#that's a fic that is gonna write itself once my writing block fucks off

[kisstheloststars]

special spinoff episode where we see the quartet on a road trip together, painting each other's nails, getting matching tattoos, and being free

[agoldenblackbird]

i'm gonna be a ranty bitch for a minute.

tbh i'm turned off even reading new buddie fic despite being a multishipper and have unfollowed a bunch of buddie accounts because i'm sick of the smug attitudes. one ask that i am otherwise not going to publish or respond to ended with 'sorry you don't understand media literacy bestie :)' fuck off. listen INFANT, i have been writing fanfic and original fic AND watching, reading and analyzing queer media since before you were born, i understand how character and story development works, and i know the difference between 'storyline i personally disliked' and 'bad writing.' this was BOTH, and it also was marketed to us as 'carefully crafted bi rep' and 'queer love story that is not about a bunch of pain and conflict FOR ONCE' so we have every right to be upset at the bait-and-switch.

the fact that i'm seeing the same exact posts - 'bt bones buddie CANON' that i saw three seasons ago after the bucktaylor breakup, or every time they thought buck and taylor MIGHT break up - says something. the fact that so many fans seem genuinely convinced (STILL!) that buddie is inevitable because there have been so many 'signs,' and then they rattle off a convoluted theory that would make the most hardcore taylor swift stan say 'wow, that's a bit of a reach,' honestly weirded me out a little when i first joined the 911 fandom. i have never been in a fandom where so many fans are insistent that their ship will be - not might be or could be, but WILL be - canon. i am skeptical both from past experience with other shows mishandling queer storylines or ship-baiting, and tim minnear's proven track record with this one of not really knowing what to do with buck's LI's. but i didn't want to yuck anybody's yum, so i let them have their theories and squee in peace, and unfollowed or blocked certain tags if i was seeing too much of it and getting annoyed. it's too out there for me, but i'm glad they're having fun!

yet they can't give us the same courtesy. they deride us as delusional for thinking that a canon pairing that was presented to us both in promo and the show itself as different and important (eg the bobby approval convo and 'buck getting off the hamster wheel') might last, and we're stupid to have ever liked tommy or lou or be disappointed at how the breakup was written, and if we point out the biphobia it's just sour grapes.

the bucktommy breakup is not the first time 911 has started out strong with an interesting storyline and fumbled it in the 4th quarter either because the writers got bored or in the name of needless drama/a 'gotcha' sudden twist. amir & bobby, eddie's fight club arc, the sperm donor SL, hen vs councilwoman ortiz, whatever the hell is going on with harry, the whole mess with shannon/kim, just to name a few. and especially the past couple of seasons, for me since 6b, the pacing has been off. they seem to have too much happening at once and many of the storylines don't have enough room to breathe to be narratively satisfying, or they get resolved in ways that feel lackluster.

if the toxic buddie stans who have been attacking lou on sm and sending death threats (wtf!) actually get what they want, which i admit is possible, but it's certainly not guaranteed….i don't know why they think the writers won't fumble that just as badly. it's not going to happen precisely the way they want it to because it is impossible to please everybody, that's what fanfic is for. but at this point i have zero faith that it would even be well done at all, and zero trust in the writers not to just sabotage or regress a character for funsies, and that's an excellent reason to stop watching the show. in most of my other fandoms i regard canon as a jumping-off point or a blurry outline at best, and i can have just as much fun in the 911 sandbox without any further input from canon at all, once i'm less angry.

[delta-lethonomia]

Re: the most recent ask prompt you reblogged.

I suppose this would be under the "asks about your works" section, but really it's a question about craft/process.

So, as a fellow author but not a writer of smut, I'd love to know how you approach writing sex scenes. I've only ever written 2, and neither are very graphic. I struggle so much trying to find an engaging way to block the characters and follow the action in such a way that doesn't drag down the pacing and/or just come out super cumbersome, so I wanted to ask you.

For All the Wrong Reasons has (no exaggeration) masterful sex scenes, both because they're smoking (lol) and because they do so much work in the story still—like they're not at all superfluous. So yeah! I would love to get some insight into your process/approach.

Oooh! Thanks for asking <3 Funnily enough, FATWR's starts off with literally the second sex scene I'd ever written in my whole life, so I feel like I've learned a lot as the fic progressed.

I'll get to pacing and action in a moment, but to start: the most important thing is why are they having sex right now. I do really enjoy smut scenes, but there are so many that are superfluous, even intentionally so, and I think that's probably the first mistake people make.

In a relationship, having sex for the first time (or in general) can both be a big deal but it's also an excellent barometer of what's going on in the relationship itself: people are more honest, more vulnerable, and the things they do (or conversely don't do) can say so much about them. There's a tendency nowadays to pretend that sex scenes don't add anything to a story, that they're purely for a vaguely pornographic, misogynistic, "male gaze"-y purpose and therefor "bad/unethical", or they're made deliberately superfluous so they can be skipped (for commercial release, to lower the rating, to let sex-averse or underage readers skip without missing the plot) that I think people overall have absorbed this notion that sex scenes in general are pointless - and that's false. Sex scenes and smut are great opportunities for character development!!!

Ok, so, I'll be using Tav as the example because you're familiar with her and the fic overall. Tav's a very sexual person who has repressed that for some time, so when she decides to go for Astarion, a lot of repressed desires bubble to the surface. Sex is her main way of connecting with people: she wants sex when she wants to connect more deeply, and struggles when Astarion wants to take a step back because it feels like a rejection of intimacy and the building relationship. But because sex is so tied to power with her, she also wants to have sex when she feels the need to clarify the power dynamics between them (hence the gauntlet of Shar scene, and why she choose certain acts as well). A character without such a fucked up/power-driven backstory is probably not gonna wanna bang every time their partner disagrees with them. Some characters might want to bang after an action sequences; others might want some physical comfort only once they're safe and secure at home. Tav would fuck in a hallway: Astarion hits on her once safe within her house. It needs to make sense for the moment and the events that lead them there.

Smut also needs to serve a point. Some plot point or character development needs to be made, otherwise it is superfluous. All the smut in FATWR either reveals something about Tav's past (via her reactions) or is a breakthrough in terms of what Astarion is willing to put up with and/or how much Tav decides to push him. If the scene can be skipped - if any scene can be skipped - you should probably cut it.

Onto the smut itself: the things characters are into (or not into) needs to make sense. It's infuriating when people write characters that are people in the book, but once their clothes come off they suddenly degrade into bioessentialist "male/female" puppets that act out some boring heteronormative fantasy sex, which is especially egregious in same sex couples where authors go "but who's the lady, though?" Everyone has sex differently, but honestly, it's probably gonna be pretty in line with who they are as a person in general, especially if we're talking about an older, more self-confident character. Younger people can surprise you - i.e. "super shy girl is actually a secret dominatrix" - but that's a lot less common with older characters as they grow older unless there's some serious outside pressure to keep the freakyness hidden.

Pacing and detail: when people are aroused, they read faster. This makes writing smut a bit different than writing other sections, because in smut, sometimes you actually want to write more than you would otherwise. You want to make it last so they can enjoy it. The readers are reading faster, so feed them more and control their pace that way. Shorter sentences and/or broken sentences are good for climactic scenes, because those speed up the pace again.

Like in real life, the difference between good sex and great sex is the emotion. Definitely keep track of the bodies and the hands - nothing worse that picturing a scene in your head and realizing the character must be twisted up into a pretzel - but the feeling, the emotion, the intimacy is what really matters. Describe enough to titillate and set the scene, but honestly, with less detail, people are going to picture what they want to picture, and it's gonna be hotter than anything you could write anyway because it's straight from their own minds. Some people like a lot of detailed cocks - others think they look like naked mole rats. Can't make them both happy!

Which ties into the most important point of all: Write what gets you (or your character) off. Don't be ashamed, don't pull any punches - commit. Go wild. There's no barrier too far. Reading is all about suspension of disbelief and you as the author need to take people on a journey that you fully 1000% believe in. I read a smut scene once where a girl got off using worms in her vagina. Gross? Yeah. But for the duration of reading it, it was hot, and that's what made it memorable. Delude yourself that you're completely into this one particular thing like your life depends on it, because if you don't think it's hot, then your readers won't either.

Last but not least: Don't be too strict with it. Here's where I made a mistake recently: there was a post going around about Astarion trying weed and having sex while under the influence, and like the rest of us degenerates, I went "oooooh that's hot, yeah, I wanna write that." I'd already decided months ago that there was a blowjob scene going to happen because I wanted to write a blowjob scene, so these two ideas merged into "Astarion tries weed at Tav's house, and gets the best head of his life." Nice, right?

No. This was not easy peasy lemon squeezy, this was lemon fucking difficult. The weed was fine - it made sense for Tav's character, and I lowkey wanted to imply her potions work had a seedier/drug-related side. But she would only smoke if very stressed, and Astarion's a judgemental prick who'd only go for it in certain circumstances. Hence, the Astral-touched tadpole cockblock. Great, now they're high, and Astarion's got the munchies - well, Tav's already down with being bitten all the time, she smoked to get out of her head and enjoys pain for the same reason. Now we're going for a masochistic biting fest with lowered inhibitions, and Astarion, who has not forgotten his intention to seduce her, starts to make some moves.

I wanted to write a blowjob scene because of my oral fixation because I literally never see them in smut. A lot of smut is written by women, for women: blowjobs just feel like work, sometimes, or can be gross if you think dicks look like naked mole rats. A blowjob, for Tav, was always going to feel like work just because of her history, even if she loves Astarion enough she wanted to give him one.

What I wanted to write was a cute sloppy blowjob in the sunlight after smoking a bunch of weed together (that also pointed to Tav's prostitute history). What I got was a violent throatfuck. My "requirements" were too strict, and I contorted the plot to make it work. I am happy with what happened because it pushed the plot forward, so yes, hold your characters over what you think ought to happen - but because I was strict about it, it didn't go the way I planned, and the overall vibe is different than what I wanted. So, really, like with sex in real life: keep it organic. Go with the flow. If you try and force it, it might go directions you don't see coming, for better or for worse, but that's also just writing in general tbh.

....but also have a document of sex scene ideas that sound hot. For inspiration. Yes. You never know when you might need them. 👀

Sorry that was really long. I hope that made sense? <3

[bloogers-boogers]

Kyle Brofloski/ Eric Cartman (Sp fic)

('What up with the fatass?')

/Let me slide into your DM's/ part 3

Stan's gang meet up in discussion of their future revelation.

"If we either become queermo pussies or boring ass side characters, your choice!"

Slight warning ⚠️ slurs, and well, it's a sp fic you could either expect both good or bad outcomes from it.

Btw important! It gonna get kinda gory and sensible topics are gonna be told in this chapter and the following others, so please if you're not comfortable with that type of stuff I don't recommend!

Author's note: I managed to link the chaps! So it'll be easier for u guys to switch between chapters ❤🙏🏼 again thx for the help u guys and also for the comments! I read each one of them! I'm very grateful for u guys, I'm glad u seem to enjoy my writing even if it can be a little off and confusing at points my vocabulary can be a little limited so I'm trying to expand it so it doesn't sound to iffy, ok time to read! 🤗

Second note: south park pov will be mostly Kyle's pov (technically just the gangs pov it'll be on Kyle's perpective) and north park would be Cartman's just wanted to make that clear! C:

~~~~~~

It's the day, the day that officially declares its been a month since Cartman moved, would this count as a 'Cartman anniversary'? Kyle really didn't want to know, he just wanted to do something.

Even if that meant having a fat bitch nagging, mocking, taunting him all the damn time. His life was starting to feel hallow, empty, numb, boring..

It felt meaningless? He's starting to feel what he assumed the adults of their town were going through; a internal crisis. Why did the fatass formed such a big part of what he's experiencing now?

How can someone so annoying make such a impact on him? On his brain and heart. Or was it that Cartman had already long gone manipulated into believing that he needed him to keep that flame in him.

Manipulated all of town, fuck, even the animals were looking bored as hell.

He layyed himself whole, flat stomach against the couch, bored looking face with his cheeks squishing against a cushion, it felt like he was going through some really bad break up, like the whole town was going through one. He grabbed the remote turning on the tv.

'Breaking news‼️: citizens across the country are now voting for the most lame uncharacteristic bland ass town of America! Polls are being equally divided between California's 'I eat fist' town, Texas 'sausage' town and ofcourse recently now unoriginal town in state of Colorado dropped by 68% to 1% in less than a month, 'South park', being one of the most demolished rates in history to beat a score of lameness about 59% in half a second! People claiming they barely even recognize the name, I barely remember the town itself if it weren't for this piece of paper that reminded of it! —'

He groaned loudly as he face slammed on to the cushions, letting out a heavy frustrating moan.

Now they were being ridiculed by their whole country for not being 'exciting' or 'interesting' enough.

He hated this feeling, he couldn't help but to pinned the blame on Cartman. He grunted reluctantly taking out his phone and opening his gallery, zoning out enough to block the new reporter's blabbering.

He scrolled to his countless pictures of family, friends, events, holidays, birthdays, trips and all that crap. He tapped on the first picture that just caught his attention; just fatass hogging his phone that day, making a collage of himself with vulgar gestures and weird looking faces.

'So original' he remembered remarking to Cartman, as the other just took out his tongue teasingly.

Scrolling once more, he halted in a picture were it was just Cartman making himself a mess with chocolate ice cream all splattered over his face; an annoyed look as his eyes darted at his hands by how ice creamy covered they were, cone half done being hold by his thumb pressed against his index.

He remembers taking a snap to make fun of Cartman later on because of how funny he thought it was, but he never actually used it and in reality he didn't find it as funny AFTER; once he second and third looked at it, more like, amusing. He found the picture amusing. Amusing enough to keep it saved in his gallery but also hogging it from others to see and share that se sentiment probably taking all the special to it.

After two more pictures, he clicked on a video, it was Cartman, once again, hogging his phone:

Rec🔴 0:06 - ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ -3:46

'Dammit, jew! Don't be so stingy!' There was a lot of movement making the camera shake viciously.

'Shut up, Cartman! Give me back my phone!'

'Worried I'll take all your cloud gigs too quickly?' Half Cartman's face seen, including that childish taunting pout of his.

'Ofcourse asshole! Do you know how much I have to pay for extra cloud storage!?'

'Stop being greedy and acting like your rich lawyer dad doesn't pay for your shit'

'My dad isn't rich'

'But he's a lawyer and a JEW'

'That makes zero sense'

'You know damn well what I mean'

Cartman than moved the camera angle in a wide frame showing both boys; one frowning angrily and the other smirking casually while he slightly waved at the camera before placing it steady and walking next to, well himself, Kyle.

Looking at his fat friend in a questioning look as he keep staring at the camera while standing next to him.

'What're you doing fat boy?' Before anything else he was gut punched in the gut.

'Ha! That's what you get for being greedy and letting your guard down, Kahal! Hahahaha!'

'That does it!' He screamed furiously standing up from his computer chair and chased Cartman around his room like two foolish kids messing around. Cartman smiling wide as he'd run from a fuming redhead.

3:46 - ⏮ ▶️ ⏭ -0:00 🔁

Kyle beamed by the memory, a nauseous revolving feeling surge in his stomach.

Moments like these is were he grasped hard into the somewhat relationship he had with Cartman, sometimes it was just hard to give up on him. Even if he's proven to be irredeemable, unforgiving, unfixable. Cartman could pathetically look at him with the most sad puppy eyes he's ever seen and couldn't bare himself but cease in and try to help once more. Which was stupid. But how can he just let him destroy himself further? That kid got issues, and as a friend, a group they had to stick up together right?

He felt more responsible over Cartman than anyone else from this whole fucking town, sometimes he even believed Cartman also shared that same mentality an unhealthy dependency on him for seeking help, get him out from trouble or just checking if he was being paranoid or hallucinating too much again, which he always did.

Kyle knew it was unhealthy what they had, but it was something strong they built. Or maybe it was just he who built it..? Cartman seemed to be doing well with out him..

Maybe he was the one being a little too attached? Which was ridiculous to believe, Cartman has always obsessed over him to point he even questioned if he was definitely a percentage away on being sent to a psycho ward.

Ofcourse that never happened, but he was damn nuts and had the ginger in his mind all 24/7, and he never denied being that way.

Shamelessly admitting he had broke into his room countless times, no boundaries were set between them, they even barge into the bathroom while they were using it. By that point nothing was 'too' embarrassing for them to encounter together. Those layers of privacy were non-existant between the two, for fuck sake he had put a finger up Cartman's ass once! What's more that could up that shit? By that point he could expect Cartman to steal a kiss from him for a scheme of his and he wouldn't bat an eye to it, probably punching him straight in the face for it; but still unbothered.

It's not like he hadn't taken up worse? He's eaten shit from a Japanese man's butthole, had swim and drink pee and was forcefully driven to smell Cartman's farts for the sake of the world. Friends with a literal talking shit, friends with a literal schizophrenic psychopath and having to endure aids for that same stupid bitch. Being turned down from the basketball league because he wasn't a tall black boy, having surgery and yet still had his knees explode mid game, traumatic. Hemorrhoids, a kidney failure, a manbear pig attack, a smug storm.. countless near death experiences.

Yeah, a kiss wouldn't be torturous. Cartman could kiss him, he should kiss him to prove his point.

Maybe he was the one to be mentally fucked up?

Nah, he's fine.

°°°°°

Kyle headed to the bus stop, spotting Stan eating some flaming chips, something odd he'd been noticing of his friend was his binge eating. Ever since Cartman left he had been hogging food everywhere they'd go; when they go play video games, he'd go to the kitchen and look through the fridge grabbing snacks and drinking high sugary beverages like mountain dew or smoothie mixed with coca, at the cafeteria he'd steal some of Butters fries or Kyle's half eaten burger, he even picked a fight with Craig for the last piece of chocolate cake they had there, even while they walked to someplace he'd always had a bar of chocolate in hand or a pack of sweets.

It was starting to be concerning but he hasn't pointed it out to Stan yet atleast until Wendy does, he knew Wendy was already planning on making an intervention for Stan soon, she's asked Kyle beforehand to keep track of what Stan's been eating to give her a list, which is why he notice right away of Stan's problem. Maybe it was a coincidence to link Cartman's absence to it, but who else had a binge eating problem that wasn't fatass?

"Morning dude," He greeted placing himself next to the now chubby kid.

Yes, Stan also have been gaining weight by the excessive food he's been eating. It was barely noticeable for the eye, but for people as close like Kyle, Wendy, Kenny and Butters, it was damn obvious.

"Mornin'," Stan mumbled out, unfazed while munching on some chips, his fingers were all greasy and hand cheeto dust all over.

"Did you see the news?," Kyle asked, looking at the road too uninterested with the small talk.

"You mean how they all we're calling south park a bunch of 'jackin' offing losers'?" He remarked the reporter's comment in exact detail.

Kyle nodded silently, they were really being pounded down to the ground with all the insults directed their way.

"Did you also hear about North Park?," his best friend added now sparking the redhead's attention.

"What is it?," he asked now intrigued.

"It's been up the ranking of wackiness and bizarre they were offered to make a show about it, can you believe it?" Stan commented incredulous.

Kyle was bewildered, no fucking way. Not even south park were offered that privilege while having fatass in town, now.. no, that's too much of a coincidence.

"It's fatass," he blurted out, making Stan look at him surprised.

He slammed the table with his right fist, now inside the meeting being formed that same night, their usual hide out; Cartman's basement, which Kenny helped barge in the locked house even if everything was empty and piled up with dust (with the exception of the table and white board they brought while entering). They were too stubborn to look for another place to meet up in so ofcourse the hide out wouldn't change until the house is actually sold.

He looked up at the group of kids there: Craig's gang, Stan's and ofcourse Wendy's.

"I think we all know why we're here."

Clyde looked concerned to his left, "because.. of the new mermaid movie..?" He winced out uncertain.

"No, fatass! We're not here for some dumb gay fish movie!," he shouted annoyed, huffing as he paced around the room in a typical Cartman manner.

"We're here to get Cartman back," Stan chimed in his seat, a bowl of chocolaty creamy strawberries in hand oblivious eating them while a concerned Wendy looked his way.

"Why?" Craig asked in his typical monotone voice.

"Because, we're nothing with out fatass," He finally blurted out, placing both his hands on the table looking at them directly.

"S-say that again?" Jimmy spoke up more confused than being sarcastic.

"Guys, ever since Cartman left everything has been dulled," He continued, now dragging the white board infront of them taking off the sheet that covered it; revealing their plan strategy, "south park has always had an untold curse to it, we all know about the anomaly and whack shit we've have to endure by living here"

"I always thought it was because of you four," Token commented unfazed.

"Point is," Kyle ignored, looking at the board, "not having Cartman around has abruptly lower our percentage to zero," He pointed with a marker a drawing of Cartman and a field around him signaling the 'curse'.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Annie pointed out.

"No, if we want to be seen as the pussy town of Colorado with no name," He snapped back bitter.

Luckily most of the kids there agreed with him, making him seem less crazy for wanting Cartman back.

"Kyle's right, ever since Eric moved away my parents now ground me because of boredom. They don't even care if I do good in school or not they just nag about moving away to some fart smelling city like New York to get some action again," Butters added grabbing a strawberry from Stan's bowl.

"My dad sent me to Denver the other day for a gallon of milk and asked me about the weather there," Tweek also added to the pile of complaints.

"My parents sold both my sister's bike and my coin collection away and replaced them with a pile of balloon clowns," Craig added now indulge in the subject.

"My parents bought a zoo and have been living inside the gorilla habitat for two weeks," Heidi added a little ashamed as she looked downwards, probably reluctantly admitting Cartman may need to come back to solve her issue.

"My mom has bought over 300 pair of shoes in a week were almost going broke," Nichole hesitantly added.

Wendy sighed as she intertwined her fingers defeated, "My dad has been going nonstop to strip clubs and my mom has been pimping out some male colleagues of hers," she admitted embarrassed, "it's clear south park is going into a crisis."

"And my dad has been up in sales for all the weed he's sold to south park residents," Stan complained chugging five strawberries in his mouth, annoyed, "ever-veryone's hig-gh as fuck like wi-with the tegrity b-burger sales," He mumbled out, slapping Kenny's hand away from his bowl as the blonde looked at him offended.

Butters snickering next to him as he had successfully stolen a strawberry from Stan previously.

"Cartman is like a endless void," Kyle added, now circulating the drawing of Cartman and drawing a pointer down, "with out it, there nothing that can suck all of our shit down," He wrote his points up then signaled a pile of adults destroying the town, "making everthing go into an endless loop of wanting a purpose and still not finding anything while destroying what we have left with ACTUAL consequences. A reset button up Cartman's ass to restart our day, to fix our shit. Pretty much with out it the damages we make today stays, while still being so uncharacteristically damaged were basically nothing.

For some reason Cartman is that damn reset button, he takes the curse with him it just makes sense why we still put up with his shit and he hasn't been sent to jail for all the atrocities he's done. He CAN'T leave south park, everything has to be put to an end with each day, everything has to be back to normal with each common episode. If there's a long continuity it's gonna feel dragged and force it'll become boring like the Mr Garrison election, tegrity farms and the pandemic special so the curse will start to self destruct itself until it ends it.

Technically, we're in a episode with continuity.

And we're dragging it too far, being matter of weeks or days before our town becomes nothing but a running old gag people give zero fucks about, targeting their attention to something new making Cartman's curse merge into the new hole it's in.

In this case; north park," He finished finally circulating a drawing of the town and a North park Cartman on the side.

Everyone kept silent as they were captivated by the long explanation.

"Damn, dude. Have you gotten any sleep?," Craig commented bewildered.

"Does this have something to do with aliens?" Clyde chimed in now freaked out, bitting his finger nails and looking frantically between Kyle and the group.

"That, I don't know," Kyle responded tirelessly, now sighing heavily. It's almost concluding another day with out Cartman, and if his theories are right, it could be dangerous, "we need to manage to go to North park and get Cartman."

"What if Eric doesn't want to get back?" Butters spoke up, now everyone looking at him attentively.

Right, out all of them there, Cartman updates Butters everything that's been going on around his new lifestyle.

"Do you know something Butters?," Kyle inquired skeptical with a glare.

"No.." He dismissively looked Kenny's way before looking at something else, "Eric's really liking North Park that's all," he admitted in almost a whisper, after brief seconds.

°°°°°°

Kyle walked back home with his hands shoved inside his pockets, glaring at the ground beneath him.

Cartman is liking North Park because of his curse not much because he's actually liking it, he tried reasoning with that. But it wasn't still reassuring.

He began slapping the side of his head trying to shoo away any thoughts of Cartman, but he just couldn't stop thinking about him.

'MeooOow' a distressed cat moaned, snapping him out of it; it came behind some bushes near the Steven's residence. He approached cautiously and found a old grey kitty that licked it's paw and hiss at him after noticing his presence.

"Mr kitty?" Kyle blurted out softly unfazed by the aggressive attitude, Cartman had left his cat?

He reached out for her, holding on to her tightly being scratched in the face in the process 'defensive instincts' he thought, wincing out by the stingy pain.

Okay, Cartman would never abandon Mr kitty like that. That's unlike him, if there's something he knew as a fact was that Cartman loved his cat even if he had a hard time admitting it, he'd always made sure his cat was home before midnight and would check if her food was place in her bowl.

Even though he'd angrily complained about the cat craving the food he'd have in hand instead of her cat food, Kyle has seen from time to time how Cartman would cease in the meowing giving food from his plate to Mr kitty. He thought it was disgusting seeing him eat from the same plate as the cat did but never bother commenting it, cause it was an adorable quality of his. Just like when he'd hand feed it letting the cat licked everything off his palm and then later off using that same hand to eat a pile of chicken nuggets with out washing his hands. It was gross for sure, but it was cute.

He winced by the thought of even considering Cartman remotely 'cute', he got home, still a rabid cat in hands. It's liked the cat hated him, but then again... it is Cartman's.

"Hold on there, mister," his mother stopped him before heading upstairs, "what is that?" She pointed at the hissing feline.

Kyle arched a brow, "it's a cat, don't worry I'm just keeping it for a while until a friend comes back from a trip." He explained, hoping that would be enough for his mom to let it go.

"Kyle, don't think I've forgotten about your chessing phase," she remarked, now hands placed on her hips, "is that it? Are you chessing?" She asked worrisome.

"No, ma. I'm serious, this is just my friend's cat," He rolled his eyes, still not believing his mother still thought he chessed once.

She arched a brow skeptical, reluctantly believing his words.

"Okay, bubbie.. but one showing symptom of it and that cat is out," she warned pointedly, as she walked back to the kitchen, "and keep that cat far from your father's office he wouldn't want to step on cat poop," she shouted after.

"Okay, ma," He responded back, running to his room as he shut the door letting the cat out of his arms, as he whined out from the stingy small war wounds (scratches) on his hands and arms somehow her nails got under his jacket sleeves.

Mr kitty hid under his bed as she couldn't escape from the window because it was closed.

He sighed as he approached his drawer and opened a cabinet, which he had a small aid kit. He took out some alcohol and began putting some on the scratches that actually had blood pouring out.

He glance to his side noticing Mr kitty peeking out from his bed but instantly glaring at him in a defensive stance as she growled.

Man, that cat really hated his ass.

Kyle couldn't help but wonder if Cartman could've trained her to hate him, but he then dismissed it as Cartman's wasn't the type to be too hyped on something that had no gained for him. He'll get easily bored by less than an hour, if plausible 20 minutes and 33 seconds to be exact.

He kneeled down and began mimicking Cartman's gay little song he'd use to lure his cat when she'd ran off from home. He had memorized it by the countless times he's heard him sing it out loud to the neighborhood with zero shame.

Singing has been such a Cartman's thing to do, he realized how both mother and son always had a thing to easily communicate by song and he wouldn't be surprised if that cat too was also taught to listen by musical notes.

One of Cartman's perks of singing endlessly since a toddler really brought fruit to his voice, so neighbors nearly complained when he'd sang out for his cat. His voice was marvelous, angelic, the type that'll lure you like a siren to a crew of sailors, a easy way to trick and manipulate people into listening to him or doing what he says. Something he definitely seen Cartman use for his advantage.

Even, as awful it is to admit, he's fallen for his curse various times himself. He'd be caught listening in his window as he'd watch from afar his arch-rival walking through the sidewalk singing to Mr kitty to come back and threatening her lastly to give her the garlic food instead of the tuna which most of the time worked, cause the cat would dash back to her owners arms after listening on not having tuna for dinner.

"Miaw miaw miaw come kitty, come Mr kitty kitty!" he awkwardly sing, as he watched the cat immediately tilted her head interested, "who's a good Mr kitty? Miaw kitty kitty miaw miaw.." he felt his voice cracked after a couple of 'miaws', he wasn't as in tune like Cartman was but he didn't think he was that bad either.

"Miaw miaw miaw miaw~

Kitty kitty kitty

Who's my Mr kitty? I love my kitty kitty~!" He never thought he'd be singing for a cat but there he was, now seeing the cat cautiously walked twoards him.

He carefully extended his hand in a welcoming gesture, expecting the cat to put her paw there but instead she smelled it before nuzzling against his hand with a purr.

Now that's awfully cute, he wasn't much of a cat person he preferred lizards or elephants, but he won't deny Cartman's cat was adorable.

He gently patted her head not knowing how cat owners tended to show their felines affection, he just knew by online critics that cats were evil cold living creatures and would prefer to not be disturb. The last time he's ever grabbed a cat was when he had to hide that damn cat Kenny would use for chessing, and he shoved it in his drawer not really caring much for it. He could've almost forgotten it if his mother didn't caught him with it.

But this one was Cartman's, she was special to him, so he had to make sure she'd be fine while fatass is away. Or Cartman could go all psycho on them if something were to happened to her once he's back.

And he had no plans on dealing with one of those episodes again.

He's learned from what happened to Scott, mitch Connor, 'cupid yee' or 'me' or whatever (he just remembers Stan commented about Cartman's little episode to him while explaining of how things lead the way it did), skank hunt (he wasn't sure to count that one, but Cartman wasn't the same at that time like if he were broken)or the 1% issue, that an emotional Cartman is a reckless 'not to be messed' one.

Cause you really don't know how'd he'd react and take it, which becomes a nerve wrecking roulette. Cartman had limits where once you pass the highest grounds, you're over. You either die, emotionally traumatized/ wound for life or spared (which is unlikely).

He remembered a kid calling him tubby it wasn't a big deal until he took it too far and 'humiliated' Cartman in the assembly. Cartman took it as if the boy was out to get him, which he technically was but his fate was counted.

Both Stan and himself knew he wasn't gonna make it to middle-school.

Surprisingly the boy was given a 'light' punishment being sent to a juvenile prison by a crime he clearly didn't commit but was then executed after three weeks cause a few inmates accused him for slaughtering another in the bathrooms.

Supposedly the aftermath had nothing to do with Cartman but both he and Stan were skeptical about it.

Then there was this other boy that had the balls to smack Cartman's ass in a football game. Yeah, let's say that one didn't last a week after the incident. For what he heard, that boy was given to pigs dismembered in bits and a bullet wound in his head. He remembered how fucked up it was for Cartman to show up to the boy's grieving parents home and gave them his condolences. It's like he gets even more gruesome with his vengeful antics each time he'd snap.

This could count as a 'group' thing but it was mostly Cartman influenced, cause it really messed them up for a period.

A fat old grumpy man almost raped him in a parking lot, it was their darkest secret yet as a group, as a whole.

He remembered that night vividly, they were at a club Butters snuck them in while he worked there, and as they were all vibing and looking at all the hot chicks there Kenny had asked if anyone had a lighter on them Cartman said he had one in his bicycle pouch, so he went out to fetched it, seemed it was more of an excuse to leave as he did notice Cartman seemed uncomfortable being at that place, and second he wouldn't offer to get it for Kenny he would straight up just tell him to go get it himself.

It took a couple of minutes and he recalls how they all started wondering if Cartman had actually ditched them, so they all went looking for him outside.

And for their horror saw Cartman sobbing uncontrollably as some man had him pinned against the hood of a blue Honda, trying to unbottoned his pants as he rubbed his crotch against his. This wasn't as with snooki, it was far worse cause he noticed bruises forming up his throat and face; weakening Cartman before the actual action.

'Holy shit' was the only thing he heard Stan blurt out in shock.

That was the night something in him snapped, and intentionally murder a man.

He remembered how everything became so blurry and slow as Stan anxiously yanked him away from the bloody body while being covered in blood from head to toes, as Kenny yelled saying he'll tell Butters to cover them up with the security footage, while Cartman whimpered and sobbed still panting frantically in the hood.

It was the most saddest shit he's ever seen Cartman been.

They dragged the body to starks pound.

Cartman was a mess, but fuck, he didn't want to ever see a friend be in a situation like that ever again.

They hid behind some cars as a police officer passed by, dragging the body with difficulty even being four boys. The man weighted over 300 pounds and with the added 'dead' weight it worsen it.

Everything seemed so surreal.

Cartman finally spoke after being so zoned out by the whole thing, they tossed the body inside a wooden boat. Took a lighter out from his pocket, the same lighter that was the whole reason they were all there to begin with.

Kenny poured gasoline all over it while puffing his last cigarette, and Cartman lit it up pushing the boat away from the edge with a small kick.

"This will be in grave a secret until we die"

That was Cartman's way of telling him 'thanks' even if it was the most devastating coldly thing he's ever done, Cartman could've use that to blackmail him or even get rid of him for good. But he never told a soul once it was all over, acting like it never happened.

He remembered he had to strip naked to get rid of his clothes and tossed it in the flaming boat, how'd he had to use some clothes from Walmart Stan had went to purchase them while he shaked tremendously by the intensity of the whole thing.

After that, they never spoked of it again and Kenny quit smoking.

°°°°

He hold Mr kitty in his arms, the cat warmed up to him very quickly than he had expected her to be.

She nuzzle with a purr against his chest, he couldn't help but visualize Cartman doing it instead.

His eyes widen, he was going crazy. That's the only explanation he could give to himself with how he was acting.

Yeah, this was bad, they had to get Cartman back for everything to go back to normal again.

He recalls of the agreement of their meeting, how Bebe asked how'd they'd be able to go to north park with out their parents knowing.

They all agreed on leaving that to Stan's gang to get fatass as they were Cartman's friends but Wendy and Craig's gang will handle the shit over in south park tricking their parents into believing Stan's gang went to some force week field trip.

It's not like their parents weren't stupid enough to believe that crap but they needed to ask for permission.

It's not like Kyle hasn't disobeyed any of his parents order anyways, no matter what answer it was, he was still going to north park.

And it's definitely not their first time ever leaving South park for longer than three days.

It was morning and he woke up with an awful smell, Mr kitty pissed all over his bed, fucking gross. He's never seen that cat ever pee in Cartman's home, it'll always meow at the door for Cartman to let her out and do what she has to do or just go to her litter box, that cat did it on purpose! Or maybe he should've just put some newspaper or a box, fucking crap.

He ran to the bathroom, took a shower and put some clothes on.

Taking his pj's and bed sheets to the washing machine, what a nice start to his morning, he thought bitterly.

Once settling his clothes in the washer he went up stairs and grab Mr kitty, and then rushed straight to the kitchen fridge and grab a can of sardines.

He sat in the table and place the tuna as he rested the cat in his lap letting her just reach out for the food herself, not thinking much of how bad it was seen as 'table manners', he felt his mother scowled him from the stove but said nothing, he didn't mind by that point he was already too numb by his mother's scolding he wasn't afraid for another.

Even though, once he started middle-school his mother mellowed down some more; saying kids their age needed space and shit like that. So she began stricter with Ike the youngest and being more free caring from Kyle her eldest son.

Which he was very grateful of to an extent.

All his family were already sitting in the table and eating breakfast, his dad didn't seem to questioned the cat and his brother just arched a brow.

"Is that Eric Cartman's cat?" He asked.

Kyle munched slowly his food as he watched him blankly, "no."

"Oh Ike, don't be silly, Eric Cartman moved a month ago I'm pretty sure they took their cat," His mother spoke reassuring, "stop bothering your brother with too many questions," she warned in a more passive aggressive tone.

Again, he didn't understand his parents, or any of the other adults. Apparently he wasn't the only one of the four that their parents mellowed down with, his friends also commented that once they began middle-school their parents seemed a little loosen around the edge when it came to them.

As if they really didn't want to deal with them.

Kyle gently caressed the cat's furry head 'don't worry Mr kitty will get Cartman back' he thought reassuring while smiling softly.

"So.. mom, dad. There gonna be this trip in like two days and-" he began his rehearsed speech of why he should be let go and how'd it'll be an improvement for his still developing mind.

"It's okay, Kyle. You can go," his father interrupted eager, somewhat anxious.

"But-"

"Really, it's alright buddy, do whatever you want," he reassured not even bothering to ask 'what' or 'when' 'who' and 'why', giving him a awkward thumbs up, his mother nodded agreeing sharing that same enthusiasm.

"Dammit, I wish I were in middle-school," he heard Ike cussed out in a whisper.

He definitely wouldn't, he would contradicted it if he actually wasn't in a rush to go talk to his friends and see how'd it went with them.

"Okay, cool—," he said uncertain, dragging the 'O', now placing the cat in the floor as he picked up his place, "I need someone to take care of mr-" he cut off, as he was about to blurt out the cat's actual name, "Mr poopkins while I'm gone," he finished awkwardly.

His family went silent and both his parents shared a look then looked at Ike.

"Well good thing your brother offered himself to take care of it, right Ike?" His dad then added, forcing a smile.

"Me!?" Ike asked incredulous, looking offended, "I don't want to-" his mother clasped her hand on his mouth preventing him to finish his sentence.

"Don't worry, bubbie, it's alright. Ike would happily take care of Mr poopkins for you," she beamed as Ike frowned by that.

"Cool," Kyle said grinning, ignoring the obvious glaring from his younger brother before heading to get his backpack and head out.

It was convenient for sure but it really made him feel like his parents no longer cared for him.

He shrugged those thoughts away as he went to the bus stop.

"So how'd it go?," He asked immediately once approaching Stan.

"My dad flinched cowardly as if I were about to murder him, dude. And I dunno whats their deal but yeah, they let me go," he shrugged, now chugging a bunch of chips, "can you believe Wendy last night told me I had a binge eating problem?" He continued, now crunching the bag in his hands before tossing it to the ground annoyed, "like, there's always something that bothers her, like 'Dude, chill the fuck out I can't eat some chips because NOW I have a issue?' "

Kyle scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "Well.. you do kinda have a problem Stan," he reluctantly admitted.

Making Stan looked at him baffled, "I do not!," he then looked at the ground as his gestures soften, "do I...?" He asked defeated, more to himself than to his friend.

"Hey dudes," Kenny greeted as he approached them.

"Sup, Ken. How it'd go?" Stan asked now recovering from his emotional internal questioning.

"What you mean?"

"Did you asked your parent about the 'field trip'?" Kyle gripped his backpack now remembering how fatass would just barge in and say his latest stupid fact learned from the internet or some magazine he read.

He's not missing Eric Cartman, okay? He's just missing the familiarity and the casualty of it all.

"As if I needed to ask, my parents don't give a crap. I just left them a couple of joints and three packs of beer that'll keep them out for an entire week," he said disinterested as he took out his phone that was buzzing, "fuck, it's Eric."

Kyle eyes widen as he had predicted the obvious, he gripped harder on his backpack expectantly, maybe even hopeful he could hear his voice?

"Cartman calls you?" He heard Stan ask, but he was so damn far lost in his mind he zoned out a bit.

"His calls are random sometimes, I gotta pick this up man," Kenny answered, putting some earphones on, now walking away a couple of feets apart from them unintentionally making Kyle's heart shrunk and his stomach twist.

Kyle questioned himself why he felt disappointed by that, but he shrugged it off like usual, looking at the blonde who chatted animosity as he walked in circles.

Cartman hasn't called both he and Stan not even once since his move, he couldn't be angry at them for the party right? Or were they just nothing to him?

Fuck, even Butters gets to talk to him more than either of them.

That's a douche move even coming from Cartman.

Kenny walked back to his place now phone back in his pocket.

"So what did he say?" Stan asked.

"He was telling me that he had to go to the doctor yesterday and was told he was developing 'pussy-itis' "

"What's that?" Stan asked genuinely confused.

Kyle rolled his eyes, 'my god that was a Cartman thing to say.'

"He said that it's a disease that spreads to new comers when being exposed for too long, he has like vaginas growing inside his ass and the doctor warned him that he could turn into a giant pussy if he keeps it up," Kenny shrugged, now looking at the road.

That condition actually reminded him of the time Stan got growing vaginas in his face and skin because he had stopped eating meat when they were protesting for the calves safety. It was similar as the time Butters accidentally blurted out that Cartman had sparkly cleaned vaginas in his stomach because of the huge amount of vasagsil he ingested as a kid.

And as much as he hated how fucking bizarre and impossible it is for that to happen, he couldn't deny actually witnessing and be proven wrong countless times that it WAS possible. So it wasn't unbelievable to believe Cartman got diagnosed with yet another odd condition.

"Okay, so technically Cartman wants to come back now, right?" Kyle inquired, subtly leaning forward.

"No, he was given medication so he's now 'skwel'," he made a similar impression of Cartman, "he also said to tell Stan about the uh.. something about a— gnome in the cooler or some shit like that? I didn't understand well cause he cut off immediately after that," Kenny shaked his head in disapproval.

Stan flinched, eyes wide and a blank expression adorned his face immediately knowing what Cartman meant, "HOLY SHIT," he exclaimed bewildered before running off without further explanation, leaving both friends confused ass hell.

Kyle looked at Kenny expecting more from that call, but he didn't add anything else. He frowned looking at the ground still gripping his backpack while bitting his lip.

Kenny gasped as he had forgotten something making Kyle flinched in surprise.

"Cartman said 'up your ass, jew' when I told him you called him a pretentious north park bitch," he remarked casually before looking at the school bus stopping infront of them.

Oblivious of a now beaming Kyle, both entering the bus picking a seat behind Butters.

Kyle didn't know why, but he jolted excited stomach feeling all twisted and his heart pounded loudly he could hear it inside his ears.

°°°°

"I haven't told them yet," Butters said as he rubbed his knuckles, heading to class.

"Dude, why not? We're leaving in two days, man," Kenny spoke while holding on to a notebook.

"They're not gonna let me go you guys," He admitted unfazed.

"Okay, so you're planning on sneaking out," Kyle added.

"I'm not sure.." the boy hesitated saying, looking at some flyer.

"You're Eric's best friend and your telling me you're NOT going to go get him?" Kenny inquired, kinda spiteful, "it's not like you haven't sneak out before and for Eric of all people too!

Like, your stupid schemes required a little disobedience from your part to handle all the shit Cartman gives you.

You're Eric fucking Cartman's best friend! It's pretty much not even a choice to not be a little shit head, stop being such a pussy," he blurted out, extending his arms up in the air for emphasis.

"NO, Kenny. I'm NOT Eric's best friend-" he pointed accusatory at the blondes chest, poking it hard, "YOU ARE, so quit your yapping!," he shouted annoyed, causing Kenny to frowned from the tone use.

God, those two have been up their necks since Cartman left, and Kyle couldn't point out why.

Kyle stood there awkwardly as he watch the two bark back at each other like two hounds with no leash, spitting venom and acidic slurs at each other.

'They should shut up already and go make out somewhere else, fuck' he thought annoyingly tired by the dragged banter.

Oblivious of the irony of his own thoughts.

Not wanting for them to escalate any further he stood between them, like a peacemaker.

"If we either become queermo pussies or boring ass side characters, your choice!" he threatened, pointing at the pissed off blonde.

Butters sighed contemplating it, grumbled a 'why should I choose?' As he kicked lightly the ground.

"Or do you have something you're hiding from us, Butters?" Kenny inquired suspiciously, tilting his head.

Butters clenched his fist, fuming, "fuck you!" He screamed out, pushing Kyle to the side before lounging at Kenny starting a fist fight in the hall, now everyone gathering up around them.

Kenny slammed his notebook hard against Butters face while Butters pushed Kenny against the lockers.

'This was some serious shit,' Kyle thought before taking out his phone and recording the fight for later on send it to Stan.

Prev — Next

[mydayserenade]

Eternal Sunshine

synopsis: yunho lives a quaint but pleasing life with his one and only confidant, san. the sun has always been a emblem of their love for one another, the start of something new... or so yunho thought.

yunho x san

TW: mentions of death and blood, tackles a little bit on psychological matters (voices in head, delirium, mental manipulation), swearing

a/n: hi everyone! kay here! this will be my first fic ever since i took a break from writing (i'm gonna give you the same reasons anyways as to why i've been allowing this account to collect dust, so no need for a lengthy discussion on that) so please go easy on me as i am currently working on my momentum as well as completely shake off the writer's block in me. admittedly, i have been having difficulties picking up inspirations, plots or even a smidge of an idea to create a whole fic so its a godsent that i was able to form this. so please, do enjoy :) and thank you for your patience <3

please DO NOT REPOST on other sites unless credits will be indicated.

this is simply a work of fiction.

"You think it's feasible for us to live together soon?"

"Not really... Is that a bad thing?"

Yunho looks intently at the boy beside him who had answered his question in a nonchalant tone-- it was clear that Yunho's significant other had already thought of the answer to such a staple question. A deck in the index cards that couples would often bring up.

"You obviously have some nerve to say that." Yunho replies with distaste. San scooches near him to swoon him over with his cutesy mannerisms and sweet apologies. Though Yunho made it clear that he was clearly unamused by what he has heard, looking at the eye-smile and prominent dimples pleading him for forgiveness was enough to take the bait.

As he felt the need to explain his answer to avoid creating a storm, San gently lands his hand on top of Yunho's. "It's not that I don't want to..." San treaded carefully. "I just don't think we're ready to head that next part in our books." Yunho lets out an exasperated sigh to such a bleak answer.

"What is it? Is it because I'm too much of a clean-freak?"

"No, not really."

"Then what Choi San? Give me one good reason as to why you think you can't move in yet."

San moves an inch away from Yunho as he felt the smoldering glare daggering at him burn in his soul. As much as he wanted to say an answer, he couldn't. He shouldn't.

"C'mon Yunho, let's head on out to the shore." San offers a hand out to Yunho as he stood from his place.

"You're avoiding my question again."

"Just please. Stand up and let's look at the sunset together." San said sternly, to which Yunho couldn't do anything but oblige to it.

As the couple walked down the granular terrain, the sea breeze and golden rays welcomed them to their Cloud nine. It was no doubt that their happiness relied on the beauty of the sun, all their doubts and worries would often simmer and dissipate thanks to the long hours of just staring at the orange sky. The sun was their great escape, a key to their hearts, a symbol of their love and how it began.

"After this, we are definitely gonna need to talk." Yunho breaks the silence shared between the two as they stopped in their tracks to appreciate nature's calling.

"You know how to definitely swoon me over. I love you and fucking hate you for that."

San chuckles in amusement to hear Yunho's comment. "You're welcome for that."

As the two gaze at the sun readying itself to give the moon her morning, Yunho's attention lies in the sea as he watches two turtles making ashore.

"San, San you've got to see this!" Yunho excitedly calls out his beloved while keeping his eyes on the two shelled friends. However, no response can be heard.

"Choi San did you not hear me?" Yunho pulls himself out of his gaze to turn to San who was silent as a rock.

Beside the space that was once invaded by a man dressed to the nines, was a disheveled and limp body all dressed and coated in crimson. His eyes were opened, looking directly at Yunho and blood was starting to coagulate the sand that is underneath the body.

"S-s.. San...? SAN? CHOI SAN." All Yunho could do was scream and shout his name as he watched his lover turn into a decomposing mess in a blink of an eye. Yunho immediately wipes off with his bare hands the blood masking the entirety of San's body.

"San, San, San!!!" Yunho grieves out and growls in pain, embracing the corpse of his lover. As he wailed and pleaded for supernatural deities to accept his offers, the whole sky surrounding the crisp beach suddenly turns black. No emitting light to rescue their momentary blindness, no stars in the sky to lead them the way, no moon to serve. It was just a pitch dark, and black environment.

"What the fuck is going on." Was all Yunho could make out of this moment, still holding onto San in his tight grasp. As he tried and make his way to a safe spot; a wall meets his body as he slams against it and falls back loudly in return.

"This isn't fucking funny, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" Yunho feels around the encapsulated area around him. Black vinyl panels completely covering the four walls locking him in. He wasn't sure what kind of trip he was on, but the only thing mattered to him was getting San to where he needed to be.

"That's just a dummy you dumb fuck." A high-pitched whisper perks up Yunho's ear.

Yunho looks down to where he was holding San. From a body, it quickly switched to a ragdoll. Yunho threw it across the room aggressively and bangs on the walls to garner anyone's attention.

"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU TAKE SAN."

"You're baby Sannie's long gone, and it's all because of you." Another voice enters.

"YOU PIECES OF SHIT. YOU ARE THE REASON FOR HIM. SHOW YOURSELF YOU FUCKING COWARDS." Yunho continues to bang on the walls as the voices grew louder.

"You can't see us, we are just the mere voices in your head." The shrieks of the unknown voices get louder as Yunho tries to shield them out by covering his ears. "Don't you feel an ounce of guilt for what happened to your lover? The one you made to suffer?"

"Guilt? What fucking guilt?"

"Exactly. You had none of it." The voices shouted in anger by which Yunho took to heart.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"

Punches and bangs were repeated as Yunho tried to single out the voices as it became more prominent and bigger than ever. As he wept and punched and banged, a digitalized alarm clock suddenly appears itself out of thin air. Yunho pauses as he was caught off guard by the blaring green light that the clock had emitted.

"11:59 P.M?" Yunho picks up the clock to look at it in detail, but before he could make out what was presented in front of him-- abyss meets his vision and gravity becomes his enemy; all the while an ear-piercing tone of the clock echoes throughout the empty space, resonating its signal that it has made it to 12:00.

Yunho suddenly wakes and jumps out to what felt like an eternity of falling. He confusedly looks around the environment that he is in. White wooden panels, fitted sheets, and the smell of breakfast. But before he could make any sense of what had manifested, a familiar face greets him in the entry way.

Yunho takes shallow breaths before making out his words.

"S... Sa... San?"

[eagerbby]

only you | e.m.

pairing| Eddie Munson x female reader

synopsis| You and Eddie were never meant to be just friends.

an| written in a world where Eddie was never accused, never died, and more importantly, finally graduated. not very canon, billy’s still alive and briefly mentioned. this was a quick break from a fix-it fic I’m currently writing and very much inspired by the song touch tank by quinnie. it’s eddies song and i’ll die on this hill.

warnings| oral (female receiving), PnV (protected), Eddie running his mouth, thats a warning in itself, 18+ only

[June 9, 1986]

The pitiless Indiana sun hung high in the cerulean sky, its uv-rays biting at your bare skin. The cool pool water lapping over your legs every time Eddie moved was the only relief at the moment.

“Have you ever been in the ocean?” He asked lazily, his long fingers flicking water across your bare thighs. The two of you lay opposite each other in the barely six foot wide and three foot deep blow up pool set up next to his front porch. Your feet floated next to his shoulders, grazing the freckled pale skin there every time he shifted or turned. Meanwhile, tall and gangly Eddie had his head propped up on the blue polyvinyl rim, his own feet hung over the side next to your head. He had bitched and moaned once the two of you had finally finished setting it up, “I don’t even fit all the way.” He’d complained. “Why’d you buy a damn kiddie pool?”

You had laughed at him, his pale body laying stick straight in the cool water in only a pair of plaid blue boxers. You had begged him to let you buy him a pair of swim shorts but he had refused.

“It’s just you and me, it’s not like you haven’t seen my boxers all over my bedroom floor.”

“Yeah, but what if you go to the public pool? You’ll need them then.”

“Ha. Not likely you’ll ever see Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson at the public pool. The parent’s would probably gather pitchforks and torches and hang me at the gallows.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Eds.”

“M’not. And anyway, I don’t like swimming, I’m only doing this for you.”

“My parents used to take my little brother and I to the Outer Banks when we were younger. We’d go every summer, swim in the ocean or walk the dunes to the lighthouse.” You opened your eyes to look at him only to find he’s already watching you speak, his deep brown eyes hidden behind the lens of his aviator sunglasses. His hair is almost dry now except for the ringlets that float atop his shoulders in the water. “You should probably take those sunglasses off before you get too much sun on your face. Gonna get a weird ass tan line from them.”

He does as you tell him, taking them off and tossing them onto the porch. “I’ve never been.” He said. “The ocean scares the fuck outta me. All that never ending water. Do you ever think about how many bodies are in the ocean? Lost to the dark depths of the sea.”

You sat up at his words, a perplexed look on your face as you stared at him. “Well that’s fucking morbid. Jesus Christ, Eddie.”

He only shrugged in his usual unbothered way, his knuckles grazing the skin of your thigh beneath the rippling water.

“You’ve never thought about it before?” He asked.

“Not really, no. I guess I blocked the thought from my mind. I love swimming in the ocean.”

“You love swimming with dead bodies. Got it.”

You splashed him at this, laughing as the small tidal wave blasted him. The shock of the cold water hitting his warm skin caused him to shoot up, water dripping down his face as he wrestled you backwards into the water. You squealed when he grabbed your shoulders, his hand holding the back of your neck as he dunked you. The gurgle of the water echoed your laugh and as he pulled you back up you spit a fountain of water right into his face.

“Who would have ever imagined that you, The Princess of Hawkins high and valediction, was such a freak.”

“I graduated two years ago, Eddie! Now I’m just the queen of folding panties at Starcourt mall, and failing my English lit course.”

You watched Eddie’s expression shift at the word panties, your best friend's eyes now slightly wider, his grip on the back of your neck a little harder. He was so close to you, sitting on his knees in the small pool, completely leaned over your body. You didn’t see him shirtless often and you had never seen him shirtless and so close. If you reached up you could trace the dark ink of his tattoo that sat just beneath his collarbone. Scratch your fingers against the small splattering of hair on his sternum. That strange feeling stirred in your stomach, the same one you’d been getting for a couple months now. You didn’t understand it and what made it worse was that Eddie, your best friend, was the sole cause of it.

You felt it for the first time after Eddie had fallen asleep during your weekly movie night. His head was laying on the pillow in your lap, you hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen asleep until you heard him softly snore. He’d had a bad day at school, Jason Carver and his cronies spray painting ‘Freak’ in bright red letters across the windshield of his van. When you got to his trailer later that day you found him sitting on the hood of the van with a razor blade, slowly scraping the still wet paint from the glass. You had tried helping him but he only waved you off, telling you it was fine. But his eyes were red rimmed and glassy like he’d been crying. You wanted to kill those stupid jocks, which you voiced with indignation. But Eddie had only shook his head. He wasn’t a fighter despite what the whole town thought. He just didn’t have it in him.

“Lets go.” You said softly, your hand holding onto his forearm as you looked up at him.

“What?”

“To the ocean. Let’s go to the ocean, Eddie.” It was only a whisper as it passed your lips, your eyes searching his face. His furrowed eyebrows made him appear confused, but there was something else swimming in the chocolate brown of his iris’.

“What are you talking about, Crazy?” He lazily dragged you to sit up as he shifted from his knees to stretch his long legs out in front of himself. You waited for him to get comfortable before bouncing up onto your own knees, your fingers excitedly grabbing the wet fabric of his boxers on his leg. You don’t notice his cheeks flush as his eyes quickly flashed down to your hands and back up to your eyes.

“You, Eddie Munson, are a high school graduate now. You have a whole summer before you have to start thinking about what's next! And I have some vacation time and a shoebox full of savings from the past two years.” You rambled, your smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. “We could take your van, o-or my car, and we could drive to the Outer Banks. Rent a motel and just have fun.”

“Y-you want to waste two years worth of savings to go to the beach?”

“It wouldn’t be a waste, Eddie! It’d be… well it’d be like an adventure.”

He was silent, looking away from you, his eyes scanning the quiet trailer park. Your shoulders dropped a little when you realized he didn’t share the same excitement as you. He had an entire summer to do whatever he wanted, why would he want to spend it with you driving to somewhere he’s never been.

He doesn’t even like the ocean, you idiot.

“Forget it. It’s stupid.” He jumped a little as you suddenly stood up, rivets of water rushing down the expanse of your body. You’ve stepped one foot out of the pool before he’s grabbing your wrist softly.

“Hey, where are you going?” He asked gently, his eyes wide like he’d just gotten into trouble.

“Inside to change. I think I got too much sun.” You shook your arm until his hand slipped from your wrist, falling back into the water with a splash. You snatched your towel from the rickety lawn chair and escaped into his trailer, ignoring him calling your name. You grabbed your bookbag from the couch and all but ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind you with shaking hands.

You felt so fucking stupid. You already spent eighty percent of your time with him, practically attached at the hip as his freshman friend Dustin had pointed out, how could you think he’d want to spend even more time with you. Especially somewhere far from home. For fucks sake, he hadn’t even looked at you as you went on and on about it. He was too nice to tell you it was a stupid idea. The way he stared off, probably thinking of how to let you down gently, was all the answer you needed.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t that good of an idea. You weren’t known for your extraordinary planning skills and both of your vehicles were pieces of shit. In fact the likelihood of making it across the Indiana border just to break down in some podunk town was terribly high. The thought of spending the rest of your money getting the car fixed just to turn around and go right back home, broke and without ever seeing the damn beach, made you a little nauseous. Because that would be your luck.

A knock at the bathroom door made you jump. "Hey, you okay in there?" Eddie, voice peppered with concern. You tossed your bathing suit in the sink and turned the shower on.

"I gotta wash my hair, be out in a minute." You yelled back at the door before stepping into the shower stall, the hot water easing the tension from your muscles.

You didn't want him to think you were upset so you hurried through your shower, using his old spice to wash your body and his shampoo and conditioner that smelled of citrus in your hair. It was a distinct smell, one that was all him, and it made your stomach whirl once again. Your crush on him was starting to become a nuisance.

Once you were clean and dried off, dressed in his Iron Maiden shirt you stole from his drawer a couple weeks ago and a pair of black jean shorts that were frayed at the ends, you slowly cracked the door open, peering out towards the living room slash kitchen in search for a puff of raven curls.

He wasn’t there, so instead you followed the sound of Ozzy Osborne down the hall and into Eddie’s messy bedroom.

He was in his bed, back propped up against the headboard and rolling a joint with idle fingers. He was still shirtless but with a pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, the band of his now white boxers resting against his dark happy trail. A wildfire blazed in your stomach at the sight and you couldn’t help but clamp your thighs together.

Does he not realize how unbearably hot he is?

He didn’t, actually, which was why seeing him like this all laid out with his chest bare and that smattering of hair that led down his abdomen and under his pants made your mouth so dry your tongue felt like it weighed 110 pounds and your hands so clammy you had to wipe them against your shorts. You cleared your throat in an attempt to subdue your racing thoughts and took a seat on the edge of his bed, body turned towards him watching him roll with ease.

He looked up with a smile when he felt your weight dip into the mattress. “Are you feeling any bette-'' He paused, glaring at the long haired zombie on your shirt. His shirt. “Is that my fucking shirt?”

You glanced down and back up, imitating the causal shrug he always gave you.

“Maybe.” You deadpanned. Eddie spluttered.

“Maybe? Who else do you know listens to Iron fucking Maiden?”  

“I know people.”

“You know people?”

“A couple.”

Eddie’s eyes suddenly narrowed, a quiet disapproval in those deep brown eyes of his.

“Billy Hargrove?” He asked with a grating timbre in his voice you’d never heard before. He’d tossed the joint down into the ashtray and got off the bed, standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“B- What?” You’re so exasperated you can’t even form a sentence. “Billy Hargrove? What?”

“It’s him right? I know you used to hangout with him. He’s totally not an Iron Maiden fan, by the way. He definitely listens to Foreigner and cries in his piece of shit Camaro.”  

“Hey! Don’t talk bad about Foreigner, I love them.” You stood up from the bed with your hands on your hips. “He’s a Guns N’ Roses guy anyways; completely idolizes Axel Rose.”

“Oh. Okay. So Billy Hargrove likes Guns N’ Roses and groupies for Axel Rose. Amazing.”

“I don’t hang out with Billy Hargrove, Eddie. Not like that, anyways.”

His nostrils flared and he nodded. “But you do hang out.”

“Maybe once or twice, I guess?” Your voice forms a question. You didn’t consider having a couple of the same friends and being at parties the other is at as ‘hanging out’. “What- What is this, Eddie? Why are you freaking out over Billy?”

“I’m not.” He said, blinking a couple times like he was trying to snap out of something. He leaned over your shoulder and grabbed the joint out the ashtray, lit it, and walked over to his cluttered table to search through a milk crate full of records. “Just figured the people you were talking about was him, s’all.”

“Eddie,” You said, coming up beside him to grab his wrist. He froze, his hands stopping their furious flipping of records, but his gaze stayed low. “I was fucking around, Eddie.”

“Fucking around?’

“Yes, Eddie. I was just joking.”

He turned to you at your words, staring dead into your eyes. The intensity of his stare made your heart stutter. “Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“Jealous? Wh- Eddie what the fuck are you talking about.”

There was a pregnant pause. Just you and Eddie staring into each other's eyes. Why would you want to make him jealous? You didn’t even know that was an option. You and Eddie were friends. Best friends. Friends don’t get jealous of their friends hanging out with other people. And Billy Hargrove? You had no idea where he pulled that one from. Not once had you ever even mentioned his name around Eddie. There was nothing worth mentioning. You thought Billy was stuck up and an absolute douchebag. Was he nice to look at? Sure. But you were nearly positive his heart was black with hatred and you believed being pretty meant nothing if your personality was shit.

“Uh, Eddie? Are you jealous?” He couldn’t look you in the eyes, instead he was flickering his gaze to anywhere but your face. “Eddie?”

“Would you hate me if I said yes?” He trailed his question off, biting at the skin on his lips as he waited for a response.

“I could never hate you, Eddie. You’re my best friend.”

He rolled his eyes. He rolled his fucking eyes. “Your best friend, right.” He said through a cloud of smoke. You snatched the joint sitting pretty between his fingers and dropped it in his other ashtray, the glass one shaped like a skull.

“Why are you saying it like that? You are my best friend.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be.” He said defiantly and your throat felt like it was going to close and your eyes burned from the prickle of your unshed tears welling in your eyes. He didn't want to be your best friend. Those words made you want to crawl into your body, to somehow vanish into thin air. Not too long ago you two were laughing together in the pool, discussing Steve Harrington's newest girl drama which was all supplied to you by Dustin Henderson. The night before you two made shitty Jiffy Pop while blazed out of your minds and sang karaoke so loud his neighbors came banging on the door, furious.

But now he didn’t want to be friends.

“Is this because I asked you to go on a roadtrip with me?” Your voice wavered and your chin started to tremble. “I know it was a bad idea.”

He strangely looked befuddled. “W-what? No. No, it’s not tha-”

“Well then what did I do?” You whined, tossing your hands about, unsure of what to do or what to say. What to think.

“You didn’t do-” He cut himself off, frustrated with his inability to explain himself. He looked at you, saw the tremble in your chin and shook his head. “You know what, fuck it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he was surging forward, grasping your face in his hands, and pulling you towards him. His lips met yours with so much force you gasped, hands clutching his hips for purchase. You couldn’t form a single thought as you stood there, eyes squeezed shut, your chest so tight you couldn’t breathe. But then his hand smoothed over your cheek and grasped the back of your neck, his fingernails scraping over the sensitive skin there, and you finally kissed him back. Eddie moaned. The sound so loud it vibrated through your mouth and straight to the core of your being.

You kissed him with every ounce of power you had. Kissed him like you had daydreamed about so many times before as you watched him roll, or play guitar, or sing along to the radio as he drummed against the steering wheel. You kissed him for everytime he smiled and you felt your heart skip a beat. For every time he hugged you just because you looked like you needed one. For every smile he’d ever graced you with. You kissed him like you’d never kissed anyone before in your life, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from a different point of view, but it felt perfect.

Eddie pulled away first, gasping for air in the crook of your neck, his body practically folded into you. “Fuck,” he drew out the word long enough to make you giggle, drunk off his lips.

“Eddie.” You soothed, combing your fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you wanna be my friend?”

He raised to his full height at your question. “Best friends can’t kiss like that.” He’s so out of breath, his words merely a whisper as he continued. “And every goddamn time I look at you all I wanna do is kiss your pretty fucking mouth.”

He left you speechless, looking up into his big brown eyes that you loved so much. He lets you take a second, think on it, all the while stroking his thumb across your cheek.

“How long?” Is all you can ask.

“Shit, since fucking middle school, baby.” He blushed as he said it, the pretty pink darkening to a cherry red as he watched your eyes widen in surprise.

“Middle school?” You whispered.

“I always have. But in middle school you showed up to the snowball in that cute purple dress with your hair all big and your makeup maybe a little too grown for a 12 year old and all I could think about was walking over and asking you to dance. Shit, I wanted to kiss your cheek so fucking bad.” You laughed at the way he scrunched his nose at the last part. You remembered middle school Eddie, his buzzed head and those horrible army green bell bottoms that he’d ripped up to look cool. You liked that Eddie as much as you liked this one, even back then.

“Why didn’t you?” You asked as you pushed up against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist. In this position he had to look down his nose at you, his dark lashes fluttering across his cheeks.

“You were you and I was the freak.”

“I never thought that about you, Eddie.”

He sighed, kissing your forehead. “I didn’t know that then, baby.”

“Should have asked.” You teased, planting a kiss on his chest when he tried to act offended.

You two stood like that for a while, just wrapped up in each other, testing the waters of this new dynamic. One where you both knew where you stood with each other.

“I’m sorry I upset you earlier, you uh- you kinda surprised me.” He spoke into the crown of your head.

“It was a stupid idea, anyway.”

“No it’s not. I wanna go. I just don’t want to spend all your money doing it. Give me a couple months to save up and we can go.”

“I don’t care about the money, Eds.” You said as you took your head off his chest and gazed up at him.

“I know. Just give me a couple months, okay.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

Silence fell over the two of you. Eddie started swaying to the music at some point, humming along to a Black Sabbath song that was definitely not slow dance material. You kissed the tattoo on his chest as you swayed, looking up at him with your best version of puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked softly. He hummed against you, kissing your forehead as he waited for you to finish your question. “Can you kiss me again?”  

~~

“Did you use my shampoo?”

Eddie’s voice raised up from the crease of your neck, a hint of amusement in his words. He had you laid out on his bed, slowly working kisses across your body. What had started as a soft little makeout session bloomed into something more when you had drug your nails up his spine the moment he found that sweet spot just behind your ear.

“Mhm.” You were too distracted to answer, focusing on the feel of his tongue laving against your neck and the way his hips shuddered against your clothed pussy every time you dug your nails into his skin.

“I like when you smell like me.” He mused. “Makes me feel like you’re mine.”

“M’yours, Eddie.” You whispered, guiding his face up to look at him. His lips were puffy and tinted red from sucking hickeys against your throat and his eyes were wide, searching your face for honesty.

“Promise?” He said after a quiet couple seconds and you nodded, leaning your head up to kiss the tip of his nose and the corner of his mouth.

“Promise.”

Eddie’s smile lit up his entire face, all dimpled and pink cheeked. It made your heart swell.

“Can I taste you?”

He asked in such a polite way, it caught you off guard. You couldn’t remember ever having a guy ask to eat you out. It was always something you hinted at and they brushed aside. One guy had even told you that eating a girl out made him soft and in the same breath forced your head down on his dick. But here was Eddie, looking at you so expectantly and yet so patiently.

“Yeah.”

Eddie didn’t waste a second getting to his knees on the mattress, fingers fumbling with the button of your shorts as he mumbled to himself. “Oh shit, okay. Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long, you don’t even understand. Pretty baby. So fucking pretty.”

You helped him shimmy the black fabric from your legs, Eddie tossing them over his shoulder with such force they knocked his acoustic guitar, that sat across from the bed, off its stand. He paid no attention to the instruments sharp bellow as it hit the carpet, instead he was transfixed on your purple lace panties.

“Christ.” He breathed, his index and middle finger tracing up the wet spot that had been steadily growing from the moment he kissed you. “You’re so wet.”

“Because of you.” You keened, Eddie suddenly adding more force in his stroking right against your clit. He flashed his eyes up to yours.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Shit, I never thought I’d hear you say that outside of my dreams.” He seems to lose himself in his heavy caressing while you grip his sheets so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Eddie, please.” You couldn’t stop the whine that escaped your lips, dipping your fingers under the band of your panties and impatiently trying to take them off.

Eddie chuckled to himself as he watched you struggle. “Okay, okay. I’ve got you baby. Calm down.” He gave your panties the same treatment, peeling them down your thighs and tossing them over his shoulder. He bit his lip as he lowered his stomach to the bed, face to face with your weeping core. “So eager to be on my tongue, huh. Who woulda thought you’d be sobbing at the thought of me, The Freak, licking your sweet little pussy.”

“Eddie,” You were so touch starved, so desperate to feel his mouth on you, that you thought you might actually cry if he didn’t do something. “Shut the fuck up, please. Please. Just… Oh, Eddie, please.”

“Mm, okay.”

The second his warm tongue hit you, you cried out. Hands fumbling for purchase and finding it in his dark brown hair. You gripped the strands at the roots hard enough to hurt but Eddie only moaned and tightened his grip on your thighs, pulling them open even further to sink his tongue as far into your pussy as he could. His nose brushed against your swollen clit with each delve of his tongue, the muscle exploring every inch of your sensitive pussy. You trained your eyes on his nicotine stained ceiling, trying so hard to push back the fire rising in your stomach. You’d never felt anything like it before.

“That feels so fucking good, Eddie.” You loosened your grip on him to pet at his hair, unsure if it was to praise him or soothe yourself. Peeling your eyes from the ceiling you cast your hazy stare down only to find his big brown eyes watching you from between your thighs, mouth latched around your sensitive clit as he alternated from gentle sucks to fast flicks of his tongue. Your thighs burned as you rocked your hips against his face, fucking into his mouth for more friction, hands shaking against his cheeks. He looked so unbelievably pretty staring up at you with so much fondness and lust in his eyes, his mouth and tongue completely ravishing you like no man ever had before.. So you tell him…

“You’re so pretty like this, Eddie. You- oh fuuck- you’re always so pretty b-but-” You let out a wanton cry as Eddie slipped two fingers into your achy cunt. He finds that spot inside you that whitens your eyesight almost immediately, like he knew exactly where it was. Between his fingers and his devilish tongue you were seeing stars, tears slipping freely at how extreme the sensation was. “Oh god, Eddie. Eddie, I’m- I’m gonna-” You couldn’t even fucking speak anymore.

Eddie acknowledged you with a shuddering groan, quickening his movements to drive you over the precipice. His eyes never once leave your face.  

You came with a small scream, hips arched off the bed, your fingernails leaving crescent moons into the skin of his wrist. The feeling was all consuming, overwhelming in all the best ways. You let out a sob as he eased you through it, rubbing your thighs comfortingly as they shook with fervor around his head. You could hear yourself speaking but it was muffled by the roaring in your ears; it sounded like you were speaking in tongues. Eddie heard every word.

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Don’t stop, baby. Never fucking stop. So good, s-so fucking good. You’re so fucking good, Eddie. Oh my god, I love you.”

Eddie kissed your thighs as your orgasm faded, your burning lungs gasping for air. When you could finally breathe again, he left one last lingering kiss before crawling up your body. You held his face with shaking hands when he reached you, the biggest shit eating grin on his cum soaked face.

“You love me, huh?” He pondered with a fleeting kiss to your lips. “Or do you just love the way I eat your pussy?”

“Both you fucking deviant. Both.” Each inhale rattled in your chest and every exhale burned the lining of your throat. Eddie chuckled as he kissed you again, pressing his hard cock against your still sensitive core.

“Who knew you were a fucking screamer, baby.”

“I could tell you that was all you but then you’d fucking gloat about it for the rest of eternity.”

“Still might.” He hummed, ghosting kisses over your eyes and nose and lips. “You look so fucking hot when you cum. Never seen anything like it. Coulda cum right then and there but I wanna be inside you.”

You reached a hand between your bodies, running a heavy finger over the outline of his cock in his sweats. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, still a little breathless.

Eddie nodded excitedly before bounding up from the bed and over to his dresser. He rifled through it aggressively. Cursing here and there as he tossed socks and a random cassette tape onto the floor in his frenzied search. When he finally finds what he was looking for he exclaimed to himself, “Fucking finally.”.

He leaves the mess he made, struggling to pull his sweats and boxers off as he makes his way back over to you, sprawled out and butt naked in his bed. Once he finally gets there, after narrowly avoiding tripping over his own boots on the floor, he crawls on top of you with the aluminum wrapper between his teeth. You watched with bated breath as he ripped it open, rolling it down the dark pink head of his cock. Once he’s done he positioned himself in the apex of your thighs, fisting his cock and smoothing the latex covered head through your slick covered folds.

“I, uh, I’m probably not gonna last that long.” He said, his eyes downcast, watching the way your hips rutted into him with every swipe of his cock.

“It’s okay, Eds. Just fuck me.” You grabbed his chin, forcing his face up. When your eyes met you smiled at him sweetly and added, “Please.”

Eddie wasted no time pressing into you, his thick cock stretching you wide as he bottomed out inside you. His cheeks were flamed pink, a bead of sweat bleeding from his hairline down the curve of his nose. He pulled out gently and plunged back in, the tip of his tongue poking through his teeth as he concentrated on his slow deliberate thrusts. You dug your heels into the backs of his thighs, hoping he'd get the hint to go faster. Harder. The slow drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you was agonizing. But he only ignored your pressing and not so subtle whines, folding himself over top of you with one arm wrapped around your back and a callused hand holding your cheek. He was being so gentle. It wasn’t something you were used to. Every other guy you’d been with just used you to get off as fast as they could. But Eddie was taking his time, having found a pace that kept you needing more. You found yourself giggling at a particularly languid thrust and Eddie’s round eyes, with his pupils completely blown black, shot up to yours.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, stilling himself inside of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…” You giggled again and his eyes narrowed. “I just thought, who would have imagined you to be such a gentle lover. You know, with your bad boy–heavy metal image and all.”

“Don’t forget local drug dealer and devil worshiper.” His smile cracked wide as you giggled again. That giggle, however, turned into a sharp cry with a snap of his hips. “I can be gentle. When I want to be.”

You could only nod at this, your breath lodged in your throat at another hard snap of his hips. Your comment had urged him to go faster. To show you that, yes, he could be gentle. But he could also fuck you senseless.

“Imagine what they’d think of you, baby.” He whispered into your ear, forehead pressed hard to the side of your head, his hips building into a maddening pace. He had thrown your leg over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper, to hit that spot inside your core that brought tears to your eyes. “You were always such a good girl. Hawkins number one girl. Do you even remember what they said when they found out we were friends?”

You shook your head, unable to speak with how hard and deliberate his thrusts were.

“They said I was corrupting you.” He released a breathy, dark laugh. His hand slotting through the strands of your hair to grip the roots. “But they didn’t know that you sought me out, hm. Followed me to the woods just so we could be alone. Made me laugh. Made me feel special.”

You remembered that day. Remembered watching him walk through the tree line all alone, that black metal lunch pail gripped tightly in his hand. You knew what he was doing, skipping class to go smoke up. You’d seen him do it before. But that day you followed after him, nervously gripping the ruched fabric of your cheer skirt as you went. You couldn’t help yourself, You wanted to know him so badly.

“Everyday after that, you found me.” His thrusts were starting to get sloppy and you could tell in the way he held you, in the way his words doubled as moans, that he was getting close. “I tried so hard to keep you from getting too close. People are shunned for being close to me. But you wouldn’t fucking quit. Always so fucking stubborn. It’s like you couldn’t stay away from me.”

“I couldn’t.” You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hair tickled your cheeks, his breath fanning over your lips as he held himself over you now. His brows furrowed in concentration as his cock throbbed inside of you. You clenched at the sight of him, looking so pretty and so fucked, and all yours. Because he was. He was it for you.

“Ah, shit.” He whimpered. He wouldn’t last much longer, but Eddie being who Eddie was, you knew he was gonna talk the whole way through it. “You fucking- You broke down every fucking wall I’d ever built. Smashed right fucking through them and straight into my fucking heart. I-I wanted to be good for you. Good enough that you’d want me like I wanted you. You corrupted me.”

“E-Eddie, I think I’m gonna c-cum.” That burning heat had returned but it was different this time. You felt it everywhere, from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your toes. It thrummed every nerve like the string of a guitar, vibrating you to the bone.

“Good.” He said harshly, the word sounding almost mean falling from his red swollen lips, but the fingers stroking your face were still gentle. “I want you to scream for me again. I want everyone in this shitty trailer park, in this shitty fucking town, to know that I’m the one making you feel like this. Crying for my cock, desperate for me.”

You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t see through the tears falling, couldn’t feel anything but him and the white hot pleasure he was gifting to you. You were right there, so fucking close.

“I want them to know that you are mine.” Each word was punctuated with a hard, albeit sloppy, thrust and you came.

You came with a scream, wrenched from your throat so roughly it seared its way out of your lungs and into the air. You felt yourself clench down on him, hard, and his hips shuddered violently against you, succumbing to his own orgasm from your vise lock grip on his cock. He buried his face into the crook of your neck as he rocked his hips and moaned through it, your name and curses sounding like the sweetest song you’d ever heard.

“Jesus Christ.” He groaned before his body collapsed on top of yours. You could feel his thighs trembling against your own, mirroring the intensity of the feeling you both shared as you came.

The both of you laid there, shrouded in the warmth of each other's embrace, until finally he rolled away. Wincing as he pulled out and discarded the condom. You could only lay there and watch him rise from the bed on shaky legs to grab the half smoked joint from earlier. He placed it between his lips and lit it, standing there in all his naked glory, puffing on it till he could get a nice long hit. The slight skunky smell filled the room and you closed your eyes, relishing in it. But then, you were hit in the chest by something light and lacey.

“For your modesty.” Eddie smirked as you held your purple panties up in the light.

“Thanks.” You croaked, your voice hoarse and your throat sore.

Eddie crawled over you, flopping his sweaty body down next to yours. He handed you the joint, which you took gratefully, taking your own long drag and passing it back. The both of you laid in a comfortable silence, legs draped over each other and his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your bare thigh. But then something occurred to you and you turned your head to look at him.

“I didn’t corrupt you.” You said to him and he rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Yes, you did.”

“No I did not, asshole.” You guffawed, slapping your hand playfully on his bare chest.

“I wear my seatbelt and listen to fucking Journey because of you. That’s corruption.” He teased with a cute little smirk, grabbing your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh there.

“That’s just safety and taste, baby. If you want me to corrupt you there are… different things I have in mind.” You watched his eyes widen and he laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He said as he leaned in, his lips tasted of you and the weed he had smoked and you smiled behind the kiss, chest full and body sore.

“Hey,” He started as he rested his head on your shoulder, gazing up at you like a little puppy. “You wanna go watch a movie? I can make some Jiffy Pop and we can cuddle on the couch?”

“Who’s picking the movie?” You asked, fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

“I had Steve score me a copy of Poltergeist 2. Picked it up from Family Video while you were at the store earlier.”  

You sat up a little, an incredulous look etched into your features while he gave you those damn puppy eyes.

“Eddie, you literally told me two weeks ago that you'd rather be decapitated than watch that movie."

Eddie only shrugged, that casual slouch of his shoulder that you had become so accustomed to, and offered you a pretty smile.

“I would. But you wanted to see it. I'll suck it up, but only for you."

[caroldantops]

since I thought it might be helpful and I’ve been playing around with tumblr’s new shitshow of a feature, i’ve decided to post a little something on how i’ve been able to steer clear of my posts/reblogs/blog being hidden 

A lot of this is repeated info, and grabbing things from other posts, but I think putting it in one post might be helpful, and I specifically have things to add that might be more helpful for fic writers on tumblr 

luckily, i honestly think that fic writers are better off than gifmakers, who i think out of the content creator side of things, are the most affected by this. (i’m not gonna get into the intricacies of how fucked up this all is here, i’m just gonna post what i’ve found to help keep our community thriving bc i have no where else to go with my horny fics)

See this post for the basics. And here’s a post that contains the link to the list of banned tags.  A lot of stuff here will be repeated from there, but I’m combining some info here.

IMPORTANT NOTE: This only affects iOS products. And I think even if you’re on an Apple device that’s not a phone, you should be able to access things as normal through your browser? This is the one thing i’m unsure of since I use a PC

ADDITIONALY: this only seems to be affecting the tags. I’ve tested banned words in the body of the posts themselves, and they still show up so long as there is not a banned tag. So there’s no need to worry about that thankfully.

Reiterating the post linked above, any post that is reblogged using a banned tag also will not show up on people’s dashboards. Even if it isn’t your original post, or the original post didn’t contain the tags. 

So just avoid those banned tags in all regards. 

However! I’ve found that there are some ways to avoid tumblr detecting tags. For example, one of the banned words is #piss, so i kept messing around with different versions of that tag. (no one @ me ok i just needed something to test)

Interestingly enough, #piss was banned. But #piss play, #p!ss, and #piss /, were NOT banned. 

So, small little edits to the tags do make them work completely fine. We can truly take tumblr’s shit and make it help us again. I just noticed in the document that it says at the bottom that even simply adding a period to the end of the tag works. 

If you have your writing tagged with things like ‘mine’ and anything else listed, I’d change that immediately or else your stuff will never show up. I personally suggest making it something like “silver writes” (that’s mine) 

This tag replacer notes that they suggest waiting to see if the change is permanent, because the tumblr announcement did say it might not be. Ultimately it’s up to you, but also note that changing a ton of tags at once can get you flagged as a spam bot. So perhaps create a temporary new tag, or change posts individually, or just wait it out. Dealer’s choice. 

If you’re like me and tag posts with individual warnings, you’ll need to double check that banned list and edit your warning tags. Most writers I know put their warnings in the post itself anyway, so this probably isn’t a huge issue. But having those above workarounds are nice for this. 

Don’t forget that your reblogs are affected! If you reblog other people’s fics, don’t let them get subjected to getting blocked on people’s dashboards! 

I know this wasn’t like a ton of new info, but hopefully compiling it into one post is helpful for people!  

[hotwings0203]

as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

 It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

 You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. 

 Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

 ¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

 ¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

 ¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

 ¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

 ¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

 At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

 He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

 ¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

 Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

 ¨No way.¨

 ¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

 ¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

 ¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

 You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

 ¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

 It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

 ¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

 ¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

 You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

 Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

 Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

 When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

 So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

 The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

 Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

 You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

 Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

 Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

 Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

 Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

 Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

 You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

 After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

 Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

 Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

 From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand. 

 ¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

 ¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

 You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

 Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

 Damon barely acknowledges you.

 He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

 You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

 Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

 And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

 Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally. 

 Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

 Everyone except Damon Albarn.

 The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

 ¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

 ¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

 Until he spoke.

 ¨Is this your first time playing?¨

 You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures. 

 ¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

 ¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

 But nonetheless, you don't back down.

 ¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

 ¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

 ¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

 ¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

 The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

 ¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

 You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

 ¨I didn´t-¨

 ¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

 You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

 The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

 Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

 He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

 It's quiet for a moment.

 ¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

 ¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

 You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

 ¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

 Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

 ¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

 ¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

 Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

 You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

 Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

 Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

 You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

 Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

 The obsidian glass rolls down.

 ¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

 Oh.

 ¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

 ¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

 ¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

 ¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

 ¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

 ¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

 You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky. 

 He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

 You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

 The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

 You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

 ¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

 ¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

 ¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

 Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨ 

 He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

 You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

 You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

 ¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

 The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

 Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

 ¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

 You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

 ¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

 Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

 Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

 But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

 ¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

 ¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

 What a save.

 *******************

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

 But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

 ¨You´re late.¨

 ¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

 ¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance. 

 The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

 It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

 During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship. 

 Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

 Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

 Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

 For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you. 

 Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

 ¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

 ¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

 Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

 ¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

 ¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

 His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

 ¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

 ¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

 Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

 ¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

 Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

 ¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

 You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

 The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

 Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

 Take right now, for instance.

 As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

 You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

 Weather-2

You-0

 You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

 And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

 The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

 All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

 ¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

 Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

 Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

 You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier. 

 ¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

 Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

 He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

 ¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

 He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

 He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

 For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

 ¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

 He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

 ¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

 But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

 ¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

 Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

 ¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

 You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

 ¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

 ¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

 There it was again, pretty woman.

 You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

 ¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

 Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

 He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

 You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

 ¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

 He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

 ¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

 He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

 But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

 ******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

 So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

 The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

 No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

 ¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

 ¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

 You feel your smile drop a smidge.

 ¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

 But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

 Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

  Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

 ¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

 ¨Damon!¨

 You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

 The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

 Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

 ¨Get out.¨

 ¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him. 

 ¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

 Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

 You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

 It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

 ************

 It's nighttime.

 The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

 Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

 Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall. 

 The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

 Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

 ¨Looking for something?¨

 You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

 ¨D-Damon?¨ 

 ¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

 You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

 ¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

 ¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

 You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

 He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

 You can´t help the scoff that escapes you. 

 ¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

 He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

 It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

 ¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the  door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

 A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

 ¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

 You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

 His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

 ¨You smell so good.¨

 ¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

 He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

 ¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

 You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

 ¨We can´t.¨

 ¨Sure we can.¨

 You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

 ¨You´re not worth this.¨

 ¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

 And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

 You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

 ¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

 You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

 But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

 You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

 He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

 ¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

 You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

 It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

 ¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

 ¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

 He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

 But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

 His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

 ¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

 You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

 With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

 You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

 ¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

 Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

 Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

 You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

 He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

 ¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

 Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

 You want to run your hands through his hair.

 ¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

 ¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

 Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

 ¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

 Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

 He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

 You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

 It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

 And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

 He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

 Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

 ¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

 Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

 You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

 It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

 He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

 For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

 He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

 ¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops. 

 You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

 ¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

 ¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

 ¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

 He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

 It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

 You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

 ¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

 He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

 ¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

 ¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

 ¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

 ¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

 Halfway?

 Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

 Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

 His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

 He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

 Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary. 

 You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

 It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

 You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

 ¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

 ¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

 It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

 Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

 He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

 Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

 Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

[bipercabeth]

hi miss emmaaa you know i adore every single word you write—you are simply unparalleled😌. if you have time “i need a hug”, “i have an idea”, and “it’s freezing in here” for the prompt cocktail please :)🤍

i swear i could KISS you for this prompt. i’ve been kicking myself for not writing an “our shitty radiator is broken oh no we have to huddle for warmth” scene for roommates for months. didn’t fit in the fic itself, so here it is <3 

(takes place between new year’s and the blowup with sloan)

Annabeth tugs yet another sweatshirt over her head and throws herself back into bed. Stupid fucking radiator. Stupid landlord. Stupid New York City for being so stupidly cold. Despite the heavy comforter, fuzzy socks, and layered clothes, she’s still shivering. For a brief moment, she considers bundling up in Percy’s bed—if only to escape the cold creeping in from her window—when she hears the unmistakable jingle of his keys in the lock. 

She throws peels off the covers and winces as the air bites at her exposed skin. With her hands shoved in her pockets, Annabeth trudges to the kitchen where Percy shuffles around with groceries. He’s as gorgeous today as ever, sporting a coat over a blue sweater his mom knitted him and the usual jeans and sneakers. It shouldn’t be enough with how cold it is outside, but he appears infuriatingly unbothered.

“God, it’s freezing in here,” he says in way of greeting. His voice echoes in the cabinet as he puts away cans of soup, taking full advantage of his long limbs to reach the top shelf. Then he turns, and his grimace becomes something softer, bringing just a bit of warmth into the apartment. His eyes flit over Annabeth’s lumpy frame with a gleam. “But I’m guessing you knew that.” 

“Have I ever told you that you’re one of the most obnoxious New Yorkers I’ve ever met?” 

Percy smiles and reaches for something on the table. “Even when I walk four blocks out of my way to grab you hot chocolate from the best truck in town? You should appreciate my pretentiousness, Annabeth. I could’ve picked up that watered down monstrosity you sell at Starbucks.” 

“Have I mentioned that you’re also my best friend and the light of my life?” Annabeth reaches for the cup, her pulse throbbing in her freezing fingers. 

A rueful smile spreads over Percy’s face as he raises the cup out of her reach. “I’m sorry, am I obnoxious or the light of your life?” 

“Light of my life,” she grunts as she presses onto her toes. 

“Do try to sound more convincing.” 

She lays her hand on his chest. “Percy Jackson, you are the light of my life and the best person I know. You have brought the elixir of the gods into our humble home. Please save me and my old bones from the cold that has descended upon—” 

Percy laughs and shoves the cup at Annabeth. Warmth floods her hand, both from the drink and the brush of his skin. “Better?” 

Her response comes in the way of gulping the hot chocolate. It’s meant to be savored, obviously, but Annabeth has been too cold to do much of anything today, and her body just kind of takes over and downs it. 

Horror is written all over Percy’s face when she finishes mere moments later. “Oh my god, you’re a monster.” 

“Thank you.” 

“That wasn’t a compliment.” 

“Then why are you smiling?” she counters. And it’s true—there’s an endeared uptick to the corner of his mouth, even if it’s currently open in dismay. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, I—” He shakes his head a little. “Just. Your nose is pink. How long ago did the radiator give up on you?” 

“Right after you left this morning.” 

Percy’s eyes dart to where the city lights twinkle against the night sky, almost like stars. Annabeth watches him count the hours in his head before he unbuttons his coat. “C’mere.” 

All too eager, Annabeth knocks into his chest and sighs when he brings the coat tight around her shoulders like the best burrito. Her arms snake around his waist and slip under his sweater, relentlessly seeking warmth. 

He jolts like she’s shocked him, pressing away from her hands and closer to her body. It’s a win-win, really. 

“You’re a monster,” he hisses. 

She hides her smile in the sweater. “What? I need a hug.” 

“I will kill you in your sleep.” 

In way of retaliation, she shoves her icy nose into his neck. 

“Okay!” Percy frees himself of her iron grip. “I have a better idea.” 

He palms her face, smushing her nose with a laugh that’s a bit too smug for Annabeth’s liking. She smacks away his hand, but he catches the strings of her hoodie and pulls them tight, trapping her in darkness. Normally this would mean war, but it’s been a long day. Loneliness seeped into Annabeth’s bones alongside the cold, as is the cruel trick of winter, and she finds that all she really wants it to be held. Of course, this only serves as a reminder that she cannot be held by the one person she wants in that capacity, which is worsened by the fact that he is right in front of her and willing to do it if she asks the right way.

Ever intuitive, Percy’s smile gives way to a concerned frown, the one that makes Annabeth want to roll her eyes and kiss him at the same time. Still, it takes no thought to slip their hands together when he offers. 

Warmth immediately envelopes Annabeth’s fingers, traveling up her nerves lazily. Its pace quickens when Percy raises them to his mouth, his lips pressed against her pinky and ring fingers as he blows hot air. Annabeth hums, somehow both content and absolutely on fire. At least her face was already red.

Later Percy has changed into comfier clothes and lounges on the couch, one leg thrown over the back while Annabeth balls up under a blanket on the other side. One of his arms is behind his head, dragging the sweater away from the waistline of his sweatpants. It’s ridiculous, honestly, that Annabeth can see him in a speedo for three days straight and survive, but this sliver of skin undoes her. Maybe it’s the intimacy of being at home. There is no crowd, no frigid metal bleachers, and Annabeth isn’t sitting next to Percy’s mom while trying to hide her oogling. There is only the soft cushion of the couch and the warmth emanating from Percy, who is close enough to touch.

God, she wants to touch.

He clears his throat. “So are you proving a point by freezing alone, or are you gonna come over here?”

Annabeth wrenches her gaze up to meet Percy’s, which is alight with the kind of amusement that makes this whole thing feel like a game to see who will break first. It’s the closest they come to acknowledging this unspoken thing between them.

All she can do is stare until Percy holds out his hand. She doesn’t know what assumptions he makes, but he makes no move to embarrass her, so they must be kind. Instead he coaxes her across the couch, laying back and smiling when Annabeth knocks the air out of his chest.

He pulls the blanket up her back and anchors it with his arm. “Better?”

Annabeth thaws enough to nod against his sweater. “Better.”

Percy slips his hand under Annabeth’s hood and settles it in the curve of her neck, his fingertips drawing small circles against her scalp. It hurts, how well he fits there. He feels made for all of her empty spaces, like the universe knew Annabeth would someday need to be held this way and crafted Percy specifically for it.

For now, he keeps the lonely grip of winter at bay. And for once in her life, Annabeth is not thinking about how cold it will be when he lets go. Letting go doesn’t even cross her mind.

[the-phantom-ender]

ayup, can you write a jack manifold and foolish chapter? i love your writing, man. (-jackstanifold)

So. Two things have made this fic a struggle. 1: my arthritic ass joints decided to flair up real bad. So half my body was in pain while writing it. 2: I don’t think I write Jack well. I love him, I very much enjoy his character. His vocal pattern is so hard to write.

Foolish knew Jack Manifold. Not particularly well, sure, but well enough to pick up on some things. He was stubborn, for one. Which wasn’t a bad thing, not at all. Stubbornness could be useful when the time was right. It bred strong wills and stern beliefs. All of those things were very good in some situations.

There was more to it than just that, though. Under the stubbornness, just past it really, laid betrayal. Latent and festering, bubbling like lava. Lava that Foolish knew the man was very familiar with. He absolutely believed that he’d dragged himself out of hell out of spite! There was no doubt in his mind. Of course, the fact that the concept of Undying was literally his entire thing made him notice when someone... came back.

Years ago, Foolish may have been mad at the man for cheating death. Now, though? He was kind of impressed! Besides, Jack was technically on unfinished business. Ghosts had popped into existence for less, so there wasn’t much reason to fuss. He could die. That was all that mattered, honestly.

It was stupid, really. But Foolish saw his younger self in Jack Manifold, in a way. Blinded by power and anger and bloodthirst, unable to see much of anything else. The totem god was stupid when he was younger. When he was the god of Death he ruled unfairly harshly, striking down any mortal who dared oppose him. His excuse was that they’d all returned to oblivion eventually, caring not for the fact that there was a time for everyone.

Foolish wasn’t an idiot now, though. He knew that Jack was out for vengeance, out to spill the blood of Tommyinnit. Clarity would do him well. Rome wasn’t built in a day, though. You couldn’t change a person’s perspective in just one, either. Despite this: a day was a start. Perhaps this is why the god called Jack to his temple. 

“Hellooooo?” A voice called from around a corner,” Big guy- you in here? God this place is fuckin huge…” 

Foolish rolled his eyes softly, waving the smaller man over,” I’m outside the temple proper. I’m literally all of ten feet away.”

“Oh. Right. I knew that, I did.” Jack rounded the corner more properly this time, squaring off his shoulders to seem more intimidating. He mostly just looked dorky, but Foolish wasn’t gonna tell him that. “Right then!” he clapped his hands together,” What did ya’ call me here for, exactly? Like I appreciate you wanting to chat, but there’s gotta be at least a lil more than that.” 

Foolish sighed. Of course, there was more to it than just that. How was he meant to approach this kind of thing, though? It wasn’t just like he could actively say that Jack reminded him of himself as a shitty Death god, running around and killing people because he was mad at the world. One: that was rude. Two: that felt like something someone would say to their kid. Jack was not his kid. Foolish Jr. was more than enough children for him, thank you very much.

“Follow me,” Foolish hummed at last, leading him to the center of the temple. 

It was properly done this time, and Jack couldn’t hijack it by moving anything one block. He sat down on a slight incline, gesturing for the other male to join him. After a moment of hesitation, he did.

“I don’t know how to do this in a way that isn’t… stupid. So what I’m going to do instead is, uh.” A breath,” Would you like to hear a story, Jack?”

“Well fuck, man, I didn’t expect you to drag me all this way for a story time.” 

“Just… trust me on this one.”

“Yeah yeah, alright.”

“A very, very long time ago, in a place that existed long before this, the world was very, very new. In this world, there was a pantheon of gods that controlled the universe itself. They were powerful, all of them. Among these gods, there was the young God of Death, Follis. Now this god was by no means bad at what he did, but he was a bit… over eager with his position. 

A mortal man came to the god’s temple, once, begging for safety. He’d lost his family in a mudslide and had nowhere else to go. So Follis took pity on him. He sheltered the man as long as he was able. 

They had one rule: to honor his family, the man was not to love another during his time in the temple. This went well for some time, the man was devout and thankful. Until one day, the man appeared to have courted another mortal woman in the domain of the god. 

Outraged, he struck him down right there and then. From the shock, the mortal woman’s heart gave out. She was there due to this weak heart, hoping the god could give her advice. Now… was Follis in the right to have struck the man down for going against his wishes, or was he out of turn?” 

“What?”

“Well…” Foolish hummed,” What do you think, is what I’m asking you. Do you think the man deserved the punishment?”

“Well yeah, no shit! He broke the rule!” 

“What if I told you he didn’t?”

“But you- you just told me he had!” Jack’s dual-toned eyes peeked out from under matching lenses, eyebrows knotting in confusion. 

“I told you that he appeared to have courted the woman. What if he had simply been giving the woman directions? What if he was giving her something to offer the god, as she had nothing to do so. What then? Is the man still in the wrong?”

“I... no, I guess not. If the man didn’t actually get with the lady then he got killed unfairly, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

It grew silent for a moment. Foolish leaned back, waiting for the story to click. Of course, he’d changed the name. Follis was the root of Foolish. His true name was too important to give away like that, sorry Jack. The gears seemed to be turning in the man’s head, trying to understand what this meant. 

“I don’t get it.” He said at last.

Foolish laughed, shark teeth glinting in the dull light,” Yeah, fair enough. The moral of that story, more or less, is the importance of perspective. Something clouded by judgement may turn out to be something else completely.”

“Oh.” 

Jack's expression darkened. Which was, of course, exactly what Foolish had been expecting. He fully expected this to lead to shouting, anger. But… no. He just sat there, gazing down at the ground like he could burn holes into the sandstone with his eyes. His fists balled against his pants, knuckles white. More than aggressive, he looked lost in thought. 

“Are you- is the story ab-”

“I am, it is.” 

“Oh.”

[max-is-tired]

They can tell you that it’s righteous

Fandom: Dream SMP

Prompt: Kidnapping ( @badthingshappenbingo )

A/N: Aaand I’m back on my writing bullshit, let’s go. I started plotting this fic back in January, so it only follows canon up until Doomsday/Techno and Phil finding the portal room, but at least it’s finally done!

Obligatory tags of people who asked: @deadonmercury @littlecatninja​

Warnings: hostage situation, blood, violence, mention of skin melting off, antagonist Quackity, drowning, temporary character death (gotta love respawning), near death experience, beheading.

Read on AO3!!

It had started like such a good day for Ranboo. The sun was shining bright in the sky, the SMP seemed to be at relative peace for once, and there were plenty of grass blocks lying around and waiting to be picked up. So yeah, great day!

Ranboo knew this peace probably wouldn't last long, not with these lands' track record of starting conflicts and trying to kill people on a weekly basis. But when the afternoon rolled around and random explosions had yet to start filling the sky with smoke, the hybrid felt pretty confident that, at least for that day, things were looking up.

The problem was that, by thinking on those lines, Ranboo ended up forgetting the most important rule of the server, the one rule he'd promised himself he would not break, no matter what.

Never, ever lower your guard, especially in times of peace.

He didn't even notice the person sneaking up on him until the very last second. One moment, he was crouching down, happily patting the grass block he'd just placed on the ground and the next, there was a shadow looming over him, the familiar shape of small, feathered wings being the only thing he managed to discern before a sudden, excruciating pain in the back of his head made his vision go white.

Ranboo groaned, stumbling on the ground while his vision wobbled and filled with dark spots. Dark, dirty sneakers stopped just in front of his head, but try as he might, the hybrid couldn't bring himself to move his head enough to look up, the mere thought of it making him wince.

"Sorry Ranboo, nothing personal," a familiar voice muttered, drawing a confused whine out of the kid. After that, everything went black.

+++

Technoblade had been feeling on edge all day -which, by itself, wasn't such a strange occurrence. Being on edge was a given for him, what with the voices in his head constantly chanting for blood and half of the server seemingly having a personal vendetta against him.

Listen, okay, he did blow up their precious country -but only after they decided that a corrupt government was the way to go and, you know, tracked him down while he was in retirement to try and execute him. He felt like the retaliation was kind of deserved.

Still, Techno didn't give much weight to the feeling. He'd learned to never let his guard down after the butcher army, and if someone decided to be stupid enough to attack him in his own home, they'd have to deal with him, Philza, and the small army of hounds living in the pen outside, plus the polar bears. The entirety of the SMP could attack them and he'd be able to at least hold them off enough to get away.

So, Techno spent most of the day chilling, for once, sitting on his couch with a book and Steve curled up nearby while Phil worked on some blueprints for a project of his.

"You keep that up, you're going to end up building a whole city down in that abandoned fortress," he commented, huffing in amusement as the older looked up from the table to glare at him.

"Oh, you shut up," Phil retorted, pointing at him with the quill in his hand. "Do you want the syndicate room to look decent or not? Because if you prefer I can just wing it-" chat cackled at the unintentional pun, much to Techno's dismay- "and have it turn out whatever."

Techno squinted at his friend. "You wouldn't."

"You sure about that, mate?" Phil grinned back, the picture of innocence. Which, when it came to him, meant he absolutely would, the fucker.

"Alright, alright," Techno huffed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "leave the old man to his planning, got it."

Phil snorted, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "Now you listen here, you little shit-"

The sound of tapping on glass distracted them from the discussion, attracting their attention to the kitchen window. There, perched on the windowsill, stood one of Phil's crows, holding something in its beak.

After exchanging a curious glance with Techno, the older went to retrieve the bird, opening the window enough to let it hop in. Giving the crow a few pats on the head, he reached for the object, raising an eyebrow when he realized it was, in fact, a folded piece of paper. 

Intrigued, Techno watched as Phil opened the message, his eyes quickly scanning the paper before widening slightly in alarm. Well, that wasn't good.

"Mate, I think you might want to take a look at this," Phil called, urgency obvious in his voice and that really, really wasn't good.

Techno sighed, slipping the bookmark back in his book before standing up. Guess he could say goodbye to his plans for a chill afternoon.

Hello, Technoblade,

heard you guys took in a little stray -should have known, traitors tend to stick together, don't they? Well, jokes on you, I've got him now. Get to the coordinates listed at the bottom of this note, alone and unarmed, before sundown, or Ranboo gets it. An eye for an eye, that's how the saying goes, right?

See you soon,

Q

+++

Techno had been already halfway out of the house the second he finished reading the note, Phil hot on his heels.

"I'm not letting you go alone," the older stated, already reaching for his coat.

"Well, you'll have to," Techno countered.

"You can't go in without backup, especially unarmed and not knowing what to expect!"

"Oh trust me, I'll be anything but unarmed," Techno huffed, letting the axe Ranboo had gifted him slide in his inventory. "I can use the element of surprise, I'll be fine. But the second Quackity sees you, Ranboo is going to be in hot shit, and we don't even know where he's keeping him."

Phil glared, his lips pursed in a displeased frown before sighing in defeat. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Techno sent him an apologetic glance, quickly fastening his coat on before stepping down the porch.

"I'll keep my communicator on the whole time," he promised, walking towards the stasis chamber and reaching for one of his ender pearls, "I'll get there, grab Ranboo, kill Quackity if I can and the second I text you you're gonna teleport us back."

"Sounds like a plan," Philza sighed. "Be careful, okay mate?"

"When am I ever not?" Techno smirked. "we'll be back before you know it, old man."

"Fuck off and go save our neighbor, you ass!"

Techno cackled, shaking his head as he set off towards the Nether portal.

Save Ranboo!

Protectiveblade

Blood for the blood god

Techno shook his head, pushing the voices back as he forced himself to keep a clear head. He was pissed, sure, but he knew men like Quackity -he'd met a lot of them in his life, and all of them had fallen under his sword. He would be no different.

The Nether travel didn't take that long, and after that, all he had to do was follow his compass towards the coordinates he'd been given. Techno found himself feeling glad the place wasn't all too far away, seeing how the sun had just started dipping below the horizon when he finally stepped out of the forest.

"Man, look who is here, our guest of honor!" Quackity exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he turned to look at him. "Technoblade, how nice of you to join us, I was starting to think you wouldn't come, after all."

Distantly, Techno could hear the ocean waves crashing against the rocks under them, the occasional droplets of water reaching the top of the cliff they were currently on. Quackity was standing just near the edge, gusts of wind ruffling the feathers of his duck wings and trying to slip the beanie off his head -all it would take was a misstep, a small push, and he would plummet towards the unforgiving water below.

But what actually got the piglin's attention was the small structure he could see just behind the man, a small, locked cage rigged with redstone dangling well over the edge and above the crashing waves. And just inside of it, slumped against the metal bars, laid an unconscious Ranboo, left with no armor on but his clothes.

"What did you do to him," he demanded, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the cage that reminded him too much of the day the butcher army had come for him.

"Ah, watch your tone, Blade," Quackity tutted, a smirk evident in his voice, "all I need is pull this lever, and the kid falls down into the ocean. I heard he doesn't do well in water without his armor… we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Techno snapped his head towards Quackity, baring his tusks in a silent threat.

"I'm here, I followed your stupid directions," he growled, barely able to keep himself from cutting Quackity's head clean off like the voices wanted him to, "now let Ranboo go."

The duck hybrid tilted his head to the side, feigning confusion. "And why would I do that, Technoblade? He's a traitor, he needs to be punished as one."

"A traitor to what?!" Techno asked, bewildered. "L'Manburg is gone, Quackity!"

"And whose fault is that?!" Quackity shouted. "Uh? Remind me, oh great Technoblade, who here razed an entire country to the ground not once, but fucking twice? Please, enlighten me!"

"Government corrupts," Techno answered, his voice low and dangerous, "L'Manburg was rotten to its core, look at what it did to you, to Tubbo, to Tommy! It needed to go."

Quackity laughed, throwing his head back as the wind kept howling around them.

"Oh, yeah?" he grinned, throwing his arms open. "Well, that's my old home you're talking about. And if it was rotten, well, then so am I."

Before Techno could even react, Quackity reached to his side, wrapping his hand around the lever connected to the redstone of the cage. And then, still grinning from ear to ear, he pulled.

"Ranboo!" Techno shouted, watching helplessly as the kid plummeted down towards the ocean water. Quackity's laughter mixed with the howling wind, crazed and high-pitched and making Techno's blood boil.

Ruby red eyes settled on the laughing man, filling with bloodlust as the familiar weight of an axe appeared in his hand.

The voices were growing louder by the second, feeding on his fury and chanting for blood. And this time, Technoblade didn't bother holding them back.

+++

Ranboo woke up to muffled voices, yelling from somewhere in front of him. He didn't know what was happening, or where he was -the voices were somewhat familiar, yes, but he couldn't place them for the life of him and as it was, he could barely even catch a word every four, with how loud the wind was.

Normally, something like this wouldn't have failed to send him spiraling into a panic -he hated not knowing, not being aware of his own surroundings or how he got there in the first place. But his brain felt fuzzy, off-kilter, the only thing he could focus on being the dull throbbing coming from the back of his head. Ender, it hurt.

Fighting down a small whine, Ranboo pried his eyes open, pushing against the sluggishness to try and at least make some sense out of the situation he'd found himself in. His vision was fuzzy, but he could somewhat make out two figures standing somewhere in front of him.

One was standing with his back on him, decked in the familiar iridescent purple of an enchanted netherite armor. The other was a little farther away, enough so that to Ranboo, they looked like nothing more than a blurred blob of amassed colors. Pink was very prominent, followed by something red flowing on their back -they felt familiar, safe, causing Ranboo to relax almost on instinct.

"Technoblade...?" he slurred, confused. What was Techno doing there? They weren't in the Antarctic, there was no snow around them.

Before he could properly think of a reason, however, Ranboo felt the floor suddenly disappear from under him, fear shooting up his spine as he started plummeting down into the abyss. He didn't even have the time to make a sound before something dark and cold enveloped him, shocking him awake as he got twirled and smacked around.

A few seconds of shocked bliss passed, and then everything started burning.

It felt like he'd fallen in a pit of fire, the flames licking at every ounce of his skin as if trying to melt it directly off his body. Ranboo opened his mouth, trying to scream as the pain overwhelmed him in the worst way possible, only for something to fill his mouth and throat, choking him and only strengthening his growing panic.

He was going to die. He was going to die, alone in this darkness, he needed to get out, out, out-

Ranboo crashed on the hard, unforgiving ground, coughing harshly as water rushed out of his airways. Cold, frigid air hit his skin, soothing the burns and making the pain a little more bearable. He could breathe. He could breathe.

Ranboo slumped to the floor, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to get his racing heartbeat under control. He had to fight even just to keep his eyes open, exhaustion weighing him down until he could barely move his head, let alone think about standing up.

A white, furry snout filled his vision, curiously sniffing at his face. Ranboo blinked, a startled sound escaping his lips. The dog blinked back, tilting its head to the side.

"What…?" he whispered, wincing at how hoarse his voice came out. Ender, his throat hurt.

Another snout appeared above his head. And then another, and another, the sound of barking finally reaching his ears. Where- where was he, exactly?

Before he could try and come up with an answer, Ranboo heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a sharp gasp and hurried footsteps.

"Ranboo?"

The hybrid squinted in confusion, immediately recognizing the voice.

"Phil?"

+++

No matter what tricks he might have had up his sleeve, Quackity couldn't stand a chance against an angry, vengeful Technoblade. It took him barely minutes to sink his axe through the other's neck, slicing his head clean off and sending it rolling on the ground under their feet. Techno barely watched as the lifeless body slumped down, ignoring his communicator vibrating with the death message as he raced to the cliff. He knew, he knew there was no way Ranboo had survived a fall like that, but he had to check, had to make sure. 

Crashing waves and wet, glistening rocks were the only things staring back, destroying whatever hope he might have had. Someone more impulsive would have jumped off, in a desperate hope to find the kid still struggling against the current, but Techno knew better.

The ocean was unforgiving, and for someone like Ranboo, even more so.

He sighed, stepping back from the edge and turning around. Quackity's body wasn't there anymore, having disappeared as the respawn mechanics worked their magic -if the man was smart, he wouldn't dare bother Techno again, not unless he wanted to lose his last life and find out how permadeath felt like.

In theory, Techno knew that Ranboo's death wasn't permanent. The kid still had all of his lives, at least before this, and the SMP would bring him back soon enough. Respawning sucked, though -it left you aching and in pain for days on end as your body stitched itself back together after whatever trauma had taken away one of your lives. It was a painful process, gruesome at times, and one Techno wished Ranboo didn't have to go through.

Especially not when it was his fault.

Ignoring the guilt pooling heavily in his gut, Technoblade reached for his communicator, intending to text Phil to bring him back. As it turned out, however, his friend had beat him to it, blowing up his notifications with hurried messages. Guilt now replaced with worry, Techno tapped the screen, reading through the chat.

[Philza] Techno

[Philza] Techno what the fuck

[Philza] Ranboo is here, he's in the dog pen

[Philza] Jesus christ he's covered in burns what the fuck happened

[Philza] Technoblade you better answer your fucking communicator right now or so help me god I will fly there, find you, and drag your ass home myself

[Philza] I saw the kill message where the fuck are you

Techno blinked, staring at the messages with wide eyes. What?

[Philza] Techno, I know you're reading these, answer me right now

[Technoblade] im omw

+++

When Techno slammed the door of his cabin open, he didn't know what he was expecting. A dead body in the middle of respawning, maybe, with Phil watching over it like a silent guardian angel.

He certainly wasn't expecting to walk in on Phil wrapping gauze around what looked like the entirety of Ranboo's body, the bandages visible for the world to see with the simple shirt and pants the kid was now wearing.

Techno barely spared a glance to the pile of soaked clothes lying on his floor, raking his eyes over the enderman hybrid as he tried to work the surprise out of his system. Fine is the farthest adjective the piglin would use to describe Ranboo right at that moment, seeing how his entire body was covered in gauze and he was holding a pack of ice to the back of his head, but he was alive and breathing and for once in his life, Techno had no fucking clue about how that was possible.

"Fucking hell, kid," he groaned, letting his cloak fall to the floor as he trudged inside the house. "You'll give me a heart attack, one of these days."

Ranboo winced as Technoblade slumped on the couch, still a little dazed from the hit to his head.

"Sorry," he muttered, breaking into a coughing fit immediately after.

"Don't force your throat, mate, you gotta let it rest," Phil scolded gently, sending Techno a small glare. "We're just glad you're okay -or, well, as okay as you can be right now."

Ranboo hesitantly looked up, looking at Philza and then at Techno. The piglin nodded in silent agreement and watched as the kid seemed to slump on himself in relief, the tension leaving his body at once. Was it really that surprising, that they'd grown to care for him enough to be worried about his well-being?

The two men exchanged a worried glance, silent words passing between them. Then, Phil nodded to himself, tying up the last of the gauze around Ranboo's forearm before heading to the kitchen.

"How do you guys feel about some tea?" he asked, pulling down a kettle and three mugs. "I'd say we could all do with something warm right now."

Techno made a noise of affirmation, watching with amusement as Ranboo snorted and nodded in agreement.

Maybe things weren't okay just yet, but this? This was a start.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

wip-date

yeah whatever portmanteaus make me feel something other than manic depression

i know i've been pretty gogogo on mesh network (a lie, but one i tell myself so it's true) but I do want to make some headway into my other WIPs. so here's where i'm at.

Top Priority

mesh network - almost finished with ch3, should be up today. i've got most of the story fleshed out in outline form (skeletoned out?) and i've been thinking of this AU for two years straight so it's coming pretty naturally to me.

30 for 300 follower celebration - there's only 4 of 30 slots taken so far. but i'm gonna get on those soon. still gotta make a masterlist for it. [adds to todoist]

belated af birthday fic for lellow - it's over 6.7k right now, but the latter half is super montagey and i'm trying to ramp myself up into being a story glider again. feel like a terrible friend, it's been four months.

Middling Priority

TBAD - chapter 7 is started (like around 3k rn) but I'm still feeling kind of directionless with the series as a whole. paranoid evil depression brain says i bit off more than I could chew. may do a reread once birthday fic is done to ~rekindle the love~

triptych - I have all of four paragraphs written for chapter 8. the end of the previous chapter kind of fucked up the initial timeline i'd had for this act of the story. i think i'm seeing a bit of a pattern with me avoiding writing smut lol.

art of second place - outline made, ch9 not started. it's a bit faster paced/covers a lot more time than previous chapters, so it's kind of outside of my current writing style. this chapter ends with the beloathed Plot returning. could be the reason for the block.

slut djarin - kinda lost in the weeds for ch7. there's two huge monologues in it, one of which will have a lot of hilarious wild smut, there's an orgy planned, and then a lot of plot happens which isn't really the point of the fic. thinking of starting from scratch and doing it kind of how i did the first three chapters (writing while watching, pausing to get lines correct, tedious but keeps me in the moment)

(other account) tusken din - whoo boy. where this current book (2 of 4) is sitting at, it's at over 26k and we aren't even like officially halfway through the season itself. this one's supposed to be a romance but it's really more of a solid coming of age tale. may pull back and revise from on high, or i might just try powering through to the very end. the document is very long and very intimidating.

collab with katee - still in outline mode, we're both very busy with very amazing and indulgent stories so i get it, but I wanna put some kind of oomph toward it. perhaps this weekend if i'm not too worn out.

Low Priority/On Hold

flicker 2 - max is on a business trip from his usual job of being my muse. also i don't really wanna write anxiety that's not mesh network

flicker 3 - this has three words in the outline: "the collaring one" and again (see above) smut issues

mando!reader/civilian!din - issues with din's role. considering just leaning into the absurdity of it and making him go full y/n and be a medicmechanicbabysitterpilot who's never held a gun. i think playing with that game would be fun.

bobadinnec wingfic - premise mostly written, still a lot of emotional heavy lifting to hammer out.

catboy javi g - officially delegated to Things To Handle After 4/22

whiskey/psychic!ofc - i love you joey and i think of you every time i paint my nails blue i just cannot concentrate on this many things

slow burn din/reader - at this point it's just a twinkle in my eye but i think it has potential, if i can dedicate enough time/effort to it. at this point in my life, i cannot.

daddy frank castle - it's more of a personal character study of him rather than something i'd want to share. it's rough and messy and doesn't really have a reason for existing. if you'd like to see it anyway please let me know.

Misc Housekeeping

moreno tentacles - this one's 4k and ready to go but i have a blood pact with katee that is as yet unfulfilled so i shall respect my blood brother and hang onto this.

that's all! please submit more 30 for 300 drabble ideas!

[protectwoc]

why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

[harringrovetrashrat]

Hey I'm new at 'Asking' on tumblr but I'll give it ago, I was thing like, a harringrove soulmate au, (it can be what ever) but like they find out mid-flight at the Byers, like (the thing you choose) happened, and maybe even one of the kids see and is all like "omg are u guys SOULMATES?!?!?"

YES YES!!!

I’ve never done a soulmark fic before, so I truly hope you enjoy this!!  I had fun writing it, either way, lol

(Quick note: Shirts v Skins in this is more Shirts v Tanks for privacy based around marks.  Most things are made so you have privacy, but a lot of people are open with their marks anyway.)

--

The day that Steve found out that Nancy wasn’t his soulmate probably should have been a little sadder.  Don’t get him wrong, Steve had been fucking heartbroken.  Had felt like something was missing inside him.  But it had made sense.  Because there was always something that didn’t click between the two of them.  Where Steve reached, Nancy pulled away. Where she went, he couldn’t follow.

He reminded himself it wasn’t her fault.  It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love him, you can’t make yourself love another person, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Also, he probably should have seen it coming when he got his mark.  When the mark appeared on his ribs, a crown encircled by a wave.

He had no fucking idea what that meant.  How it related to him and Nancy.

After the breakup, done in her front yard on her birthday in late August, when hers appeared and was a camera with an eye for a lens, he had hated looking at it.  Hated the reality it presented, even if he was happy for Nancy and Jonathan.  More jealous of what they had together.  The mark was a constant reminder that he was the problem, so he stopped showering at school after practice.  Changed and left as quickly as he could.  Did the same at home, hoping, wishing that if he just didn’t look, it would go away.  It never did.  He never looked in the mirror without a shirt anymore.

Then Billy Hargrove arrived and Steve’s world was fucked.

He was everywhere, getting into Steve’s space, challenging him for the throne he didn’t even fucking want.  Blue eyes, tanned skin, rough hands, and a tongue that refused to stay in his mouth.  Steve didn’t like to admit that that tongue had featured a lot in his dreams.  That he had imagined Billy pressing him against his bed, pressing him against fucking anything, and speaking in that low voice that hit Steve in his gut.

It wasn’t necessarily shocking, Steve had come to terms with kinda looking at boys too, but it’d never been like this.  He’d never been so utterly consumed by the thought of another person.  Not even with Nancy.  Billy Hargrove was a temptation, but also not a possibility.  He was a man’s man, a ladies man, and an all around asshole.

By the time he had joined the basketball team, Steve had developed the worst one sided crush he’d ever had in his life.  And it didn’t even make sense.  Sure, he’d noticed that Billy was smart, was attentive and observant, just like Jonathan.  But he was also a massive tool.

Practice was normal enough, Billy and Tommy doing what they could to get a rise out of Steve, but he quickly brushed it off, making a beeline for his locker.  He heard the clanking of a lock and turned to see Billy opening his locker.  When he noticed that Steve wasn’t showering he turned his wolf-like grin on him, tongue peeking out between his teeth.

“What’s up, Harrington?  Kings don’t sweat?” Steve ignored him, sighing.  Billy smirked, smile going sly and… something Steve couldn’t place.  “Got an embarrassing mark or something?” Steve rolled his eyes, blocking Billy’s view of the left side of his ribs as he pulled his shirt on.

“Just don’t want y’all tryin’ to look at my massive dick, Hargrove,” he replied.  There was a pause, then Billy laughed, loud and bright.  It sounded surprised and almost happy.

“That so, King?” Steve slammed his locker closed and shot Billy a dark look.  He kept his eyes on Billy’s, not letting them wander over the expanse of his chest.  Billy smirked, like he knew where Steve wanted to look, where he wasn’t going to look.  Steve turned on his heel and left, ignoring the blood pumping in his ears.

Then everything kinda went to shit.

Or well, really, really went to shit.

He didn’t know why Billy had to always goad him, had to be such a prick all the time.  Why he had to come here to find Max, on tonight of all nights.  Why he had to smash a fucking plate over his head.  And now here he was, being flipped over as Billy straddled him, much differently from his dreams, and got ready to beat the shit out of him.  Steve looked up at him, hating that the light created a halo behind him, hating that he looked good, hating everything.  Billy’s shirt was hiked up, Steve had tugged it free from his jeans as they grappled, and as he moved, it rose some more.

“Holy shit!” Dustin’s exclamation wasn’t new, mixing in with the cries of the other teens, but then he said something that made both boys pause.  “Your mark!” Billy went rigid on top of him, slapping his hand over the side of his back hip as he turned and leveled Dustin with a glare.

“What?” He snarled, tugging his shirt down with one hand while he held Steve down with the other.  “If you think pointing that shit out is gonna make me--”

“I’ve seen it,” he whispered, eyes widening.  “Oh my god, that’s--” He let out a weird sound, making Billy let Steve go fully, narrowing his eyes.  Steve took his chance, sitting up quickly, trying to shove Billy back, but he gripped Steve’s body with his legs, pulling him along.  They rolled and Dustin let out another strange noise.  “You guys!  Stop!” Both older teens turned to look at him, confusion on their faces.  He went forward, tugging at Billy’s shirt, trying to get a better look at his mark.  Billy scrambled away, shoving Dustin’s hands.

“What the fuck!”

“You have the same mark,” Dustin breathed, eyes going wide.  Billy stared at him, contemplating, before his eyes slowly widened.  Steve furrowed his brow, not getting it.

“What?” Billy took a step away, looking ready to run, which was so different from only moments before that Steve was feeling weirder than he had about carrying a dead monster.

“Remember when you showed me your mark,” Dustin said, speaking fast, “I would recognize it fucking anywhere--”

“Max,” Billy snapped, breath coming in shorter, “We’re fucking leaving.”

“No,” she said, anger barely restrained.  “Fuck you, Billy!  We’re doing something important.” He grit his teeth, turning his back on Steve, looking right at her.  Dustin looked between him and Steve, before his face hardened and he yanked up Billy’s shirt, mark on display.

Steve couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Fuck off, shithead!” Billy said, wrenching away from Dustin and shoving him back, though the push was weak.  He turned back to Max, not once looking at Steve, who was still staring, mind wrapping itself around Billy having a crown.  A crown with a wave circling it.  Of Billy, the total womanizing douchebag, having his mark.  “Maxine, Neil and Susan want you home, we’re leaving.”

“Wait,” Steve said.  It was quiet, but it cut through the room.  Billy tensed, not turning around.  Steve wanted to ask, wanted to show Billy his mark, wanted to figure out what the fuck was happening, but they didn’t have time.  Mike tensed up, already knowing what Steve was going to ask.  “Guys, I think--”

“No!” Mike cried.  “No, we’re not telling him!”

“He’s not gonna leave without Max,” Steve snapped, finally getting up.  Billy had retreated slightly, still twitching with anger, but his curiosity was starting to win out.  “And,” he sighed, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if we tell him, we’ll have another person to go with us and--” he let out another sigh, “We’ll do your plan.  In the tunnels.” The preteens exchanged glances and huddled together.  There was intense whispering, one ‘ew,’ and then they were turning back.

“Nothing about-- You know,” Lucas said, miming a nosebleed.  Mike looked unhappy, arms crossed as he hunched over, but he didn’t say anything.

“Fine, fine.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“What in the fuck are any of you talking about?” Billy snapped.

“Are we not going to discuss that you guys have matching marks?” Dustin said, clearly unable to read the room.  It was like all the air had been sucked out, like the eye of a storm.

“Dustin,” Steve said, voice restrained and even, “I seriously need you to drop it.”

“But--!”

“Drop.  It.” Steve said through gritted teeth.  Billy bristled and Steve’s eyes flickered over to him.  He wasn’t looking back, just angrily staring at the floor.  “Hargrove,” he said, and Billy still didn’t look at him.  “This is gonna sound weird, and you aren’t gonna believe me, but--” He paused, not sure what to say.  Then he remembered.  “Follow me.” Billy looked at him then, eyes narrowed and wary, almost scared, and wasn’t that funny.  Still, he followed, and while the kids moved to do the same, Steve glared them into submission.  “You guys get the stuff ready, okay?  You’ll just overwhelm him otherwise.” He couldn’t help it, he put his hand on Billy’s lower back, ushering him into the kitchen.  Billy moved away, movements jerky.  It felt like ice in Steve’s veins, but he could worry about his soulmate hating him later.

“So?” Billy snapped, licking his lips anxiously.  “Show me.” Steve took a deep breath and pulled open the door of the fridge.  The demodog spilled out, practically oozing onto the floor, and if it wasn’t the night it was, if hell wasn’t knocking on the door, Steve might have laughed at how bugeyed Billy went.  “What the fuck?” He breathed, eyes darting between Steve and the monster.  “What the fuck is that?”

“That,” Steve said, “Is a demodog.  It’s a monster from a different dimension called the Upside Down.  We gotta go kill and distract a horde of them so the chief can close the gate and kill their connection to the other side.” Billy stared at him, blinking.  He pursed his lip, pointing a finger, before dropping both and looking at Steve like he’d grown a second head.

“What?”

“Essentially,” Steve said, glancing at the clock and noticing they needed to leave, “We gotta go distract and maybe kill a bunch of monsters or they’ll take over Hawkins.  You in?” Billy stared at him, brow furrowed.  Steve stared back, tired and ready to fight if he had to.  Wondering about where that syringe went.  Billy finally swallowed and looked away.  His voice was low when he responded.

“You want me to come along?” He sounded almost shocked.  “Even with--” He pursed his lips, going red.  Like he hadn’t meant to bring it up, but also couldn’t stop thinking about it.  Or maybe that was just Steve.

“Of course,” Steve said, scoffing a little.  Billy frowned at him, looking defensive.  Steve licked his lips, feeling bold.  The night was already scary enough.  “I’ve been crushing on you since you got here basically.” Billy’s eyebrows shot up and Steve looked at his shoes.  There was demodog on them so he looked back up, but not at Billy.  “Even though you were a total tool,” Billy scoffed, “You were smart and like, so much more than you let people believe.” Billy was silent and Steve chanced it, looking at him.  Billy stared at him, face soft and open, at least more so than usual.

“Can I--” He licked his lips.  “Can I see it?” Steve’s breath hitched and he swallowed, nodding.  He untucked his shirt, hiking it up to show the left side of his ribs.  Billy's thick hand splayed over it, thumb rubbing the mark.  Steve shuddered, mouth parted slightly.  His touch was electric, especially over the mark.  Now that they knew, it made sense.  King Steve, engulfed and protected by the rushing and wild wave that was Billy Hargrove.  His breath hitched as he watched Billy stare, each rub of his thumb sending sparks through Steve.  The mark looked right, now.  Like it was meant to be there, bright against his pale, skin, marking him for the world to see as Billys Hargrove’s soulmate.

The thought of Billy belonging to him made him shudder again.

“If you guys are done being all sappy,” Mike Wheeler’s voice cut through the moment, shattering it like glass.  “We could maybe, I dunno, go?” Steve pulled away, beet red, and Billy looked like he could strangle the kid.  He had his lanky arms crossed, trying to look fierce, but Steve could see that he was scared.  Worried about El.  He sighed and gave Billy a loaded look, heading for the door.

“I’ll grab the axe from the shed, you kids pack up the car.” He looked at Billy. “Grab my bat will you?” Billy’s nostrils flared and he grinned, eyes alight.

“Sure thing, King.”

[jrueships]

ok so about ur kawhi/pg fic..... spill 😳

WOW IF IT ISNT MY FIRST ANON ASK A N D IT'S ABOUT MY PLANNED PG/KAWHI FIC! WHAT A TOTAL SURPRISE! I AM IN SHOCK.

Jwbdisbdjd OKAY let me just start off with a quick INFO. It's gonna be long I lied. WARNING 18+ TOPICS DISCUSSED

OKAY so the fic is taking SUPER long to write because I am NOT a horny fic writer guy! I usually stick in the G fics! But porn with feelings has me by the THROAT bro it's the way some intimate words can only be spurned through intimate actions... the complex feelings and different opinions and UGHH kawhi is just a BIG words thru actions guy AND SO IS PAUL kinda!! BUT ANYWAYS... HERES THE SFW PLOT EXPLANATION SO FAR. B U T if you want just the NSFW deets... scroll down for the emojis!!! It's very long...

So it's post clippers playoff loss but like POSTPOST and basically Paul finds out Lou Will got traded and pat bev blames Paul being awful during the playoffs for it. The encounter happens while Lou, Pat Bev, Paul, and Mann were all gambling in Vegas. Theres a whole thing where Paul was trying to teach Mann how to gamble by just telling him "do what I do." AKA bet on me. After pat bev yells at Paul and Lou has to calm the situation over, Mann loses the game AKA he betted on Paul and lost.

The whole situation makes Paul feels guilty but he's still too stuck in his zero accountability to admit it. He goes home and just plays video games to take the stress off. He tries to make excuses that try to avoid blaming/acknowledging his performance, 'The kind of Basketball theyre playing isn't just a fun sport. It's a Business. It's not his fault business happened.' So he's just blocking everything out.

But then Kawhi walks in.

They don't say anything. Kawhi just sits on the couch with him while he games. Every now and then, he'd scoot a little closer. Until he's close enough where he sets his hand down in the space between them and waits. Paul finally speaks and it's basically just a bunch of excuses tumbling out until he runs out and ends up on the verge of admitting that He (paul) messed up (the whole time he's talking, as his frustrations rise into actual anger with himself, he's exerting more and more pressure on his gaming controller). When his anger reaches its peak and almost reveals itself, he stops himself by almost breaking his controller. And he starts shaking. So he takes Kawhi's hand.

And that let's Kawhi know it's okay to touch him now. And, gentle as a light breeze, he does. He asks if he can, and when paul nods, he does. It starts as a kiss that gets deeper until paul ends up laid against the couch with kawhi on top of him.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

OKAY so. They both want this. But for different reasons and that's gonna clash.

PAUL wants to have sex so they can both let out their frustrations. He THINKS kawhi hates him and can't wait to trade him BECAUSE kawhi gambled on him and LOST so if he let's kawhi vent that anger of losing on him.. MAYBE.. maybe kawhi will stay next season and forgive him. He desperately thinks that MAYBE that's the only way kawhi CAN ever Possibly forgive him. Because Paul can't Say sorry, can't be emotionally vulnerable like that, so he'll just say it with his body and be PHYSICALLY vulnerable FOR kawhi as a twisted form of saying sorry. And a part of Paul WANTS kawhi to vent out all his anger on him during it too. A part of him, that won't ever admit it, internally believes he deserves some sort of punishment for his performance. And what better way than thru hatesex RIGHT??

But KAWHI wants to be gentle. He wants to be slow. He wants to be careful. He doesn't hate Paul because kawhi ALSO blames himself. But he's ALSO too scared to admit it. But he DOES feel bad as well. Paul took most of the backlash from the media. Kawhi Didn't. So kawhi wants to make Paul feel good. Let Paul know that kawhi is someone he can love and trust and that Kawhi is still Strong and dependable, despite his bad season. He wants Paul to say he loves him and that he feels supported and safe.

So there's a big clash between Paul wanting Kawhi to be quick and rough with the sex and Kawhi wanting Paul to slow down and not get hurt. Two stubborn prides trying to both give the other what they THINK they want.

After a kiss, Paul REALLY starts it off by trying to give kawhi a blow job, but A. Paul has never given blowjobs before and B. Kawhi is Big.

So he chokes and gags and still tries to force it down his throat because kawhi DESERVES it. It's the only thing Paul can do for kawhi at this point.

But, kawhi is concerned because OFC HE IS!!! DONT PUSH UR LIMITS WHEN HAVING SEX!!! And he pulls paul off. Paul panics Internally bcus he's like "man not only do I suck at basketball but I also suck at giving head wtf guess stripping is out of my future careers after the nba" and he really REALLY doesn't want to disappoint kawhi anymore than he already did. But paul doesn't SAY that. Doesn't COMMUNICATE that. It's a conflict that they can't solve because they don't know WHATS the problem.

So they cut off the blowjob really quick. Paul is laid out on the couch, on his front because it's the better position for first timers according to kawhis research, and waiting for kawhi to finger him. And kawhi DOES. For a LONG fucking time. It's a good time. Like the BEST. He's very sweet and sensual with it. Wants to make sure nothing hurts paul when he puts It in eventually.

But the whole time paul is kind of fighting that because he keeps thinking "how is kawhi finding any enjoyment in this at All. I mean *I* am but like.. kawhi is the one doing all the work and for what pleasure?? He just has his stupid fingers up my ass?? This is stupid and dumb and not how I thought it was gonna be for him and I don't DESERVE to be the one pleasured."

So he keeps trying to buck back, get his fingers in deeper. And Kawhi has to keep him still, once again making paul worry that he's a horrible partner who's not pleasuring kawhi at all.

Eventually the conflicting actions with unspoken words is too much and they halt the sex and paul cries because he thinks he's awful at it and it was so bad they had to stop because of him. And it's very sad and shit so they finally have a heart to heart where they actually TALK about their feelings. They both soothe each other's worries and exchange praises and EVENTUALLY they end up fucking (face to face, paul IS on his back). Paul cries because it's good and slow but this time he KNOWS it's okay to take it good and slow because kawhi gets pleasure in HIM getting pleasured and YEAH.... it's SOFT SWEET AND SLOW SEX!!!!!! I don't wanna say TOO much about the ending but YEAH man was I waiting to infodump about this shit THANK U anon who I totally did not set up into asking me this 😎👍

[bokutoslittlebird]

CHEERS TO ABOVERSE IM STILL CONFUSED BUT I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ABOVERSE

IM ON A BREAK SO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT IT at least my version of it. Many authors who write for Omegaverse have different styles of writing it and often will make it more complex or simple, depending.

A/B/O (Omegaverse) dynamics under the cut because uh... this is gonna be long

So first off, we have the rankings:

Alpha, which are the top of food chain, theoretically speaking, and are able to impregnate anyone. “But what about females?” Yes! Female alphas have a penis, like male alphas. Now, some authors will change it up. I’ve read some where the female alpha will still have the normal female genitalia, but has a penis that can pop out of the vagina? It was weird explanation, but that’s the gist. I’ve also read it where the female alpha is born with male genitalia, so only a penis. They could also have both, it is really up to the author’s wishes. Alphas have cycles of prime breeding which is referred to as a rut.

Betas are considered the normal class, they’re the middle men. Betas do not have cycles but they do have a scent. Male betas can get female betas and omegas pregnant, and alphas and male betas can get female betas pregnant. This means female betas go through their normal menustration cycles.

Omegas are the last class rank. They are the baby makers and can get pregnant regardless of their gender. So, male omegas. They also have a prime breeding cycle which is referred to as a heat (which is very similar, in my opinion, to a normal female’s estrus period). The equivalent for this in female betas is ovulation. Now, omegas can have babies, but how do you do that if you’re male? Well, some male omegas will have female genitalia, or they go through a c-section. Some authors write it with the baby coming out of the butt. It’s weird, but it’s creative expression, no strict laws of Omegaverse. Some male omegas will have the normal male genitalia, the penis and ballsack. These are useless, however.

Now, I headcanon that there is an extra level to both omegas and alphas. Some people have the abo dynamics interacting to create alpha/beta genes or beta/alpha genes (yes, there’s a difference). I add a level to alphas, so they’re a cut above the rest. This would include, but not be limited to, Enji Todoroki (BNHA), Iwaizumi Hajime (HQ!!), and Bokuto Kōtarō (HQ!!). These alphas above alphas would be deemed “Apex Alphas”. I have seen this term used before, I just can’t remember which blog I follow (or followed) used it, so please let me know if anyone knows where the term was coined; same with the omegas. An omegas extra level is a “Fecund Omega”, and these are highly submissive, housewife-esque omegas. These can include, do not come at me for this, Yachi Hitoka (HQ!!), Rei Todoroki (BNHA), and Oikawa Goshiki Tsutomu (HQ!!). Why them? Because I feel like they just are. Of course, they can be whatever you headcanon them as. Jesus fuck i hc Oikawa As a bottom and an omega but I know a lot of people don’t see that so it’s personal opinion.

If you’ve gotten this far, you’re probably still caught on that whole “scent” thing. If you’re not, that’s okay. You’re still gonna read this. Scents are distinguishing smells that each alpha, beta, and omega carry. An alpha’s pheromones are stronger and overpower an omega’s and beta’s. Betas, while they have scents, cannot actually smell the distinguishing scent (See BokuAka: Threesome, Kinktober day 13 for an example). Omegas have scents which are often more feminine, usually referred to as being “sweet” or “floral”. There is nothing wrong with that, but it doesn’t mean an omegas scent has to be feminine. An alpha’s/omega’s scent increases and gets heavier with their rut/heat cycle. Fan fictions set in school setting are usually introducing a set of guidelines for this: either the alpha/omega is forced to stay home during their cycle, or some kind of suppressors are put in place. I’ve seen medicine used, scent-blocking collars, as well as a “special perfume/cologne” (it was only in one fic and it was on Wattpad, so not common).

Alphas and omegas also tend to fall to their instincts more often than not. It isn’t a common theme, but I feel like it would fit properly. Maybe if an apex alpha gets a whiff of an omega about to enter a heat cycle, that alpha will then become obsessed with that omega, perhaps even howling (the idea of Bokuto howling at a Reader who accidentally entered a heat cycle gets me hot dont @ me).

Onto intercourse aka sex! So, alphas have what is called a knot. It is used to plug up their mate (which is their s/o) full of their cum, yummy! Jk The knot itself will inflate as the session goes on, and is quite painful for the receiving partner. Due to this, some authors will write it so a knot is only used during a rut or heat cycle. I do them regardless because, well, I like it. Also, alphas will be adamant about not being submissive or on the receiving end due to instincts, and vice versa for omegas. Their instincts come first when it comes to their cycles, definitely, but in general as well. Knotting also faces a problem, aside from the stretch: the inflation lock. The knot acts as a plug, yes? So, the alpha has to wait for their knot to deflate before detaching themselves from their partner. This can take a few moments, until the alpha has expended their seed and possibly until both parties breathe normally. I’ve also seen it where this can last up to 30 minutes, so get comfortable!

There is another aspect of sex with alphas, but is not necessarily only with sex (it will commonly be seen during intercourse, however). That is marking. I don’t mean writing a name on skin with a marker or branding their name into skin (even tho that’s hot), no. Biting down hard enough to draw blood, therefore leaving a mark? Yes. This lays claim to an omega or beta by an alpha and is a signal of a lasting relationship. Here’s where authors differ: how long the mark lasts. Some have the marks last forever, some only a week, some a month, some for years. It depends. When a mark starts to fade, it requires the alpha to once again claim their mate. This can also lead into angst material, as I’ve read one fic where the alpha marked an unmated omega and essentially ruined their life. Or, on a different note, having a mark that will last for months and having their mate die and soon, their mark fades too. Now, both omegas and alphas can mark their mates, it’s more commonly seen with alphas, though. Betas are not seen to mark their partners, but can be marked by an alpha or omega.

I briefly mentioned scenting, which is different from scents. Let me explain. Scents are what an individual has that is their distinguishable smell. This can vary from person to person, author to author. For example, I headcanon that Akaashi (HQ!!), regardless of rank, has a distinct spearmint and/or coffee smell, which is actually quite common for him. On the other side, I headcanon someone like Bokuto to smell like a pine forest, maybe even sandalwood? Something rustic, but other authors may see him smelling like a beach or even like smoke, due to his love of barbeque. The scents are completely versatile and can come from their hobbies, interests, or favorite food. For example, Sugawara’s scent could be spicy, like maybe it has a hint of Tabasco sauce or Buffalo sauce. Another indicator of scents, if they don’t have specific interests or a favorite food (looking at you, Osamu 👁👁), their scent can somehow relate to their personality. Like in the Suga headcanons, his omega had a spicy scent because of their chaotic, feral energy. Osamu would probably smell like a recently extinguished fire, or the air before a storm. Calm, quiet, but a warning. Scents get heavier with heats and ruts, of course, but they can also be amplified due to emotions. This is often seen in fics where an omega is upset and their alpha can tell and comfort them. Or, if you’re into angst, the beta cannot properly be there for their alpha/omega because they cannot smell their scent. (Yeah I went over this twice but it’s an important aspect of Omegaverse)

Scenting is different because, well, it’s a verb first off. So, an action. Scenting is usually what mates do to mark a claim. So, scents come from scent glands (I usually put them on the neck, as do other authors). Scenting is the action of rubbing their scent onto their mate/partner. Like I said previously, alpha’s scents overpower others, so if an alpha scents an omega, their scent could stay on the entire day. An omega’s scent doesn’t hold very long, but it’s faintly there. A beta cannot, in my little world, carry another’s scent. They have their own scents, but cannot be scented or be scenting anyone.

I think that’s everything lmao. Like I said, every author differs so this is basically my system of Omegaverse. A lot of people think Omegaverse is weird or just complicated and strange, but I see it as a way to explore, kind of? Like, if I wanna make this one character go absolutely feral, I make them an alpha or omega (see Kinktober piece, day 13, again lmao). There’s a lot of freedom when it comes down to it, since their is no strict rule or law about how it is to be written or produced. Not only that, it’s an AU that can be added onto anything, since it only really affects the genitalia and who can get pregnant, yknow? It’s also good as a society set up for gay ships, like BokuAka or IwaOi, having Akaashi and Oikawa being omegas while Bokuto and Iwaizumi are alphas. This is because same sex couples are still frowned upon in most countries, especially America (the south) and Japan. It also gives these gay ships a chance to have their own little offsprings together, which is downright adorable. I personally enjoy writing Omegaverse more than regular stuff because it adds an extra element to work with and don’t get me started on the whole predator-prey dynamic. Delicious 💦