But you had fallen asleep on top of your blankets, hadn't you? 

The comforter was laid neatly over you, the pillows on the other side of the bed propped against your headboard, unbothered. The sun was streaming through the window, filtering through your curtains and shining in splatters of light against your own bare skin. Your small room was deafeningly quiet. 

That had been three weeks ago. 

For three weeks, Ellie avoided you. You hadn't seen her when you left to take your exam that morning. By the time you got home - after classes and after your part-time job - it was dark. The door to her bedroom was firmly shut, the muffled sound of music leaking into the living room - you wanted to smile when you realized she was listening to that song you had recommended. You thought about knocking on her door; not even to talk about what happened, really, but just because she was your best friend. Instead, you ate leftover takeout - cold because you were too tired to microwave it - and went to bed. You could hear her quietly singing to the music through your flimsy wall, falling asleep listening to her voice. 

At first, you honestly thought you had dreamed it. You thought maybe you had fallen asleep, sleep deprivation and vodka drawing out this fantasy in your dreams to torment you when you woke. But when you looked in the mirror, the bruises were still there. You ran your fingertips across the one on your collarbone, pressing at the one left behind your ear; you could still feel the warmth of Ellie's mouth against your skin, her teeth grazing across your hips. The phantom feeling still sent a shiver down your spine, heat creeping in your stomach. 

Ellie was trying her best to avoid you, but she still lived with you. After three days of not speaking, you resorted to a different approach. She didn't seem to have any plan to speak with you anytime soon - certainly not about what happened - so you let your body do the talking. You began wearing primarily v-necks and tank tops - ignoring the fact that it was still fall - simply to broadcast the line of lovebites she had left, her signature written all over your skin. They had faded slightly, but the purplish bruises still blossomed along your collar. You began wearing shorts around, short enough to show the bruise on your thigh; you let the fabric sit low enough to show the one at your hip, a pretty blend of colors that made you ache. The few times you did see her - when she was scavenging for food in the kitchen or right when she got home, before she could scurry away back to her room - you could feel her eyes lingering on you, gaze like a brand against your skin, burning all the spots she had marked. 

And she would hurry back to her room, locking the door behind her. 

Fine. 

If she refused to talk about it, you thought, you'd just have to make her. 

Which is why, three weeks after your original game - three weeks after that stupid fucking night - you bought a new bottle of vodka (by the time you had found the old one, it had spilled the last of its contents into your rug. Your room still smelled of it). When you got home, Ellie’s door was shut, just as it had been every day for three weeks. You kicked off your boots, leaving them in a pile in the hall, and knocked on her door.

“Sorry, I’m busy,” she called - just as she had every day for three weeks. 

You pursed your lips and knocked again, harder. 

“I’m busy!” she called again, her voice hard. It might have stung if you didn’t know her so well.

So, you knocked again. And kept knocking, a steady, continuous rhythm that echoed against the walls. You heard Ellie curse under her breath, could hear the scrape of her chair and her footsteps, and you kept knocking. You didn’t stop - didn’t even slow - until she opened the door in a huff, your hand falling against open air. 

“What the hell are you-” 

You shoved the bottle of vodka against her chest, cutting her off. She gripped it hastily before it could shatter against the floor. 

She looked frazzled. You had seen her during several exam seasons, during harrowing projects and infuriating essays. You had seen her in the hospital, two years ago, after breaking her leg skateboarding to work. But there was something in the way her hair was disheveled, sticking up at odd angles as though she had been running her fingers through it over and over and over again. There were bags under her eyes, purplish splotches like watercolor. 

And her eyes…. Her eyes were completely shattered. 

So you hesitated - briefly, just long enough for her to see the stutter on your lips - before you said, “Truth or dare?”

And the game began. 

Ellie looked at you, staring for several moments that stretched into infinity. You wanted to grasp it, to wrap your fingers around that stretched thread of a moment and hold it there where it couldn't hurt either of you. You weren't ready to let it go. But Ellie was looking at you with those broken eyes, and before you could say or do anything - before you caved and took the bottle back, fleeing back to the safety of your own room - the thread snapped. 

Ellie shook her head - and kept shaking it, as if doing so would rid her of this… whatever this was. “No,” she murmured, avoiding your eyes as her grip around the bottle’s neck tightened. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m busy, okay? I have an exam tomorrow-”

She moved to close the door - shutting it right in your face - but you kicked your foot out to stop it. 

“When somebody asks the question,” you said, reciting the stupid little agreement you both had written out two years ago, the night you established this tradition, “you have to play the game to its conclusion; when you run out of questions or pass out from alcohol poisoning. Those are the rules, El. Remember?” 

And still, she just looked at you, her brow furrowed like you were an equation she couldn’t solve - couldn’t even read, really. Her knuckles were white around the bottle’s neck, and when you looked down, her hands were shaking. You wanted more than anything to put your hands over hers, to still them - to bring those hands to your lips and kiss the white knuckles until she released her fists. Instead, you dug your nails into your thighs. 

You watched as Ellie took a deep, steadying breath, clenching her fists tighter before releasing the tension, her fingers relaxing around the bottle; her hands stopped trembling. She smiled at you, but it was tight, her eyes empty of their usual mischief. “Alright,” she said, and her voice was just as tight as her fists had been moments ago - the tension not gone, only transferred. “Okay, I’ll play. But you only get an hour - I really do need to study.” 

Ellie’s bedroom was the same layout as yours, only flipped, the two a mirror of each other. Strings of lights hung crookedly along the walls, the bulbs casting a soft, warm glow amongst the room, the same hazy hue of a dream. An easel leaned in one corner, a canvas propped against it; there were only the barest scribbles of an outline, incomprehensible to you. You thought it may be a profile, the gentle slope of a nose and soft lips sketched in pencil, but you weren’t sure. 

You ran your fingers over her desk as you passed; it was in absolute disarray. Two different astronomy textbooks lay open, covered in highlighter markings and Ellie’s sloping writing in the margins. There were three different cups on the surface in varying levels of full: a mug half full of coffee, still steaming; a glass of water that was completely full, untouched; and a cup filled with murky, grey liquid. A few paintbrushes had been left to sit in that one, and in large writing along the cup was written PAINT DO NOT DRINK. You almost laughed, remembering all the times you had watched your roommate spit water out after she had picked up the wrong cup. 

It felt strange when you sat gingerly on her bed. You had sat in this spot so many times before, more than you could count. You had spent so much time lounging on this bed, your laptop open in front of you while Ellie worked at her desk - on homework or her latest painting or nothing at all. There were days laid out before you where you both at lain in a crumbled heap, eating takeout on top of the covers because Ellie didn't give a shit about crumbs, an open laptop playing whatever horror movie she wanted to show you (she was always more scared than you, hiding her face in your shoulder). God knows how many truth or dare games you had played in this room, a bottle of alcohol passing between shaking fingers. When Ellie bought it, it was cheap whiskey and you hated it; you drank it anyway. 

Now, sitting on her bed - carefully, as though you thought it might break - your skin felt aflame, a fire burning in your muscles. When you ran your fingers over the messy sheets, you could only remember how it had felt to have your fingers clutching the ones on your own bed. 

Ellie sat at her desk across from you, folding herself so that she had one foot propped up on the chair with her, her knee folded to her chest; her other foot tapped anxiously against the floor. She was looking at you, her face strategically neutral, but it was like she was looking through you; her eyes kept shifting away, unable or unwilling to settle on you. Her voice gave nothing away when she said, looking at a spot above your shoulder, “Dare.” 

You sighed, feeling the questions wanting to claw their way from your throat with nowhere to go. You knew what you wanted her to do - what you wanted to dare her to do - but the words would only cause her to withdraw further. You felt like you had to approach Ellie as if she were a scared animal, ready to flee at the first sight of danger. 

Wracking your brain for something mild, you said, “Try to recreate one of those dumb popular TikTok dances.” 

You didn't miss how Ellie's shoulders relaxed, her hands noticeably unclenching. She looked at you and it was almost like nothing had happened; like she hadn’t been avoiding you for three entire weeks, becoming a ghost in your apartment. Like you both hadn’t made what had obviously been a drunken mistake. 

The beginning of a smirk tugged at her lips as she dug in her back pocket for her phone - its case had an astronaut on it, because of course it did. The screen illuminated her face, flashes reflecting minutely in her eyes as she scrolled. She bit her lip absently - she often did when she was thinking. You tried not to stare and failed miserably. 

“This’ll be easy,” she muttered to herself, half laughing. She scrolled through a few videos, and she had the volume down on her phone, but you could still recognize the song that kept playing on repeat; you were going to fucking die. 

There were several minutes of quiet, only the music playing from Ellie’s phone. With nothing to do but wait, you brought your legs up onto the bed, tucking them under you; your eyes wandered around the room, taking in the stack of paintings by her desk, both finished and unfinished. The figurine she had of Kassandra from Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey had toppled on her desk, her spear falling in a glob of paint, the tip smudged bright yellow. You investigated the posters she had hung up of her favorite bands - almost all of them with female singers; she had a very specific taste. On her nightstand, in a frame made of macaroni, there was a picture of her and her dad, taken at the zoo when she was quite a bit younger, the blurry image of a giraffe in the background. She was holding up a peace sign, smiling so wide her eyes were practically shut. 

You turned back when Ellie stood up from her chair, placing her phone on her desk. Shoving her hands in her hair, she said, “Can’t promise this’ll be anything amazing, but you get what you paid for.” Even as she said it, she was smirking, a dangerous twinkle in her eye. 

You watched as she rummaged in her closet, shoving aside probably half a dozen flannels and at least 10 different band t-shirts. She rummaged through a bucket with a few beanies in different colors, and you couldn’t see her face, but you already knew she would be wrinkling her nose like she always did when she was getting frustrated. 

You jumped, startled, when she suddenly exclaimed, pulling her head from her closet and turning to you with a triumphant grin. She held a black belt in her fist, holding it up like a trophy. 

You shook your head at her, even as your throat closed up with anticipation. “If it took you that long to find one, it’s no wonder your pants are always hanging from your fucking ass.” 

“Hey,” she said, picking up her phone again and looking at you with mock offense; she was still smirking. “I don’t exactly hear you complaining when my ass is out.” 

You heard the stutter, heard the way her breath caught after she said the words. It was so stupid - a stupid little remark that she would have made any other day three weeks ago. She wouldn’t have even thought about it, wouldn’t have batted an eye. You would have rolled your eyes and said something mean in response - something like, “I save my complaints for when I see your face instead.” You would have laughed and then watched a fucking movie or something. 

Instead, Ellie only coughed awkwardly, ducking her head to fiddle with her phone. In the dim light, you could see the flush of her cheeks behind her bangs. You looked anywhere but at her, your eyes darting around to find something to focus on that wasn’t how pretty she looked when she was flushed pink - how pretty she looked with her cheeks red from alcohol and exertion, her lips shining wetly - 

Your brain short-circuited when Ellie started the music - only the bite-sized sample that was trending on TikTok. She set her phone on her desk and took a deep breath, waiting for the song to loop again as she positioned the belt by her hips. She didn’t look at you, instead casting her eyes to the ceiling and muttering, “This is gonna be so stupid.” 

When the music looped again, you were forced to watch as Ellie thrust her hips to the beat, pulling the belt slowly away from her hips. When she brought it up to wrap the piece of leather around her neck, pulling it taut, you were surely convinced you must be paying for some sort of crime, that this was your eternal torture. Her movements were janky, stuttering and unsure and off-beat - she had only watched the videos for a few minutes and was relying solely on memory to guide her limbs. When she tried to tie her wrists into the belt, she got stuck, her hands ending up in a knotted mess. Still, her eyes met yours when she raised her bound hands above her head - coincidentally or purposefully - and you couldn’t look away. 

This was definitely Hell. It had to be. 

When the song started to loop again, Ellie hastily tried to pull her hands from the knot. The belt clattered to the floor, abandoned, as she scooped her phone up, fumbling with the buttons to cut off the music. She nearly dropped her phone in her haste. 

When the room was silent again, Ellie sat back down at her desk. Last time you had played, you had asked her to do something ridiculous for her first dare, and she had grinned with pride, practically preening. Now, she wasn't smiling; she hardly even looked at you, fiddling with one of the many paintbrushes on her desk. You compartmentalized the image of her thrusting her hips with her hands bound over her head, saving it for later. You always did torture yourself with these things. 

Ellie was looking at that same spot over your shoulder when she said, “Truth or dare?” She sounded pained, her words strained against some invisible weight. It was like your very presence in her room - on her bed - pained her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave and give her relief. 

“Truth,” you said, hoping against hope that she would ask you fucking anything about that night three weeks ago. 

But she had never been that easy. Ellie had never been one to give you straight answers and she wasn’t about to start now - especially not now. So instead of saying anything - asking anything - about that night that she seemed keen on forgetting, she asked, “What’s the worst first date you’ve been on?” Before you could protest that you always told her about your worst dates, she added, “One I haven’t heard before.” 

So for the span of one question, you let yourself believe that you were still talking to your best friend. That she hadn’t been avoiding you for three fucking weeks and this was only your typical truth or dare game in between studying. You believed that you were simply gossiping with Ellie, who had been your best friend for several years and nothing more. In the space of one question, you let yourself believe that this was still only a game and not an intervention. 

So, in the spirit of pretend, you thought for a moment, rifling through the index of all the shitty dates you’ve been on. Ellie had already heard most of them, had been there whenever you came back home; she was there whether you were heartbroken or relieved that you wouldn’t see the person again. There were a few times where you had come home laughing, and she had passed you a joint as you told her all about the horrible date - you would take twice as long to tell the story because you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Finally, you said, “Okay, this was before we came to college. We weren’t close enough friends in high school for me to tell you, so I don’t think you’ve heard this one before. Stop me if I’m wrong.” She waved her hand for you to continue, twirling a pencil between her fingers. “I had just graduated high school so I was dating around before I left for college - nothing serious, just casually looking around.” 

“Window shopping,” she interrupted you with a grin - that same easy grin she always had with you. Your heart tugged embarrassingly at seeing it again. 

You swallowed the lump and continued, “Yeah. So, I went on a date with this guy - he was some friend of a friend’s, I didn’t know much about him. We went out to dinner at some local dive bar - which was already fucking weird because, like I said, I had just graduated high school.” 

“Was this guy a fucking cradle robber?” Ellie said, wrinkling her nose. 

You shook your head. “He may as well have been. He was either 21 or he was just really good friends with the bartender because as soon as he came in, he got two beers - the cheap shit, too. It tasted like musty ass.” Your stomach twisted when she laughed. “So we sit at a booth and I finally get a second to really look at him.” You leaned forward, bracing your hand on the bed so you wouldn’t fall, and made sure she was looking right at you when you said, “And this motherfucker was wearing a shirt that said Black Rifles Matter.” 

You reveled in the way Ellie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening. Her lip turned up in disgust, and the only thing she could say was, “No.” 

You grinned, nodding, and you had to focus really hard to not start laughing. “Yes. And I rolled up to this dive bar, fresh out of the womb, with bright pink hair freshly dyed and a crop top that literally said Femme on it in bright pink letters - which, okay, maybe not the choice to wear on a first date with a straight guy, but still. I was in this booth with a baby face looking every bit as queer as I am, and this fucking dude with a patchy mustache and a shirt that has more problems than I care to admit opens up by telling me he doesn’t like when girls dye their hair.” 

Ellie was rolling her eyes, on the edge of her seat. She leaned closer as you continued, “But fine, whatever, everybody has preferences I guess. But this guy gets three beers in, and he’s already been talking about weird shit - conspiracy theories and telling me how kids today are too soft - one of those fucking guys, right? But then he stops,” you hold up your hands for emphasis, leaning even closer, “and he leans into me over the table, and he looks me straight in the eye - you wanna know what he said?” 

Ellie groaned. “Tell me he didn’t ask who you voted for or some shit.” 

You barked out a laugh; it echoed on the walls. “God, I wish. No, this bitch looks me dead in the eyes, his breath reeking of bad beer, and he says, ‘Are you on your period? I have this weird talent for smelling when girls are on their period.’” 

You watched, delighted, as Ellie slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a choked gasp. “No!” 

You couldn’t stop laughing, pressing your hand to your stomach as you fell back against the sheets. Her laugh filled the room like helium, making everything feel lighter - easier. Even now, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was being around Ellie. And for a moment, you did forget what had happened. You forgot about the string pulled taut between you waiting to snap. You forgot that this was anything more than simply another dumb game of truth or dare.

Until you looked up and saw the press of Ellie’s lips again, the way her eyes darted away, and you could feel yourself sinking again. 

And that’s how the hour went. Ellie - infuriating Ellie - did every single dare you asked of her. She did a handstand for a minute straight, her face turning so red you thought she might pass out. She called the local pizza place you often ordered from and asked for one hundred sardine pizzas, laughing when the poor teenage boy on the other line started stuttering. Last time, she didn’t take all the liquid in the fridge and make a nauseating cocktail; but this time, she did go and find four different liquids of her choosing - apple juice, almond milk, an old flat Dr. Pepper, and the remaining vinegar in a Kimchi jar - and downed it in front of you. She tried her hardest to hold a straight face, but only ended up scrunching her eyes closed, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a gag. She never chose truth. 

For your part, you never chose dare. You answered every pressing, embarrassing question she asked, ignoring the flush to your cheeks. You told her the most absurd dealbreaker for a relationship. (“What do you mean you’ll break up with someone if they don’t like garlic?” Ellie asked, smiling even as she shook her head.”) You went through the original Wiggles band and said which you would fuck, marry, or kill (“There are four of them! Do I choose to have a threesome?”) 

And you waited. Each time you chose truth, you held your breath. You watched Ellie mull it over, her eyes darting around as she thought, and prayed that she would just ask you something. You knew it was an unrealistic wish, but you still watched her lips and hoped against hope that she would give you some kind of acknowledgement that this wasn’t all for nothing. You just wanted her to stop being such a pussy and fucking talk about what happened. 

But the clock kept ticking. 

After about an hour had passed, Ellie looked at her phone and sighed, standing up. “Okay, I really have to get back to studying. I have this dumb astrophysics exam tomorrow and I can’t wrap my fucking head around this shit, so I have to -”

“One more,” you cut her off, standing up from the bed. You followed her as she walked to the door, one step behind her when she put a hand on the doorknob. She paused, her hand frozen there as she looked at you - actually looked at you, not through you. It was only a moment, but it was there; you could feel the way her eyes had branded your skin even after she’d looked away. Your voice was rushed, breathless when you added, “We haven’t even opened the bottle, so what’s one more? Just for fun.” 

Ellie looked behind you, back at the vodka bottle on her desk with the seal still intact. She sighed, but she never could say no to you. 

“Fine,” she said, and her voice was so quiet in the dark room; the word felt like a secret between you, soft against the tension stretched thin. “One more.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. You tried to sound casual - you really did - but when you spoke, you found you couldn’t speak any louder than a whisper, afraid to disturb the air around you. You ducked your head, trying to meet her eyes when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 

She looked at you, meeting your eyes, and she seemed to deflate, sighing out a breath that ruffled your hair - you hadn’t realized how close you were. Her breath smelled of canned ravioli and weed; it was almost enough to make you laugh. 

Ellie took a step back, clearing her throat, and answered for one last time, “Dare.” Because she was too afraid of the fucking truth. 

And fuck it if your heart didn’t stutter in your chest. You felt your fingertips buzzing, your stomach twisting nauseatingly. You felt like you were going to be sick, but you forced yourself to look up at her. You squared your shoulders, feeling like you were preparing for fucking battle, and said, the words familiar on your tongue, “Kiss me.” 

A moment of silence passed, the words suspended between you. They were tangible, and part of you still wanted to snatch them back - to swallow them and leave, to pretend this never happened - but you didn’t. You held them out to Ellie - you weren’t sure if they were a threat or an offering. 

Ellie didn’t recoil, and you weren’t sure if that was more insulting. She looked at you for a long moment before turning away, shaking her head and turning the doorknob. “I really need to study, okay? I don’t have time for thi-” 

You put your hand against the door, holding it there so she couldn’t open it. Your stomach was a mess, tying itself into knots that you would never be able to undo. And you knew - you were far too aware - that this could ruin everything. It could drive her further away, pushing her further into this little cocoon she was hiding in. Ellie might hate you for it. 

But this was too important to ignore. 

“Kiss me, Ellie,” you said again, and you could feel the bite of it on your own tongue. When you had said it three weeks ago, you had been so unsure. It had been a rush of words on a breath, tinged with alcohol and desperation. The words had been so careless, a sober idea that had made its way from your drunken mouth. 

Now, Ellie was the one who couldn’t look at you. She stared at the spot where your hand pressed to the door, willing you to let go. Her knuckles were white around the doorknob. Her voice was a rumble that you felt in your chest when she said, “I need you to leave. Please.” That last word - please - made your heart break. 

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and said, “No.” 

Ellie finally turned her whole body towards you, but she was wearing a mask; she had schooled her face into a mockery of nonchalance, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she watched you. She crossed her arms, leaning against her hip, and watched you with measured expectancy, shaking her head. She shrugged and said, “What do you want? I really need to study.” 

And it was the lack of care that broke you. 

You slapped your hand against the door in frustration, feeling the sting in your palm, disappointed when Ellie didn’t so much as jump. You shook your head at her, and you were so fucking angry you could feel tears stinging at your eyes. You blinked them away and snapped, “What’s your fucking problem?” 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opening in indignant shock. “What’s my problem?” 

“Yeah,” you cut her off before she could even continue. “What’s your fucking problem? You know what happened - what we did - but ever since that night you have been so determined to act like it never happened. You haven’t even talked to me in three fucking week, Ellie!” She closed her eyes when your voice broke on her name. “You’ve hardly looked at me all night. And look,” you sniffled, feeling some of the fire in you die down, “if you regret it - if you want to act like it never happened and go back to how things were before, I get it, okay? But can you at least have the balls to fucking tell me?” 

Your voice echoed off the silent walls, filling the space between you until you couldn’t breathe. You wiped a hand roughly over your face; your cheeks burned and you hated yourself for it. The room was so quiet you feared Ellie could hear the sound of your racing heart. 

It felt like hours before Ellie spoke; her voice was so heartbreakingly quiet, tip toeing on eggshells that were already broken. “I don’t regret it.” 

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head as she still wouldn’t meet your eyes. She couldn’t even look at you. When you took a step closer, you could feel the heat radiating off of her body, could feel the warmth in your chest. Your voice had lost its fire, your throat cold and raw and broken. You could only murmur, “Then kiss me again, Els. What are you so afraid of?” 

“You,” she snapped. You jumped, taking a step back; your heart lurched when she finally looked at you. Those shattered eyes were watching you, so open and vulnerable you wanted to look away. You forced yourself to watch, to bear witness to it when she shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes. Ellie pressed her lips together, blinking several times before releasing her held breath. She held your gaze like it was a lifeline and said, “I’m scared of you.” 

And just for a moment - so filled with silence it might pop - you saw it. You saw how Ellie had run from you like an injured animal, hiding away. You saw the way her hands shook around her biceps. You saw the way she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. 

You shook your head, feeling so incredibly small underneath those eyes that had avoided you all night; now they were vividly, overwhelmingly focused, broken in the hazy light and so green it was dizzying (and you couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol this time). You didn’t recognize your own voice, so small and vulnerable that the words themselves ached: “How can I fix this, Els? You want me to-” You huffed out a heavy breath, choking on your own voice. “Do you want me to act like it didn’t happen? Do you want me to leave you alone? I’ll do whatever you want, Ellie, I just… fuck. I just want my best friend back. So just… tell me what I did wrong.” 

You jumped when Ellie barked out a laugh, so dry it cracked. It may have been a trick of the light, the soft string lights making everything feel unreal, but when she looked at you again, she went impossibly soft. 

“You,” she said, so softly it ached, “haven't done anything wrong.” She sighed, leaning back against the wall; it was like all the fight suddenly drained from her, her shoulders sagging against the weight of three weeks. She looked away, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks, and said, quiet as a confession, “You were drunk.” 

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head. “What?” 

Ellie ran a hand through her hair, making it even more disheveled. Pathetically, you wanted to fix it; you knew how soft the strands would be under your fingers. 

“You were drunk,” she repeated, as though it pained her; as though it explained everything. Her voice broke, the shattered pieces falling at your feet. “And I…. Fuck, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have… forced myself on you.” She heaved in a shaky breath, her words tumbling from her, broken glass cutting her throat, leaving it raw. “I couldn’t even… wait for you to wake up after. I just fucking ran - I couldn’t even look at you, and that’s even shittier! And for three weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how to fucking talk to you when I know that we - that I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Ellie pressed her hand to her mouth, taking in a shaking breath - her entire body was trembling as she fought to hold it all in. She looked ready to burst, struggling to take in a deep breath. You reached out to grab her hand - to hold her together - but she flinched away. 

“I don’t-” you started, unable to find the words. You watched your best friend dissolve, and you couldn’t seem to fit all her pieces back together. “Ellie… Els, are you saying you’re avoiding me because - because you thought you took advantage of me.” The words tasted ridiculous on your tongue, a foreign object.

Ellie was shaking her head wildly, her hands balled into fists. “You were drunk!” she repeated, like a mantra. She pressed a hand to her chest as though to keep everything in. “You were drunk, and you kept telling me no, and I just… pushed. I pushed and I didn’t know when to stop and, fuck, I still can’t believe I did that and I didn’t even have the fucking balls to face you or even tell you I’m sorry, and-” 

“Ellie.” You reached out and grabbed her wrist, cutting off her rambling; she flinched again but didn’t pull away. She looked up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable and so impossibly green. “For one, do I need to remind you we were both drunk. And that I was the one who told you to kiss me?”

She watched you carefully, guarded; her bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss it again more than anything. She took in a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks; they mixed with her freckles like watercolor. “You kept telling me to stop - to leave it alone. And I didn’t listen.” 

“Els, I told you to stop because I was scared,” you admitted in a rush. Before she could respond, you continued, “Not of you. I was scared of how badly I wanted you, okay? And that’s fucking embarrassing to admit, but I’m saying it so you know it wasn’t your fault. I was scared because… fuck.” You scrubbed a hand over your face, feeling tears on your own cheeks. “Because you’re my best friend. And I knew that, as much as I wanted it, it could fuck everything up. But I didn’t want you to stop.” 

She shook her head. Her voice was raw when she said, “You couldn’t fuck anything up. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did you,” you practically shouted. “Ellie, I asked you to kiss me! Yeah, I had a few shots that night, but I knew what I was doing. You asked me how long I’ve wanted it - what did I say, Els? Tell me.” 

Ellie looked up at you, her cheeks splotchy from crying; she let you slip your hand into hers anyway. “A long fucking time.” It was no more than a whisper. 

“Yeah,” you said, gripping her hand to keep her grounded. “Not just when I was drunk. Not just when it was late. And definitely not just when you wanted it too. I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time, Els.” 

Ellie watched you, studying you like you were an equation she couldn’t figure out (she really needed to study for that astrophysics exam). She pursed her lips, nodding slowly, rubbing roughly at her damp cheeks. “Yeah.” Her voice broke again; she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Me too.” 

You took a step towards her; her body was so warm it was dizzying. You could hear her breath catch when you reached up and pressed your palm to her cheek. 

“What do we do now?” 

When she sighed, you could feel it on your lips. You felt the warmth of her hand at your waist, a steady anchor. “Like you said,” she murmured, her gaze soft; she reached up to brush your hair from your face, her fingers grazing the side of your neck. “This could fuck everything up.” 

Your heart lurched; you swallowed it back down so it could throw a fit right next to your twisted stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered, afraid to break the spell that made Ellie’s eyes watch the way your lips moved, captivated. “But….” 

“But,” Ellie repeated, leaning in so her nose brushed against yours; it was cold against your skin. 

You hardly had to move to kiss her, tilting your chin up to finally kiss that pouty bottom lip you had been staring at. You heard her breath catch again, her fingers pressing at your waist, drawing you closer so the warmth of her pressed against you. After three fucking weeks, you hadn’t forgotten how her lips felt against yours. It was just as intoxicating as it had been the first time; you were dizzy with the way she moved her mouth against yours, warmth spreading through your chest. 

Ellie broke away from you, but she didn’t stray far; she pressed her forehead to yours, and you could see that her eyes were still closed, her brow furrowed. She sounded impossibly small when she said, “Are you sure about this? I mean, what-”

“Ellie,” you interrupted; you twisted your fingers into her short hair and tugged lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from her lips. “Just shut up for once, okay?” 

You hardly even heard her replied Okay before her mouth was on yours again. Last time she had kissed you, you had felt lightheaded, floating with the weight of alcohol in your veins. Each press of her hands on you had felt unreal and distant, like she was touching you in a dream. 

Tonight, the vodka bottle sat unopened and forgotten on her desk, and Ellie was pressing against you with a sharp realness that made your breath stutter in your throat. When her fingers ran along your jaw, cupping your face and tugging you closer, they were lightning against your skin. She had the welcoming warmth of a bonfire, and you were like a fucking moth drawn to her. 

Ellie took a hesitant step forward, pressing you back, moving so slowly as though she thought you’d push her away. You let her push you backwards - encouraged her, really, entwining your arms around her neck and tugging her with you. You stumbled on the last few steps, practically falling back against the wall; Ellie braced her hands on either side of you to keep herself up, laughing into your mouth. You wanted to swallow the sound, to take it into your chest where it could curl up right next to your heart. 

The wall was cold against your back, but Ellie was quick to chase it away; her warm hands ran up your back, rucking up your shirt and scratching her nails lightly over your skin until you shivered. She was so gentle with you this time, running her fingers over your skin with such careful deliberation, as though each kiss and each caress was meticulously planned out. 

It was with this painstaking consideration that she lifted your shirt, pooling it around your chest; you raised your arms so she could pull it over your head. 

Ellie snickered, snapping the strap of your bra against your skin. “This is new.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, batting her hand away. It was one of your nicer ones, and you couldn't tell her that, embarrassingly, you had worn it on purpose with the hopeless thought of just in case. “Sorry I’m not in my pajamas. I’ll be sure to fix that next time.” 

She grinned, ducking her head to press a kiss to your jaw. She hummed against your skin, “No, I like it.” 

You didn’t talk about the implication of what you had said - next time. But the way she kissed her way across your jaw, her teeth grazing over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine, promised a next time. As Ellie’s tongue darted out to lick along your pulse, you could feel the words in the breathy sigh that escaped your lips. When she ducked her head to bite at your collar, she branded the words into your skin. 

“You’re such an asshole,” she said, her laughter warm against your skin. She pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone; the bruise had long faded, but the phantom ache was still there.  You could feel her smile when your breath hitched. “Just had these on full display. Drove me insane.” 

You huffed out a laugh that stuttered when she pressed a kiss at the edge of your bra. “I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?” 

Ellie lifted her head to meet your eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath brushing your lips when she said, “You’re crazy if you think you’ve ever not had my attention.” 

When she kissed you again, it was with a new fire that burned bright in your chest. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer so that you could feel her body against every inch of you. Her fingers dipped below the waist of your pants, pressing at the soft skin there. You felt her tongue press against your lips; when she ran it along the room of your mouth, she swallowed your moan. 

Ellie hummed against your lips, pressing you firmly into the wall and shoving a knee between your legs. You gasped at the sudden friction, heat pooling in your stomach when Ellie gripped your hips and pulled you closer, grinding against her sweatpants-covered leg. Her lips brushed against your ear and she murmured, “Tell me to stop and I'll stop.” 

She had said those same words last time, pressed drunkenly into your skin. There was an affirmation hidden somewhere underneath: Do you still want me? Before, they had been slurred, like a sloppy kiss against your lips. Now, her hands steady against your hips, her body warm from something other than vodka, it was whispered like a promise. 

You answered by pressing your hands to her chest; she didn’t fight you as you pushed her away, didn’t hesitate as you walked her backwards until the back of her knees hit her bed. She let herself fall backwards, but she wrapped her arms around your waist as she did so. You fell into a crumpled heap on top of her, knocking the air from both of your lungs, and you could feel her laughter against your neck. 

Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you glared down at her; she only answered it with a grin, lifting herself just enough to kiss you briefly. You couldn’t suppress your own smile when you said, “You’re infuriating.” 

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. She hooked her fingers in your belt loops and gave them a tug as she said, “Yeah, get used to that.” 

You kissed her again to hide your smile. You didn’t talk about the inclination of that either. 

Growing impatient, you swung your legs on either side of her, sitting up and straddling her hips. Ellie’s hands ran up your sides, captivated, as though refusing to keep her hands off you for even a moment. You idly ran your fingers over her stomach where her hoodie had risen up, the warm skin right above her sweatpants; you delighted in the way she shivered at your touch. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” you hummed, running your hand higher up her abdomen, revealing the expanse of soft skin; if you pressed just a little bit harder, you’d be able to feel the muscles beneath. You smiled when you heard her breath stutter, chest rising just slightly to meet your touch. “You’re wearing way too many clothes.” 

Ellie - ever enthusiastic - wasted no time in sitting up just enough to tug her hoodie over her head, leaving her hair an absolute mess. She tossed it across the room; you thought you heard it knock something over, but you didn’t have a chance to look before Ellie was grabbing your hips, digging her fingers into the soft skin. You gasped when she used the leverage to pull your hips down, grinding against her. 

This time, she was the one not wearing a bra - she had been home studying all day, so you hadn’t expected otherwise - and your eyes raked over miles of fair, warm skin. You wanted to run your fingers over it and watch the shiver your touch pulled from her. You wanted to press your lips to every inch of hot skin and feel the way her body arched into you, chasing your tongue. 

But she was watching you with an intoxicating shade of anticipation in her half-lidded eyes. You realized you had been staring for a few seconds too long because she had that cocky ass grin on her stupid face. 

“Like what you see?” she teased, pulling your hips down again so you had to bite down a moan. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled. You couldn’t tell her how many times you had imagined what she would look like under your hands or how you had always wondered how far down her freckles went (you couldn’t keep yourself from running your fingers down her chest, tracing them like constellations). You couldn’t tell her how your eyes had tracked her anytime she walked around the apartment in a sports bra or, sometimes, in only a towel, your imagination running away from you. 

If you told her, she’d never let you live it down.

Instead, you let your hands drift across the small swell of her chest, feeling the way her body arched into your fingers. You had to bite back a grin when your thumb brushed over her nipple, feeling her body shudder beneath you. You wanted to record the way her breath caught in her throat to listen to over and over again. Her eyelids fluttered, her lip caught between her teeth; you knelt down to kiss her, hard and deep, smiling into it when you pinched her nipple gently and she moaned against your lips, fingers tightening around your hips. 

You needed to taste her, you realized. Your mouth watered with it. 

You bit her bottom lip between your teeth, grinning when you heard her hiss. You took a moment to kiss your way across her jaw and down her neck, open-mouthed kisses pulling sighs from her lips. You couldn’t resist sucking the skin into your mouth, feeling the way her pulse jumped under your tongue and loving the moan that rumbled in her throat, her fingers gripping your hips so tightly you were sure you'd have bruises - again. But when you pulled away and saw the red beginnings of a bruise on her pale skin, a thrill ran through you. She would have to walk around with a physical reminder of how you had made her feel. 

You loved revenge. 

But you weren’t like Ellie, who had taken her sweet time in unraveling you. You didn’t have that kind of patience - certainly not now, not tonight. You had spent far too long holding yourself back - too long averting your gaze, never letting your touch linger. You had spent so long schooling your own imagination, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered whenever Ellie wandered too close. You had spent too many nights letting your mind wander, only feeling safe to let your imagination run when you could hide in the dark; you had spent far too many nights with your hand between your legs and the fleeting image of green eyes and that crooked fucking smile. 

So no, you didn’t have any patience left in you.

When you reached between your bodies and pressed your palm to her sweatpants, you swallowed her moan, drinking it in and feeling like you could survive on it alone. Maybe it would finally satiate your fucking thirst. 

Kissing your way down her chest, you pressed the words into her skin - “I can't fucking believe you though I didn’t want this.” - before pressing the flat of your tongue to her nipple. You could get drunk on the breathy moan that dripped from her lips, the way she arched up into you like her body ached to be closer to yours. She pressed her hips into your palm and you could feel the heat through her sweatpants. 

When you pulled back just enough to tug at her sweatpants, Ellie started laughing, breathy and hitched as she said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” Even as she said it, she was lifting her hips, pushing hastily at her pants to get them off faster. 

The fabric was damp when it dropped to the floor, pooling around her ankles. Stepping off the bed, you placed your hands on her knees, pushing them apart. You dropped to your knees and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin above her boxers. Her skin was hot under your tongue when you said, “Haven’t I waited long enough, Els?” 

Ellie only responded with a moan as you sunk your teeth into the soft flesh of her thigh and pressed the heel of your palm to her underwear. You grinned against her skin when she cursed, grinding down into you. You soothed the bite with your tongue and backed away to admire the red beginnings of another bruise. 

Ellie groaned, twisting her fingers in the sheets when you ground your palm into her. “Fuck, I’ve waited long enough too, right?” 

You couldn’t hold back your grin, tugging at her boxers so she would lift her hips. With her underwear around her ankles, Ellie lifted herself up on her elbows so she could look down at you. Whatever she saw - you on your knees between her legs, lips parted so your hot breath fanned over her - made her groan, another breathy curse falling from her lips. She reached down and carded her fingers through your hair, fingers soft against your temple. 

You smiled, blinking coyly up at her, and said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” before pressing the flat of your tongue to her clit. 

The moan that wracked through Ellie’s chest sent warmth spreading through your stomach, an ache pooling between your legs. You raised your eyes to watch her as you licked a slow, painstaking stripe over her slit, watching the way her mouth fell open in a choked gasp. The metallic taste of her on your tongue made your head spin; you moaned when she twisted her fingers in your hair, delicious pain stinging your scalp when she tugged. 

Ellie gasped your name like it was a promise. “Fuck - what the fuck -” Nonsensical words dripped from her lips with abandon, sweet as honey to your ears. When you ducked your head down to press your tongue inside her, a brief, hot pressure, her fingers tightened in your hair, her voice hitching when she cursed again, her words slurring together. 

You wrapped one arm around her thigh, feeling the muscle trembling as you pressed your fingers into the soft flesh. You ran your other hand up her stomach, feeling the way her breath quickened in the rise and fall of her chest. Stretching further, you flicked your thumb over her nipple and tightened your arm around her thigh when her hips bucked, holding her in place. 

You wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking it into your mouth and fighting back a smile at the keening whine it pulled from her. Her fist in your hair tugged you closer, guiding you exactly where she wanted you - and how could you resist her when she was chanting your name like a prayer? 

A shudder wracked through Ellie’s body when you flicked your tongue over her clit, lapping at her like you were starving. (After waiting so long to taste her, you might as well have been.) She groaned when you pinched her nipple between your fingers, her thighs clamping around your ears. Her legs shook when she came, your name on her tongue as though it were the only word she knew. You coaxed her through it, the flat of your tongue licking over her clit until she was gasping for breath, her hips slumping back against the bed. 

You peppered kisses over her thighs as she came down, your hand brushing across her stomach in soothing circles. Your knees ached from the cold floor, the carpet burning against your skin, but you couldn’t convince yourself to move just yet. When you glanced up at her, Ellie was looking down at you with glassy eyes; she had slumped back a little against her elbows, her limbs jelly - you tried not to let that go to your head - but she held out a hand to you, grasping for you. “Fuck, come here.” 

You both took the time to finally scoot further up the bed, Ellie's head propped on her pillow, her hair a messy halo around her. She pulled you on top of her, bracing her hands on your hips as you straddled one of her legs. When you leaned down, she tilted her chin up to meet you, kissing you lazily, licking into your mouth like she had all the time in the world - like she could kiss you forever and it still wouldn't be enough. With your elbows braced on either side of her head, it felt like you were both in a small bubble, the world left outside to wait for you. Fuck, maybe you did have all the time in the world. 

You gasped when Ellie raised her leg, pressing it between your thighs with an intoxicating pressure. She used her hands on your hips to push you down, guiding you as you grinded down against her. She broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to just look at you. Her pupils were blown, swallowing the green entirely. 

She grinned, endearingly lopsided, and murmured, “Now you're wearing too many clothes.” You whined a protest when she took her hands off your hips, but she only reached behind you to fumble with the clasp of your bra. It took her a few tries - you bit back a laugh when she cursed in frustration - and she threw it across the room when she finally got off. 

“Who the fuck designed those things?” she grumbled, fingers quick on the button on your jeans. 

You got off of her for only a moment, just long enough to kick your jeans and underwear off, but each second her skin wasn't on yours was agony. Your clothes hadn’t even fallen to the floor before Ellie was pulling you back in by the nape of your neck, her other hand guiding your hips back over her leg as she kissed you with a hunger that may as well have devoured you. You hissed when her teeth sunk into your lip, her tongue soothing over it before licking into your mouth. 

Your breath caught on a broken moan when she pressed her thumb into the dips of your hips, pressing you back to grind against her leg. The feeling of your bare pussy sliding against her thigh made you lightheaded, the dizzying pressure sending sparks through your stomach. Ellie's fingers still on the back of your head twisted in your hair, giving it an experimental tug; you felt her smile against your lips when you whined. You were pliable under her hands, your hips stuttering against her leg. 

Ellie pulled away, pulling you back by your hair just far enough away for her to look at you; her eyes raked over your body with a hunger that set you nerves on fire, looking ready to devour you. 

“God, look at you,” she breathed, raising her leg just slightly, the added pressure making your heart stop. Releasing your hair, her hand ran down your side, sliding across your chest. You moaned when her thumb grazed over your nipple, your hips stuttering; her other hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging into the bone. “So fucking wet for me and I've hardly even touched you.” 

“Shit,” you cursed when Ellie bucked her hips, her thigh grinding into you. You tried to glare down at her even though you knew your own traitorous eyes betrayed your growing desperation. Her cocky smile didn’t quite land, its impact softened by the way she watched your lips in fascination, her pupils blown - you couldn’t see the green anymore. Your voice wasn’t nearly as hard as you wanted it to be, your want softening the words: “Fuck off, Els, don’t be a dick.” 

“Am I being a dick?” she asked in mock offense, pouting up at you. “Good things come and all that shit, right?” Ever as she was teasing you, Ellie’s hand crept down your stomach, fingers warm against your hungry skin. She lowered her leg just enough to slide her hand between your thighs. You gasped, feeling lightning in your veins when those calloused fingers slid over your clit, already wet with want. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting. She slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into her, and said, “Fuck, look at you. God, I finally get to see you like this….” 

You struggled to speak past the breathy moans beginning to drip from your lips: “Finally? How - ah - fuck - how long - how long have you…?” You couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence, your thoughts clouding over when Ellie dipped just the tips of her fingers briefly inside you, gathering your wetness. 

“Like you said,” she murmured, finally pushing two fingers slowly inside you; even as she kept talking, she watched your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, “a long fucking time.” 

Your jaw went slack when she curled her fingers, gasping when she found that spot that made you see stars. She paused, as though giving you a moment to adjust, unaware of just how many times you had done this with your own fingers. 

“Shit, Ellie,” you moaned, canting your hips down into her hand. She adjusted her arm, positioning herself so that the heel of her hand pressed to your clit, pulling another breathy moan from your lips. Her other hand was still on your hip; she pushed you back, guiding you to grind on her fingers. “Ah - fuck.” 

She watched you carefully, fascinated by the way your eyes rolled back in your head, your brow furrowed; you felt her own wetness on your thigh again. Her voice was so fucking breathy when she said, “How long have you wanted this, baby?” She hummed; releasing your hip, she ran her hand up your side to knead at your tit, her fingers so careful against you. You groaned low in your throat when she flicked her thumb over your nipple. “How many times have you come thinking of me? Did you imagine my fingers inside you, angel? Did you moan my name?” 

You couldn’t even think of a snarky response; you were too distracted by the way her fingers curled inside you as you fucked yourself against her. Her rough palm slid deliciously against your clit, grinding into her with a growing desperation that made your thighs shake. Your shoulders ached from holding yourself over her but it was only an afterthought as you felt a tight warmth building in your stomach. You leaned down just enough to kiss her, moaning into her mouth when words failed you. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Ellie repeated, groaning when your hips stuttered. You were lightheaded, fucking yourself desperately on her fingers, grinding down against her palm and chasing that intoxicating warmth spreading inside. “So fucking pretty for me.” 

She kissed you as you came, licking into your mouth and tasting herself on your tongue. You pressed your clit down into the heel of her hand, riding it out, feeling the way that warmth spread down to your fingers. Ellie broke away from the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, leaving wet kisses along your skin and saving every broken moan that was gasped right into her ear. 

Ellie didn’t move as you came down, letting you ride out your high, tracing gentle circles down your side. You slumped against her, your arms giving out; your weight landing on her forced all the air from her lungs. She only laughed breathlessly. 

It was several long moments before you were able to move again. Ellie ran her fingers through your hair as you gasped into her neck; she hummed absently and you could feel the vibration against your lips. 

When you were able to, you slowly lifted yourself off of her, wincing slightly at the sudden emptiness. With gentle hands, she guided you back down to lay beside her; you curled up against her without waiting for her invitation, resting a hand on her bare chest so you could feel the steady pounding of her heart. 

Ellie didn’t wait for invitation either before she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer; she was blissfully warm against the suddenly cold air. Something tugged pleasantly at your chest at the realization that you would no longer have to monitor your own movements so carefully - you could touch her, you realized, any time you wanted now. God, how were you going to ever stop now? 

Without anything else to say, you sighed against her skin: “A long fucking time.” 

Ellie hummed, giggling at your delayed answer. The fairy lights on her walls cast the room in a warm glow; with the hazy lights around you, you would almost believe this was a dream if Ellie wasn’t so solid and warm beneath your fingers. You traced the freckles across her chest, connecting constellations you had seen her chart before. 

Her voice was so quiet in the small room when she asked, “What do we do now?” 

You hummed, feeling sleep winning the war inside you. “We can figure that out tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Tilting your head, you leaned up just enough to kiss her, warm and deep and breathless, before moving away to meet her eyes. “Just don’t fucking run off again, okay?” 

[mountain-maiden]

Working Hard (Hardly Working)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

WC: 4k

Summary: Joel helps you out at the gym and you thank him in the locker room ;)

Content: 18+ MDNI, slightly unhealthy relationship with food (blink and you’ll miss it), oral f!receiving, Joel Miller is a munch, unprotected piv, cream pie, reader is able to lift weights & incline walk, Joel is able to lift reader.

a/n: I wrote this instead of going to the gym :/ If you hate it please don't tell me 😘

You push open the doors to the gym, the familiar smell of metal and sweat invading your lungs as you step inside. You don’t necessarily enjoy working out, but you do enjoy sweet treats, and that makes working out a necessity. So, a few weeks ago, you begrudgingly got yourself a membership the gym closest to where you live, which happened to be Rock Hard Fitness. Unsurprisingly, it was an extremely male dominated environment.

After swiping your key card, you drop your stuff in the locker room and head to the dreaded cardio floor. You mildly dislike working out, but you absolutely hate cardio, and unfortunately for you, the weight floor is packed full of gym bros and meatheads who are not pleased to share their space with beginners who aren’t “on their level.” Despite the unwelcoming atmosphere, you can’t stand another day of incline walking; today you're going to lift weights or die trying.

From the cardio deck, you watch the people lifting, taking stock of the machines being used least and trying to pick out any attractive guys you can distract yourself with during your warmup. You really don’t enjoy the typical gym bro look, which means your efforts are most often for naught, but today someone different catches your eye. He’s definitely older than the average guy in the gym, broad shoulders, meaty thighs—you're basically drooling while watching him. Is it wrong to objectify people in the gym? Absolutely. Does that stop you from thirsting over the mystery gym dilf? Absolutely not.

After deeming yourself officially warmed up, you leave the safety of the cardio deck, jumping straight into the shark tank. Immediately, the booming bass of the speakers is leaking through your headphones, no longer allowing you to enjoy Kesha and Britney in peace. Great. You just take the headphones off, leaving them in your locker with the rest of your stuff before spying the gym equivalent of a unicorn: a squat rack, completely open.

You make a beeline for the rack and immediately set your sweatshirt and water bottle on the ground beside it, staking your claim. Not having to fight for a place to lift takes away half the battle of the weight deck; you breathe a sigh of relief as you survey the rest of the floor.

Now your only problem is that it’s been months since you last lifted, and you have absolutely no idea what weight to start with. You know you've lost strength, but surely you’re still able to lift your warm-up weight, right? The weights are added, and you line yourself up, taking a couple of breaths to steady yourself before standing up, moving the bar from the rack to your shoulders. Immediately, the weight is not what you remembered it being—much heavier, in fact—but you’re not about to immediately rerack and take weight off; that would be humiliating.

So, you steady yourself and dip down, enjoying the familiar strain of your muscles. After the first rep, you’re feeling alright, you can definitely handle this weight, you’ll just do less repetitions. You continue, reveling in the burn of your legs as you struggle to push yourself back up as you complete the first set. You’ve done the 6 reps you decided on, but you’re feeling good and you’re pretty confident you can do another so you go back down, determined to complete a seventh and immediately you can tell it’s a mistake. 

You get stuck halfway back up, no matter how hard you strain, the weight won’t budge. You’ve never had to bail before, always having a spotter, you realize you don’t even know how to safely drop the weight. This is it, you’re going to humiliate yourself your first day in this gym and you’ll never be able to show your face again. Your legs are shaking, you’re panting with the effort to hold yourself up when your saving grace arrives. 

You hear the low drawl of a southern accent and suddenly the weight has been halved, allowing you to stand up and rerack the weight. You turn around to thank your savior and are struck speechless when you find yourself face to face with mystery gym dilf. 

“You alright there?” He asks, eyebrows scrunched with concern. 

“Yeah, uh, yes, thank you, “ you answer breathlessly. 

“S’really no trouble, can’t believe nobody helped you sooner,” He huffs, clearly offended on your behalf. Your face heats as you realize this means he saw how long you were stuck for. 

“Well, everyone’s wrapped up in themselves, I guess that’s half the point of coming here,” you shrug, unbothered by your fellow gym goer’s lack of concern for your wellbeing. 

“Gym bros,” you sigh in unison, and immediately burst into laughter. 

“Can’t stand gym folk, but I stopped workin’ construction and now I actually gotta workout,” He explains, as if he needs to prove he isn’t one of the aforementioned gym bros.

“Me too,” you sigh, and burst into laughter at the skeptical look he gives you.

“No, I’m a barista, I just make myself too many drinks to not be working out,” you laugh and watch as his expression shifts to one of amusement. 

“You’ve got jokes,” he chuckles, “I was wonderin’ what someone as pretty as you was doin’ workin’ construction.”

Your face heats at his compliment, “What? Your construction crew isn’t full of beautiful women?”

“Trust me darlin’, if you were on my crew I wouldn’t ‘a switched to management.” He leans up against the rack, watching you closely for your reaction to his bold comment. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming on to me,” you smirk, watching the tips of his ears go pink despite him initiating the flirting. 

“Is that okay?” He asks, boldness suddenly replaced with a self conscious demeanor, “I wasn’t aimin’ to make ya uncomfortable.”

“That is more than okay,” you try to remember his name and realize he never gave it. 

“Joel,” He sticks his hand out and you hold back a small laugh at the formality. 

You give him your name and when he repeats it, testing the word in his mouth, you don’t think it’s ever sounded better. 

“Well, I was just wrappin’ up,” He scratches the back of his head, as if he is unsure how to proceed now that you’ve actually introduced eachother. 

“If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind spotting me?” You ask, searching his face for any sign of displeasure, “I mean, I think we both know I could use one.”

He laughs at that. “Not any trouble at all, darlin’.”

Your breath hitches at the nickname. You’d never been one for petnames but the way it sounds coming from his mouth, his low southern drawl, the slight gravel of his voice, it has you fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You look up after realizing you’d been silent just a little to long and spot the amused glint in his eyes. 

“Alright, 2nd times the charm I guess,” you say before positioning yourself beneath the bar again, this time with the security of Joel’s warmth behind your back. 

You lift the bar off the rack and hinge down, enjoying the familiar burn of pushing back up, it’s on about your third rep that you begin to struggle, taking slightly longer to straighten out. It’s at this point when Joel steps a little closer, not touching the bar but readying himself to step in. 

“Atta girl,” Joel encourages as you push yourself up, the praise sending a jolt of heat to your core. 

You need to lock in, you can’t get distracted because an attractive older man is giving you the praise your father never did. But, when you complete your next rep and he murmurs more encouragement, you swear he has to be fucking with you. There is no way he isn’t aware of the effect his words are having on you. 

You do your second to last rep and he leans forward slightly, “Such a good girl.”

You damn near drop the weight, and when you complete the set and rerack the bar, you whip around and are met with Joel’s smirking face. He definitely knew what he was doing, and your look of annoyance seemed to only further his amusement. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” His eyes widen as he feigns innocence. Fine, two can play that game. 

“My form feels a little off, can you tell me if it looks alright?” Before he gets a chance to respond you’re already dropped down in a body weight squat, just close enough that your ass brushes the front of his shorts. You know if he didn’t want this he’d take a step back, but to your surprise he stays right where he is and you can feel the bulge in his shorts growing with each rep. 

“Form looks alright to me, darlin’,” Joel rolls his eyes at your antics, “You grind on any man who spots you?”

“Just the ones I like,” you throw back before turning around, watching the spark of amusement in his eyes give way to darkening pupils. 

“You want a hand with that?” You gesture to the growing outline of his cock against the confines of his shorts, “or a mouth?”

“I wouldn’t object,” Joel smirks, taking your hand and practically dragging you to the locker room. 

You find an empty changing stall and you are immediately tearing at Joel’s clothes trying to remove the layers keeping you from the broad shoulders and thick thighs you knew he was hiding. Eventually you remember the reason you came in here and drop to your knees, pawing at his boxers. 

“Fuck darlin’, ya gotta let me taste you,” Joel lifts you from your knees and sets you on the bench with the ease of someone moving a misbehaved kitten. He drops to his knees and that’s when you register what he means. 

You freeze, shock apparent in your features because Joel stops pulling down your shorts to look at you, “Are you comfortable with this?” He asks, searching your features for an answer, “If you want to be done just say the word darlin’, no hard feelings.”

“No! Trust me I am more than comfortable with this,” you jump to reassure, “I’ve just never met a guy that actually wants to give me head.”

He scoffs before continuing his efforts to get your tight gym shorts off, “Idiots.”

You almost laugh at how immediately he’d resumed his work once he’d been given the go ahead. He groans when he sees the wet spot on your panties, a plain cotton thong, and before you have time to feel embarrassed he’s ripped them down your legs and is devouring you with a vigour you’ve never experienced. 

Joel eats pussy like he’s starved, lapping at your slick like its the best thing he’s ever tasted, and if you asked him, he’d say it was. You thread your fingers through his hair and he groans when you pull. 

“Tell me what you like,” He murmurs, parting with your pussy for the few precious seconds it takes to get the words out. 

“What?” Your face scrunches with confusion and pleasure as his lips create suction against your clit. 

“When I do something you like, tell me. When I do something you don’t like, tell me.” He directs before returning to his mouth to your pussy, swiping small circles around your clit with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan with complete disregard for the extremely thin door separating you from a heavily populated public space. 

He switches from languid movements against your clit to lapping along your slit, never fully breeching the entrance, teasing you realize. 

“Don’t tease,” you manage to get out, a tug of his hair accompanying your directive as you attempt to signal his efforts should return to your clit. 

“Is there something you want?” He looks up, a smug smile painting his face. Of course he was on his knees and you were still going to be the one begging. 

“What you were doing before,” you really don’t want to explicitly state what you want.

“You can grind on me in a public gym but you can’t tell me how you want your pussy eaten?” Joel chuckles, blatantly amused at your sudden prudeness.

“Stop being an asshole, you know what I want,” you know getting annoyed with the only man who’s been eager to give you head for wanting you to tell him how to do it best is completely unreasonable, but you also know he is purposefully being difficult. 

“Here, I’ll even tell you what to say,” a mischevious glint appears in his eyes, “‘Joel, please lick my clit’, that’s all you gotta say darlin’”.

Your eyes widen at the crude language and he chuckles at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t already getting eaten out in the locker room of a public gym. You figure a few crass words couldn’t dig you into any deeper trouble. 

You take a deep breathe and meet Joel’s eyes, irises taken over by the black abyss of his pupils. “Joel, please lick my clit.”

He supresses a shudder and you see his left hand reach down to palm his cock through his shorts before he smiles, “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

He dives in, and immediately his tongue is working over your clit, drawing figure eights and circles, never letting the pattern become predictable, never letting you get used to the stimulation.

You moan as his tongue works its magic, and his hands reach up and grasp your breasts, squeezing and massaging. Eventually, he slides a finger along your slit, and without warning, plunges it into you. You groan at the intrusion and buck against his mouth. He doesn’t stop licking, instead sliding his free hand down to try to relieve some pressure from his cock, palming himself desperately through his shorts to your whimpers and moans.

It isn't long before you feel the knot in your stomach start to build, and your breath starts to catch in your throat. 

"Oh fuck, Joel I'm gonna cum," You warn him, 

Joel groans into your pussy as he continues to lick and suck at your juices, speeding up his actions.

You're moaning and gasping, and suddenly your orgasm hits you. You buck against Joel's face and cry out. He moans at the feeling of you clenching around his fingers as he works you through your high, lapping more gently at your clit as you shudder through the waves of pleasure.

"Wow," you heave once you are able to catch you’re breath.

"Good?"

"Fucking great."

You lay there catching your breath, a satisfied smile still plastered on your face. You reach down and unzip Joel's shorts, pulling his cock free. It's hard and throbbing, almost painfully so, a testament to your performance and his excitement. You wrap your hand around it, marveling at the warmth and hardness of it.

“Darlin, we don’t have to,” Joel starts to protest before you shoot him a look that shuts him up.

“Joel Miller if you aren’t fucking me in the next 30 seconds I’ll have no choice but to report you for causing undue distress.”

He chuckles as you tug him forward by his shirt, “Yes ma’am.”

“I’m on the pill, and clean, so uh,” you know you really shouldn’t be making this offer.

“I’m clean too,” He replies, eyes fixed on your face. 

“I’m okay not using a condom if you are,” you can feel your face heat at how terrible of an idea you know it is, and how bad you want it despite that knowledge.

“Fuck darlin’, I’m not gonna complain,” He groans, shivering as you begin to lightly stroke him.

Joel moves between your spread legs and your heart races as he lines himself up. You can feel the warmth of his cock against your entrance, slick with desire and Joel’s spit.

"Are you sure about this?" his voice is low and husky, and he laughs a little at your eager nod. Before you can make a snarky comment you’re gasping as he fills you, your walls stretching around him, accommodating his girth.

“Fuuuck,” you moan, concerned he might actually be splitting you in half. You’ve definitely never taken anyone this big before but you’d be damned if gave Joel the ego boost of knowing that.

“Takin’ it so well for me sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, holding still as you adjust to his size. 

“Joel, move please,” you mean for it to be a demand but the breathy whine it comes out as has Joel chuckling as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

He moves slowly at first, each thrust drawing a low moan from you. You paw at his shirt, suddenly deeming the extra layer an offense of the highest order. He chuckles and pulls the shirt off, giving you access to lick and suck across the expanse of his broad chest.

You kiss his chest, your lips leaving a wet trail to his nipple, which you roll between your teeth causing him to shudder. He picks up his pace, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him tighter. You wrap your legs around his hips, feeling his cock stretch you even more as he drives into you.

"Joel, fuck," you moan, your voice barely a whisper.

"You enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?" he asks between thrusts, his eyes locked on yours, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Before you can come up with a snarky response, he’s found a new angle that’s sending sparks through your body with every thrust. The only response you can manage is a strangled moan.

“Aw, are you a little cock dumb, darlin?” He asks with mock empathy, “Can’t even answer a yes or no question,” He scoffs, but the tender look in his eyes lets you know he’s not being serious.

Serious or not, you can’t understand how he still has the mental bandwidth to be teasing you.

He moves faster now, pounding into you, the sounds of your wetness filling the locker room. Your clit makes contact with coarse hairs above his cock, sending your hurtling towards your climax.

"Fuck, I’m close," you whisper, feeling the familiar growing tension in your core.

“Atta girl, are you gonna come for me sweetheart?” He coos, his gentle tone a complete contrast to his harsh thrusts.

“Joel, please,” you don’t even know what you’re begging for and before you can figure it out, you feel a wave of warmth crash over you as you orgasm, your body trembling as you buck and writhe underneath him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay sweet girl,” Joel holds you firm against the bench as you attempt to squirm away from the now overstimulating thrusts as he continues to fuck you.

Joel's pace quickens, his hips slapping against your skin with each deep thrust. With one hand on your hip, he uses the other to reach down and rub your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire being. Your muscles clench around his cock as his own release nears.

"I’m gettin’ close," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "Where do you want it, sweetheart?”

You're breathless, sweat dripping down your skin as Joel thrusts into you, his words sending a fresh wave of arousal through you.

"Inside," you gasp, your eyes locked on his as he comes closer to the edge.

Joel adjusts his grip and with a few powerful thrusts, he slams deep inside of you, and you feel the explosion of his release like a firework going off, the sensation making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Joel," you cry out, your own climax crashing over you again, making your limbs shake uncontrollably and your nails dig into his shoulders.

Eyes closed, he leans his forehead against yours as he continues to hold himself inside you, his cock twitching from his spent orgasm. When he pulls away you collapse into a boneless heap on the bench, and when he eyes your exhausted form you can tell his ego is growing every second you remain motionless. 

You know you should get dressed before the cum begins to pool on the bench, or run down your legs, but you find yourself with a lack of motivation.  You are quickly realizing your decision had not been a good one, as you now had to drive home with cum soaked panties. From Joel’s raised eyebrows he appeared to be having the same thought. 

"You alright there?" Joel's voice carries a teasing lilt as he watches you flop around the bench.

You shoot him a playful glare, pulling your shorts back on. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever enjoyed cardio.”

"I think you have to be moving for it to be cardio, darlin’,” he chuckles, a smirk playing on his lips, “and all I saw you do was lay there and take it."

“I’ll have you know it’s a lot more tiring than it sounds,” you launch his shirt at his head in mock indignation. 

He catches the balled-up t-shirt with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement, “Whatever you say sweetheart.”

He pulls the shirt on before his expression shifts, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more earnest. As you pull your bra back on and glance back at him, you notice a hint of bashfulness in his eyes. 

“Wha-”

“I-”

“You first,” you decide, staring expectantly at the man in front of you who almost appears to be blushing. 

“I know this is kinda backwards,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “but, could I take ya to dinner sometime?”

You almost began to laugh at the realization his strange change in demeanor was just because he was scared to ask you out. The man could fuck you within an inch of your life in a public locker room, but asking you on a date was what made him nervous. 

You quickly stifle your laugh when you see his face drop at your reaction, “Fuck Joel, of course I  want to get dinner with you.”

His expression brightens instantly, a smile spreading across his face. “Really?” he asks, almost sounding incredulous.

“Yeah, really,” you confirm, feeling a warmth spreading in your chest at his genuine enthusiasm.

Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, quickly unlocking it. “Could I get your number?” he asks, holding the phone out to you, “if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Definitely,” you say, taking the phone and typing in your digits before handing it back to him.

“Great,” he says, grinning as he saves your contact. “I’ll text you later then?”

“I’ll be waiting,” you reply, smiling back.

With that settled, the two of you gather your belongings and walk out of the locker room together. You are pretty sure nobody else was in there while you were fucking, but you can’t help but feel that everyone in the gym knows you just fucked this man you had met maybe 30 minutes ago. You look at Joel and he seems completely at ease so you try to channel his confidence as you walk through the gym and out the front doors. You step out into the fresh air and share one last smile with the man before you walk to your respective cars, both looking forward to getting to know each other outside of the confines of Rock Hard Fitness. Really, with a name like that, what other outcome could you have expected?

[kiribakuswife]

As You Wish

Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Kinktober day 13!!

Perhaps your favorite part of Eijiro was how nice he was. It didn’t matter who you were, what sort of circumstance it was, he tried to see the best in everyone, even in the villains he fought on the daily. This was true ten fold for you in particular. It was the first thing that drew you to him, his bright smile as he laughed with his friends across the bar, pulling you in like a magnet. When you approached, he greeted you with an ease like he had known you forever and from there you were hooked. 

You had fallen almost too easily into a more than friends with benefits sort of dating but not actually sort of relationship within a few short weeks. He had been up front with you, his life far too chaotic for a serious relationship, and was adamant that he could not call you his girlfriend until he could properly date you. It just so happened that it didn’t contend with his morals to bend you over his kitchen counter every time he could. You knew he cared for you, and you cared for him, and for the time being that was enough.

You smiled down at your phone as you exited your job, the screen flashing with a text from him “Let me know when you make it home safe, sweetheart!! I have a surprise for you!! <3 ;)” It read, and you laughed a bit as you sent back a message, before dropping the phone into your bag. There was really no telling what the surprise could possibly be with him. He had left you many “surprises” before, anything from a cool rock he saw, dinner, to him bare in your sheets, there really was no telling with him. 

You reached your apartment in just a few minutes, incredibly lucky to find one only a few minutes from your job just a few months ago. You had given him a key after he nearly broke your mailbox one day, trying to stuff an entire bouquet of roses in it after nearly bruising your cervix the night before. It almost made you giddy with the thought that he could just be there, when you least expected it.

He seemed to be gone by the time you got home though, the lights off as you unlocked the door. You sent him a quick text letting him know you were home as you pulled your shoes off, dropping your bag.

“Good girl. I’ll be there soon, your surprise is in the bedroom!!” His text back was nearly instant, like he had been waiting for it, its words causing your heart to flutter. 

The anticipation was nagging at you as you nearly ran to the room, flicking the light on and looking around. A gasp caught in your throat as you caught sight of the bed, a luxurious red fabric draped over it. You ran your hands softly through the pleats that gathered at the waist. It must have cost a small fortune.

“Ei!!” You texted him, as you lifted the dress up, holding it against yourself in the mirror. It was beautiful, the sweetheart neckline just low enough to be considered sexy, but also just so cute, not too revealing.

“Put it on for me, sweetheart. I have plans for you.” He sent back, causing you to flush. You heeded his words, stripping from your work clothes and slipping into the dress. The red was muted enough, almost a burgundy that didn’t wash you out, and the three quarter sleeves made you feel almost dainty. You nearly shrieked as you reached down after pulling the zipper up. There were pockets! You spun in the mirror, watching yourself, no clue how he had gotten the size so perfect. It was the perfect balance between casual and dressy, and you knew it would never be leaving your closet after this. You fluffed your hair, deciding that the minimal makeup you had on from this morning would suffice for whatever he had planned, feeling quite the old money chic despite the fact that your sink was leaking and your fridge had grown almost scarily empty over the past few days.

“Sweetheart?” You heard his voice call out as the door opened, and you grinned to yourself one last time before bouncing from your room to him, twirling as he took you in.

“How?” You laughed as he looked over you, eyes wide and a soft smile on his face. His eyes dazzled as he looked back at you. He was dressed up too you realized, looking absolutely divine in a casual suit.

“I may of talked to Mrs. Bakugou.” He admitted, “She still had your measurements from the gala last year.” You smiled at the memory of the brash woman dragging you into her home to make a dress for you after Eijiro had asked you to be his plus one only a week before the actual event. 

“I’m surprised it still fits after all you’ve been feeding me.” You wagged your finger at him as he closed in, wrapping an arm around you and kissing your cheek.

“You look great.” He said instead. “I brought these for you too.” He added, pulling a bag out from around his back. Your brows furrowed at him, taking the bag and jaw nearly dropping at the heels that were inside.

“What is this about?” You asked, suddenly suspicious. He had gotten you gifts before, plenty of them, but nothing to this extent.

“I want to take you out.” He said, a dusting on his cheeks, a hand going to run through his hair before pausing, not wanting to mess it up. “Out on a proper date.” He nearly whispered the last part as he looked into your eyes, and you nearly squealed in excitement.

“I very much like that idea.” You smiled back at him, voice soft as you bent down to pull on the shoes, but he suddenly stopped you, kneeling down and taking your ankle in his hand, movements smooth as he slid the shoe onto your foot, heart nearly skipping a beat at his actions. He placed a kiss on your knee before standing, dress riding up as he propped your foot onto his own leg, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

He smiled down at you, goofy as he held out his arm for you to grab, “Are you ready, M’lady?” He asked in a ridiculous voice, causing laughter to bubble from you.

“Ready as I can be good sir.” You laughed back, him leading from your apartment to his car parked below.

The car ride was short, his strong grip on your thigh as you spoke of your days, the mood light as you joked back and forth. If his kindness was your favorite thing about him, then the ease of talking to him was your second favorite. If someone had told you that you had known each other in a past life, then you wouldn’t be surprised.

The restaurant was just fancy enough to feel like a real date, but not fancy enough to be stuffy. You sometimes wondered how he had gotten to understand your likes and dislikes so easily, almost like he could read your mind as he recommended things from the menu, all things that you had already had your eye on before he even began to speak.

His eyes were heavy with something as he watched you throughout dinner, it wasn’t quite lust, and you couldn’t put your finger on it as the meal continued. He had seemed almost nervous as the meal drew to a close, downing the rest of his wine before smiling brightly at you.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he blurted out as you made your way towards the door, and you smiled at him in an attempt to calm whatever was happening inside his head.

“I think a walk would be great.” You silently thanked him for the sleeves on the dress as you exited, the night chill nipping at you a bit as you walked. The restaurant itself was right along the river, string lights lighting the path through a canopy of leaves above you. The water rushed on below you, the sound cutting through the night air in the best way as you walked hand in hand in a comfortable silence.

“(y/n)?” he asked suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop.

“Yes?” You asked, turning to him, and his breath nearly caught at the way the soft lightening seemed to only highlight your face, making you look incredibly soft in a way he never could be, quirk or not.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he rushed out, closing his eyes tight as if he couldn’t bear to look in the off chance you said no, but how could you not say yes?

“Eijiro…” You called softly, his eyes finally opening to meet your own, looking hopeful but also terrified. “If you even possibly think I would say no to that I think we should take you to recovery girl.” You smiled at him, perhaps a bit too bright, a bit too excited as he scooped you up, spinning you as you both laughed, too loud in the night air.

“I was so nervous.” he admitted, chucking as he stilled, looking up at you propped in his arms. His smile was like the sun as he took in your face before setting you down, capturing you in a passionate kiss, showing you all of his emotions in the action. “Let’s get you home.” he said softly, pulling away reluctantly. You nodded, trailing behind him as he led you to the car.

This time, he pushed the skirt of your dress up as he drove, thumb rubbing against the skin on your inner thin, too high to be innocent as you spoke in soft voices, excitement sparking the air as you discussed what this would mean for both of you.

He led you up the stairs to your door, using his own key for your door, making your heart squeeze. Before you could step through the door though, he swept you up in his arms, grin wide as he carried you through the door, kicking it closed behind him and awkwardly reaching down to lock it before beginning to walk to your bedroom. 

“Ei, I think that’s only a thing for newlyweds.” You laughed as he turned to enter your room, careful not to knock your head on the door frame (again).

“What about newly-datings?” He asked, placing you gently on the bed with his own laugh.

“Not quite.” Your voice grew breathy as his hands ran up your bare legs.

“As much as I love you in this dress, I would love you more out of it.” He said instead, the goosebumps appearing again at his words. Neither of you had exactly said it, but in the past few weeks he had said more and more things like that that made your heart flutter like it would fly out your chest on its own. 

“Unzip me?” You asked shyly, pulling away from him to stand beside the bed. He stood with you, coming behind you, placing kisses along your shoulder as he gently pulled the zipper.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that? Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.” He said, allowing the fabric to fall from you, pooling on the floor below you. “You deserve the world, sweetheart.” He murmured along your skin, before turning you and lightly shoving you down to sit on the bed. He kneeled before you again, sliding off your shoes and placing kisses along the inside of your legs. “And I will do my best to give it to you.” he promised, standing and unbuttoning his shirt. 

You reached forward, tugging him forward by his belt before undoing it, helping him strip from his clothes, just as bare as you were as he joined you on the bed. He kissed you lightly before leading a trail across your jaw. “You’ve been so patient with me. So good to me.” He whispered into your ear, and you shivered as he dropped lower, placing light kisses across your chest. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything and it’s yours.”

“Just you, want you.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled back up, spreading your legs wider as he found his spot between them, his cock sliding along your core as you arched into him, lips pressing on the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“As you wish.” He answered, reaching down to line himself up, slowly sliding inside. His lips found their way back to yours as he thrusted slow and deep, different from the hard fucking you normally did. “You take me so well, sweetheart, you always do so well.” He said, pulling back to watch your face again as your eyes squeezed shut, moans falling from you in some kind of melody that his own joined. All it took to send you over the edge with all his words was one particularly deep thrust, squeezing him tight in more ways than one as he speed up, chasing his own high. You babbled incoherently below him, begging him to fill you up in the way only he ever could, and soon he was doing just that.

“I fucking love you.” He breathed out, raspy as your eyes shot open. His face was so sincere, eyes soft and you finally understood what emotion had been held in them earlier. It was love. He loved you.

“I love you.” Your voice broke as a tear skated down your cheek, brain short circuiting. He kissed the tear away before rolling off, dragging you with him, body warm and incredibly comfortable as you cuddled into you.

“I’m certainly glad to hear.” He laughed out, pulling you in for another kiss, cheesy grins from you both smashing together as you shot back, whining as he only continued to laugh.

[azen13]

Hallooo!!

can I request a Sunday and aventurine (separate) x reader where reader has insomnia and cannot fall asleep? It’s alright if you just write for one character, whatever is most comfy for you <3 take your time and get some rest !!

Sleep, Sweet Nightingale

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A/N: Thank you so much for the ask! This was really fun to write :D I'll likely post Aventurine's in a week or two, so stay tuned for that! Thank you for your kind words <3

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Description: Sunday x Avgin!Reader | With Sunday at a meeting discussing future plans for Penacony, you find yourself struggling not only with falling asleep, but also with memories from the past. Luckily, your lover is always here to help you.

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CW: Insomnia, Dissociation, Mentions of Imprisonment, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Emotional Flashback

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Nested in soft blankets, sleep should come easy to you. You had hoped it would soothe your troubled mind, washing all of your dark, tainted thoughts away like soapy water cutting through grime; instead, you toss and turn in the tangled sheets, a sheen of sweat shining on your skin in the dim, warm lights of your apartment.

Your inability to sleep is also compounded by the fact that you’re entirely alone. Sunday is busy in a meeting with the Family–discussing a potential renovation to Oti Mall to make it more navigable–leaving an empty space on the other side of the bed. You miss your lover’s sweet, feather-light touches and chaste kisses. More than that, you miss feeling protected. The world has scraped your heart clean of any innocence, leaving you sensitive to all the cruelties of the world–cruelties that seem to hang above your head like a cloud of daggers, waiting to fall.

Signaled by the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, minutes pass by. You make a game of watching as the long hand of the clock slowly creeps past the short hand at around 2:30 a.m, and continues to race around the chapter ring like a runner in a marathon. Eventually it passes the finish line, the clock ringing in quiet celebration as a new race begins. 

After another minute or two, you finally decide to push the plush sheets off your body and get out of bed. Sunday had recently bought you some medication to help with your sleeping problems, but he had kept them hidden away somewhere. The lack of trust stung, but you believed him when he said he was doing it out of worry for your wellbeing. You could look for it, but knowing Sunday and his penchant for being meticulous, you’d only bring yourself into a fit of frustration, making your mind more dysfunctional than it already feels.

Instead, you decide to wander the apartment aimlessly, a blanket wrapped around your body that billows behind you. From the bedroom to the parlor, the kitchen to the study, you search for something to pass the time, but find yourself rejecting any potential forms of entertainment. You can hardly fathom reading a book with how tired your eyes are, and the TV is too loud–even at the lowest volume.

So, you settle down on a sofa in the parlor and try to block out the world by wrapping yourself up in your blanket. For a second, you try to close your eyes, but open them in an instant. 

The overhead light feels less warm now, washing the room out with fluorescence. You can feel your heart beginning to leak, waves of emotions tossing it to and fro. Impressions of words spoken to you years ago press against your skin–not heard, but felt. No tears spring from your eyes–a habit built from near-daily torment, of knowing that your captors would only revel in the sight of your sadness and attempt to draw more of it out. Instead, your hands grip against the blanket. The rhythm they take up isn’t a thought so much as a motion, letting you escape the sinking ship of your soul. Clench, unclench, clench.

Then you hear the lock of the apartment door click. As though electrified, your body freezes from head to toe. 

“My dove? Where. . .you?” 

“Dearest?”

You hardly register Sunday moving out of the corner of your eye and taking a seat in a chair a few feet away from the sofa. After a moment, your lips open, words trickling out. They are uttered on their own accord–not a thought, but a motion, same as your hands.

The look on Sunday’s face softens. His words move in and out of focus as he begins to speak again.

“. . .you’re dissociating, my. . . Let me help . . . you name five . . . you see?”

Again, as if compelled by some supernatural force, you begin to speak again. It’s as though you’re speaking a foreign language you never learned.

“Wonderful. . . amazing. How about. . . things you. . . touch?”

“Now try to. . . three things. . .can hear?

Halfway through naming two things you can smell, the world sharpens, like shifting a camera’s focus. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, aware of how tense your body is.

“Are you back in the present with me now, my sweet?” Sunday asks quietly. His tender voice is almost a whisper, aware of how sensitive you might be to loud noises right now. 

You nod weakly, feeling beginning to return to your body, a shuddering breath filling your lungs. “I think so.” It feels true. As if in confirmation, your heart beats out a steady ‘Yes’.

“I’m glad.” Sunday folds his hands in his lap, eyes reading between the lines of your face. “It’s getting late. Would you like me to help you to bed?”

“Yes please.”

Slowly, Sunday stands. He extends a hand out, not as a demand, but an offer. A choice. It’s an easy one that you decide to take, clasping it like a lifeline as he guides you back to the bedroom. Humming gently, he fluffs up the comforter and the pillows, doing his best to maximize your comfort. 

“If you’d like, I can sleep in the guest bedroom-” “Stay.”

Your response is a plea, one Sunday is happy to comply with. Quietly, you watch as he begins to get ready for bed, his routine methodical and precise. Through it all, he keeps a quiet vigil over you, even as he brushes his teeth and preens his feathers. After it’s all said and done, your lover quietly crawls into bed, eyes gazing gently at you. “If you need anything, let me know,” he says quietly. In response, you gently grab one of his hands, and move it over your shoulder, before grabbing the other. Sunday allows you to position his arms how you wish, only adjusting after you finish. “May your dreams be sweet, my dove,” Sunday whispers, voice reverent like a prayer, as you begin to drift off into a soothing sleep.