#that's like asking for my brain to wear a hole in the carpet of my anxiety

[f4iryfever]

im in such a taehyun brain rot, i need to let this out or I’ll most likely die-

warnings; ab riding, dirty talk, name calling (whore, slut), pet names (baby), swear words, mention of face riding, afab!reader, not proofread

MINORS DNI!!

It was just a normal afternoon with your boyfriend, Taehyun, you were on the carpet of your shared bedroom watching television and your boyfriend was on the bed resting with his limbs stretched out after a long day of work. But something was different.

Maybe it was the loose vest that your boyfriend was wearing or maybe it was the way his forearms were positioned in a way that had his muscles bulking out or maybe it was the way you could see your boyfriend’s abs through the holes in his vest.

But whatever it was, it had your panties uncomfortably wet; you tried rubbing your thighs together for friction but that was useless.

Almost as if he was reading your mind, Taehyun moved one of his knees up causing his vest to expose more of his chiselled abs. You chewed on your bottom lip as dirty thoughts invaded your mind of how pretty your boyfriend would look with your cum dripping down his abs or how pathetic you would look when you ride his cock after begging him; something that your boyfriend always made you do.

All of a sudden, Taehyun threw his phone on the other side of the bed before looking directly in your eyes, “Instead of staring like a perv, why don’t you come and show me just how desperate you are.”

“Hmm?” You hummed, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at him with your big innocent doe eyes that were opposite to what your mind was thinking.

With a smirk, Taehyun pulled his vest up to reveal his abs. Your mouth watered at the sight as your panties grew even wetter, Taehyun laughed patronisingly at your reaction, patting softly on his belly. “Come on baby, ride my abs,”

Almost instantly you jumped onto the bed, positioning yourself perfectly on his abs before pushing your panties to side. You held onto his strong chest as you placed yourself on his belly — you let out a loud gasp when his cold skin collided with your plush pearl. You began rolling your hips onto his abs, feeling your slick drip onto every part of it.

Taehyun’s eyes never left your figure, watching awestruck at the way you were gliding dirtily on his abs. It boosted his ego knowing that something as simple as his abs would have such an effect on you. “That’s it my little slut, just like that, pleasure yourself on daddy’s abs.”

Your mouth went agape every time your clit made contact with his skin as you felt your hole clench around nothing. Sinful moans spilled out your mouth when you felt his calloused finger pads close around your hardened nipples, rubbing and pulling them.

“Ah t-tyun!” You threw your head back when you felt the man underneath slowly move his torso, making your pussy feel every inch of his skin.

Your legs began to shake as the knot in your stomach grew tighter, begging to be untied and almost as if he read your mind; Taehyun moved his head up to enclose his warm mouth around your nipple, keeping a hand on the other one. You gasped aloud, threading your fingers in his hair as you tugged at it gently, feeling him suck hardly on your bud.

“Ah Ahhh! I-I’m gonna cum!!!” You wailed out, placing your hands onto his shoulders for support as your clit continuously abused itself on his abs. “F-fuckkkk,” You whined out feeling the knot finally untie and your orgasm sprawled out on his stomach.

Taehyun placed his large hands onto your hips and rocked you against his perfectly sculptured abs, helping you ride out your orgasm.

When you finally came down from your high, you tried to plop down next to him but was only held down tighter by his hands. “What are you doing?” You asked in confusion, finally looking at him only to see his once sparkly boba eyes turn to dark lust filled ones.

“You think I’d let you ride only my abs?” He smirked, “Sit on my face.”

A/N: guys im so sorry for not writing that much, I’ve been revising SO much for my exam tomorrow but i promise after tomorrow, you’ll see me post a LOT!!

tag list; @babymochibeargyu @inkigayocamman @reylwq

[ssinboo]

Midnights To Come

summary: After finding campus heartthrob Kim Mingyu absolutely butchering his trousers trying to fix the hole he'd busted in them, you offer his your sewing abilities. As retribution, he thinks that nothing is more fitting than his ultimate mission: getting you laid.

or

You and Mingyu spend an unforgettable night together.

pairing: University!AU - Popular!Mingyu x Unpopular!F!Reader, reader does read on the thicker side? Nothing specific.

word count: 6.8k (30~ minute read)

warnings: protected sex (finally), fingering (F rec), drinking, partying

a/n: Thank you so much for the love <3 This is mostly inspired by Taylor Swift's older music lol I'm starting a new job soon, so I'll be mostly MIA for march and perhaps april TT

Kim Mingyu was the ex-boyfriend of a friend’s friend’s cousin, unforgettably handsome with the sort of beauty that belonged in Hollywood. A very tall glass of gorgeous with an incredible personality to boot, that’s why everyone adored him. He was majoring in business to follow in his father’s footsteps but was a star at football and made sure no one would forget just who was the best lineman on their amateur team. 

And you’d met once or twice, briefly. Definitely not enough for him to come even close to becoming acquainted with your existence, but more than sufficient for him to leave his mark. He was a campus Idol, a guy you admired for his popularity and his way with people.

It was at a senior’s party your friend had dragged you to, that you met again. You were quietly searching for some solace in an empty room upstairs, when you saw him fiddling with his pants – It was hard not to notice his large frame struggling with a pair of jeans in the dark bedroom corner.

Being quite fair, at first you believed he was relieving himself, carnally. That was a puzzling sight as horrifying as it would be— I mean, the man had lines of women throwing themselves to be his, why would he just jerk off?  And then, you noticed the stapler he was using to completely butcher the fabric in a desperate way to fix the large hole. 

“Oh my God, just stop!” You exclaim, not being able to watch such abuse any longer. He was known to wear brand-name goods and just the thought of high quality fabric being assaulted by staples made your skin churn.

You, however, had totally forgotten to announce your presence. 

Mingyu jumps, falling off the bed in a split-second, clashing into the carpet with a thunderous thump. Eyes blown wide like a moose in headlights, he stares at you from his half-down half-on-the-bed position, suddenly, completely aware of his nakedness.

“Oh- Fuck–!” He exclaims, stumbling off the bed and pulling the jeans to cover his brand-name boxers.

“OH!” You also seem to realise how inappropriate it was to simply barge into his intimate moment with the stapler. “I’m sorry!” You yell from behind your palms, eyes tightly shut. 

“...No problem?” It sounds more of a question than anything. I mean, it was the polite thing to say when someone says “I’m sorry” however, there was a problem. 

“Do you need any help?” You ask, still muffled and hidden behind your hands. Mingyu has no idea on how to reply, he is familiar with those words, especially coming from a lady, but this scenario is totally different from the sexy ones he’s accustomed to. “I’m a seamstress,” Your brain urges for an explanation, as to make the situation somewhat less awkward.

He seems to be content with that. “You are?”

“Yes!” You turn around, fishing around your purse for a small sewing kit, pink plastic box with teeny tiny everything. “I have some needles and thread.” 

“Oh, thank God!”

That’s how you find yourself sitting on some stranger’s bed with a half-naked Mingyu – You’re carefully patching up the seams on his jeans while he sits cross-legged with a pillow between his legs. 

Who would’ve known that years into University, your closest call with a boy would be such a weird scenario. Sitting with the campus heartthrob as you stitch up his busted trousers. What a story to tell your friends. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” He breaks the awkward silence, reaching out his hand; He then realises you are occupied and takes it back.

You tell him your name, eyes glued to the intricate detailing on the garment.

“Are you new here?” He asks, curiously studying your face.

“No,” You mutter, holding a needle between your lips so you can inspect your stitches. 

“How come we’ve never met?” 

“We have.”

Mingyu adjusts himself, leaning closer, “No”

“Yes?” 

“No!” 

“You dated my friend’s friend’s cousin,” You explain, though it doesn’t help.

“I’ve dated plenty of friends’ friends’ cousins’,” Mingyu half-chuckles, practically patting himself on the back for that one. 

You roll your eyes, “We met once or twice, nothing major.”

“I would’ve remembered you.” 

“You didn’t,” Laughing, you don’t even notice he’s taken offence to his own forgetfulness.

“I don’t forget a pretty girl,” It is said as a matter of factly, a worldly known truth of sorts.

“You haven’t.” 

“I forgot you, apparently,” Mingyu is more frustrated than you’d expect – Than anyone would expect for such a laid back guy.

“I’m not pretty, though?” 

Oh, he is furious at such a statement, “What?! Of course you are. You are a solid 7.5, no joke, dude.”

A solid seven point five? Wow. Coming from anyone else, that could be taken as an offence, I mean, what about you made them go so high up the scale yet not even give a full number? But you were talking about THE Kim Mingyu.

That not only tickles your ego in the right spot, but does get a good laugh out of you. Mingyu laughs along, not fully grasping the humour of it, but enjoying the sound of your giggles. 

“Thanks,” You smile, pulling out your scissors to clip the last of your thread. “Here, it’s done.” 

He widens his eyes, “So fast?!” 

With a nod, you put everything back in your pocket kit. Mingyu excitedly inspects his trousers and his jaw falls open once he can’t locate where your repairs are. 

“It’s perfect!”

You smile, “Great!” 

“Wow. You are some kind of sewing genius! Thanks! You saved my life”

Mingyu proceeds to rant about how great you are and how amazing your skills are and you should totally work with sewing – you are, and that you should make clothes – you do. All because you are just that good – from a small repair. 

You were happy with just helping him, seeing it as a finished mission, ready to pack up and head home but he would not have that, oh, no. Mingyu was laser focused on repaying your kindness – he said he hates owing people so you had to accept.   His manner of retribution? Partying and maybe, if you got lucky, getting you laid. It was his mission now.

So he dragged you downstairs to meet his inebriated friends, all surprisingly welcoming and not nearly as douchy as you’d expected – Soonyoung was especially keen on having you accompany him on the dance floor. Even drunk, his abilities surpassed any of your own and he absolutely demolished the floor with his intricate choreo. 

Seokmin pulled you from the dance floor to join him on a cheesy karaoke battle, the one feat no man can accomplish being as stone-cold sober as you were. His usually impeccable vocals suffered under the alcohol and strained over high-notes. So you just plucked the first poor soul you saw in the crowd to substitute you as Seokmin’s duet.  

Stumbling through the crowd and away from the karaoke, you finally find Mingyu, giving him “Help me” eyes. He laughs softly at your predicament, stumbling from his friend’s shoulder to wrap his arm around your neck — his exaggerated stature almost sent you crashing down. 

“Come on, no one caught your eye?” He slurs his words, wild tongue running over his pretty lips, classic red solo cup dangerously dangling from his long fingers. You can see from up close the drunken blurriness that glazes his pretty eyes with unhinged impulsiveness.

You chuckle, remembering his goal was to set you up for a “Hot date”. 

“Not at all. But I had fun.” 

“Whaat?!” He whines in frustration, stepping forward so you’re facing each other. His arm is still heavily draped over your shoulders. “You didn’t have fun!” 

“I did!” You argue.

“No…” Mingyu pouts.

“I did! I promise,” Offering him a smile, you await his response. 

“Have a drink with me?” 

God, he was a pro at puppy-dog-eyes. With pouty lips, glistening under the remnants of his drink and sparkling eyes with furrowed brows. 

“I don’t– I don’t drink,” You’re so upset with the idea of disappointing him and his adorable pout though he barely pays it any mind. 

“Then we can do something else! Come on!” 

“No, Mingyu–!” 

But he’s dragging you away from the party, placing the edge of his cup between his teeth so he can snatch his coat from the hangers on his way out. You’re stumbling under his weight and hurried steps, but the night air feels so refreshing after the stuffy frat house you practically forget his intentions. 

The house behind you thumps under the song that blasts through its brick walls, colourful LEDs flashing from open windows. The front yard feels almost completely separate from the party inside, a world apart from the drunk atmosphere that holds the stifling rooms. 

Mingyu drags you toward the pavement and standing before his car, you feel your stomach drop once you see him press the button to open the door. 

“Mingyu– You– You’re drunk. You can’t drive,” You stumble over your words, nervously fidgeting with your clothes, even if you left right now, would he still drive?

“I won’t. You’re sober,” He says as a matter of factly and you hadn’t even considered driving this insanely expensive sports car. 

Mingyu opens the driver’s door and stands there, gesturing for you to get in. A true gentleman. With a relieved breath, you do. 

It’s a convertible – Of course, it is, no other car would fit his personality as well. The chassis is coloured a blinding firetruck red and the rims are a polished silver, it’s so clearly well-maintained you feel nervous about driving it. The leather seats smell so vividly of his cologne, woody and fresh.

Mingyu closes your door and jogs to his seat, he jumps over his door with ease, settling onto the beige leather seat with a soft thump.

“Here’s ignition, turn signals, speed and all that,” He leans over and points to each item. 

“Is it stick?”

“Nah, I had it modified, it’s completely automatic.” 

“Wow, disappointed in you… I thought you’d drive stick like a real man,” You tease, leaning over to check the height for the seat – It’s obviously too far back so you adjust it forward.

“Too busy getting my dick sucked to worry about changin’ gears,” He sticks his tongue between his teeth, leaning back with a proud smile. 

“Oh, god,” You groan, “Should I be touching any surface on this car?”

“Nope.”

You laugh.

After putting on your seatbelt, you look over and notice that of course, he’s not wearing his. With a roll of your eyes, you lean over and pull the seat belt over his chest. Mingyu would’ve flinched had he not been tipsy, his eyes linger on your body over his, how your left hand holds the belt at his chest while your right hand fiddles with the lock. 

And you have such pretty long lashes that flutter along your cheeks as you focus on finding the clip for the belt. A soft furrow between your brows, you’re sighing and biting on your lower lip; He notices the pretty shade of red that you wear.

But you’re already done and it’s clipped on with a satisfying click. 

“Driver’s rules, shotgun shuts his mouth,”  You say before he can protest the safety measures.

You smile so brightly, happily turning back to the wheel, excited over this incredible machine that lays in your hands. More than the alcohol in his bloodstream, your joy is intoxicating.  

And the car comes alive with a satisfying roar, you feel the soft vibrating from the wheel course up your wrists. For you, following the speed limit felt perfect, the wheel turned so smoothly and the pedals felt the perfect height. But the little devil on the passenger’s seat kept egging you on to go faster. 

Caving to his wishes, you take the highway out of town, breezing through asphalt with no sight of other cars. The confidence that such a smooth ride gives is true, you feel yourself steadily increasing the speed much to Mingyu’s satisfaction.

The wind in your hair, caressing your face with the exhilarating night air, the thrilling constant hum of such a potent engine working to your heart’s content. Nothing could beat the constellation of artificial lighting that lit the night scenery, every building held its own collection.

“Where should I go?” You ask, suddenly remembering you’re supposed to have a destination, your eyes absolutely glued to the road. 

“Somewhere nice,” Mingyu hums, thinking for a second.

He leans back, his left hand is carelessly draped over your headrest and you can feel his fingers fidget with your hair so unconsciously. Any of his go-to destinations were made for getting hot and heavy, which wasn’t the goal tonight; He wanted to repay you for helping him out and you hadn’t shown any interest in… other manners of payment. So it left him with only one option. 

“Take a left next turn,” He says, leaning forward to dig through the glovebox. 

Mingyu finds a pair of sunglasses, putting them on despite the very obvious lack of Sunlight. He offers you a spare set, and though you’d love to enjoy wearing Prada sunglasses that probably cost more than your entire net worth, you also enjoy seeing anything on the road. So you push them on top of your head, pushing your hair back. 

Somewhere along the deserted road, Mingyu grabs the AUX cord, connecting it to his phone and going through his very generic musical taste. But the atmosphere is so perfect you can’t help but enjoy the bubblegum pop blasting from the dashboard. You even sing along. 

It’s a comfortable silence, filled with Pop music and laughter. 

You drive for almost an hour under his strict directions, until you reach a dirt road. There’s an alarm blaring in your mind, realising that you’re far from civilization, in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. I mean, serial killers were always described as charismatic, right? 

Making a deal with yourself, you decide that if he does anything even remotely suspicious you’re running the car off the road. You’ll die, but he’ll go with you.

Against your anxiety, however, he tells you to pull up at a clearing just ahead and once you arrive, there’s no doubt on why he chose this place.

From atop this hill, you can see far into the city, its blinding lights nothing but tiny stars on the horizon, the noise pollution of a bustling metropolis is totally gone and replaced by the calming murmurs of nature. Before he can even say anything, you’re leaving the car to admire such a view. 

The moon is full, a pale veil over both of you, standing in the starry sky as the queen, ruling over her stars. The light caressing your body with the warmth of the perfect Summer night.

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, leaning against the hood of his car. 

You can’t help but to briefly admire the picturesque scene he paints with his playboy aura and Hollywoodian beauty, leaning against this straight-out-of-a-movie convertible. He has this side smirk, knowing this breathtaking landscape can’t be topped by any of your past experiences. 

“It’s…” There aren’t words you can find to describe such a view.  “I– Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

He visibly relaxes, as if he was waiting anxiously for your opinion, “It’s my favourite place.”

“I can see why,” You laugh, joining him, though you have a little trouble stabilising your butt over the hood.

“Everything feels small when I come here,” He explains. 

Turning to face him, your stomach is filled with annoying little butterflies that flutter around and tickle your insides with foolish thoughts. 

His moonlit profile is somehow prettier than his beauty in any other lighting, his perfect nose and high cheekbones and his eyes, God, his eyes. They hold in their dark orbs, all of the stars and worlds, in its ethereal shine. 

You hum, prying your gaze from him before your brain gets any outlandish rushes of dopamine and creates unattainable ideas. 

Mingyu leans back, his lanky body hitting the windshield, his eyes stare up at the stars. At this moment, he wishes he knew constellations from the top of his head, then maybe, he could impress you with his astronomical knowledge. 

“You look like a movie star right now… I feel like I’m in a movie,” Joking, you lean on your elbow, unconsciously following his body with your own. 

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” He asks on a spur of the moment.

You laugh, “When I grow up?”

Mingyu realises what you meant by your question and laughs along, “You know what I meant.”

Though you’re caught aback, there’s not much thinking to be done, “I want to design clothes.”

He hums, “It suits you, I think.” He didn’t know you that well, but it seemed fitting.

You chuckle, “You?”

Mingyu lets out a long sigh, leaning on his elbows to stare up at you, “CEO, I guess.”

“Have you always wanted to be a CEO?”

His lips press into a thin line and he hesitates on how much he should tell, throwing caution into the air, Mingyu decides to open up. “I honestly… Don’t want to.”

You furrow your brows, “Won’t you take over your father’s company?” 

He nods, “That’s what I should do.”

“Then what do you want to be?”

It’s such an innocent question and in all honesty, sort of childish almost? Something you would ask a small child and just agree with whatever they come up with. But it’s something he was never allowed to question.

“I… Don’t think I know.” 

You hum, “You could be an actor,” It’s a bit of a tease as much as it is the truth. 

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, sitting up so he can face you properly. You have this soft smile on your face that holds so much warmth for a stranger like him, it almost feels undeserving. 

“An actor?” He prods. 

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You just have the vibes for it… Living a thousand lives in just one, I think you could play any character really well. Plus, you have the looks. I always told my friends you have a face that belongs in Hollywood.” It comes out so naturally, you barely realise what you’ve said until he’s staring at you. “I– Sorr–”

Mingyu smashes his lips into yours. 

You squeak, but don’t shy away from his plush lips. 

His left hand reaches for your jaw, fingers softly tracing your cheek with certain hesitancy but you lean into his touch so willingly he can’t help the bubbling feeling that comes to life deep in his belly. 

When your lips part, you feel the night breeze caress the parts of your body he touched and you find your body misses his warmth. 

Your brain simply can’t function. 

In your brilliant academic journey, romance had never been an aspect you entertained. You quickly learned at thirteen that a fairytale story only happens to cute girls with nice hair and pretty bodies. And not the one repeatedly being used as the butt-end of a cruel joke. 

Mingyu represented everything you would never have; A popular, rich guy with amazing hair and looks out of this world. And he was nice, too. Took time of his day to hang out with you and to repay what had been an instinctive action; help out someone. 

It could only have been a mistake, right?

Mingyu, noticing the dread that paints your pretty face, can’t help the cold shiver that takes over his body, “I… I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine! I won’t tell anyone.” You reply all too fast.

“What?” He blinks a couple of times, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, I won’t ruin your reputation…”

He practically jumps from the car, standing in front of you, “Say it again.” 

You look up, his towering height has never once been intimidating, until now, “...I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“No, what the fuck do you mean ruin my reputation, why would kissing you ruin it?” His voice possesses such anger you couldn’t even think he was capable of. But you feel yourself getting upset, how long will he torture you with this? Do you need to say with all words how undesirable you are?

“Because no one in their right mind should be seen with a girl like me!” You blurt out, feeling his anger seep into your body.

“A girl like you?” He huffs in disbelief. “A girl that indulged me, was nice to my friends and let me drag her to the middle of nowhere?” Mingyu leans forward, caging your body in between his arms. “ A pretty, kind girl, who helped me without asking anything for it? What kind of girl, tell me.” He orders, his voice in a low, hushed tone that tickles your nose when he speaks.

Speechless, you’re sitting there, face to face with a guy that genuinely shows interest in you, told you you’re pretty for the nth time tonight and has the most kissable lips you’ve seen. 

His jaw is tight with anger, almost as if he’s got a personal vendetta against you self-hatred, but your stupid lustful brain can’t focus on anything but the sharp cut of his jaw, deep veins bulging from tanned skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, so quietly you think you hallucinated it. But it’s very much true. 

He looks so irresistible, half-lidded eyes staring at your lips while he bites his own. 

“Please,” you exhale, melting into his body when he leans forward. 

You were never a woman of action, preferring when others make the move, but in this moment you have this newfound confidence, meeting his lips halfway, crashing into a fervorous kiss.

It’s nothing like your first, you feel the heat emanating from his body, scorching hot seeping into your skin, burning every nerve it touches with fervorous want. 

His tongue is in your mouth, anxious and exploring and he is humming against your lips such an intoxicating melody that for a second, you’re a stranded sailor falling for the voice of a siren and dipping into the arms of unimaginable beauty.

Saliva drips from your connected lips but he refuses to end the kiss, no. Because you taste of cherry flavoured hard candies, provocatively luscious with a delicious aftertaste that can only leave you longing for more. 

He parts the kiss, leaning back and practically tearing his varsity jacket from his body. You’re watching closely as he lays it behind you, over the car.

Right hand moving to your waist, Mingyu pushes forward until you’re laying on the hood, so pretty. Your body is still finding his, your chest leaning forward so you can mould into his warmth, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, closer, closer. 

You’re breathless, eyes trained on his every move with such incredulity as if you believed you were in a dream, hallucinating every moment so far. 

He can feel every curve of your body pressing tightly against his. It’s evident the effect you’re having on him, blood boiling in his veins with unadulterated desire.

There has never been a moment in his life where he genuinely cared to go slow, to show his passion and intent; Every partner of his had been as much into the act as he had been. 

But you, you’re so fragile and every moment he spends in your presence feels so ephemeral, he can not help the panic that rushes into his body to make it worth it, to make every second last.

His lips trace along your jaw, saliva coating the path he trails down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. And his lips are so gentle and enticing, with their sugary kisses that you lean into because you’ve never felt something so wonderful. 

He nibbles and kisses on your exposed skin, teeth grazing across the teeniest bit of cleavage showing from your borrowed dress. So far, you had done an amazing job at keeping the sounds he elicited from leaving your lips, however this once, you couldn’t hold the breathy mewl that escapes. 

Mingyu freezes, eyes slowly rising up until they meet your face. 

“Oh my god, do it again,” He huffs against your sensitive skin.

“W-What?” You ask.

“That sound you just did, god, you sound so fucking hot,” And he slurs against your chest. Not because of alcohol, no, he had sobered up on the windy car ride, but intoxicated on the effortless warmth that you exude. 

You lit a flame on his chest that burns incandescently with nothing but greedy lust, burning its way through his body with an unfathomable hunger that could only be satisfied by your sweetest moans. 

He struggles with the buttons that decorate the cleavage of your dress, trying to undo them and seriously questioning his soberness when they do not separate.

“It’s got a zipper,” You admit, but he looks so relieved. 

Mingyu leans back, pulling you by your hand until you crash into his chest and he can finally reach the back of your dress. You’re breathing so heavily against his skin, your soft hands grazing along the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair; He can hardly focus on the task at hand. 

His right hand runs under the skirt of your dress, clawing at your flesh with heavy hands, almost as if he wanted to hold you fully in his touch. Toying with the band of your panties, he sighs, watching your chest heave at the contact.

You pull your dress sleeves off, letting the fabric bundle around your waist, though you can’t be arsed to properly take it off. Mingyu does not mind at all, no, he’s absolutely hypnotised by the sight of your tits.

Shoving his face onto your cleavage, he’s pulling you closer into his body by your hips, sucking love bites on your unblemished skin. Leaving a trace of him that would last longer than your moments together, a mark of momentary possession that allowed his brain to indulge.  

And you’re contaminated with his boldness, clawing at his shirt with relentless anticipation. You suddenly have this peculiar urge to feel his skin on yours, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

Mingyu smiles against your skin, finding your hands that touch him fervently, wrapping his fingers around yours. And for a brief moment, you feel as though you might’ve wronged him, but he pulls your hands to wrap around his neck as he finds your lips again while his hands are pulling on the hem of his shirt.

The kiss is only parted once, when he pulls the white shirt above his shoulders and discards it somewhere across the soft grass; completely unimportant at the moment. 

And god, Mingyu is divinely sculpted with defined pecs and hardened abs that tense under your touch. You sigh at the dreamy sight of his tan skin completely exposed for your viewing only. 

He relishes in the adoring look you exhibit, eyes dripping wholly in an exquisite hunger you’ve never felt before; And he coerces this scandalous reaction from you with pride. Your hands are eager to touch him, so you do. You run your fingers down his supple skin, fingernails grazing in teasing lines. 

Smoothing out your hands up his chest, you find his neck and pull him toward your lips, wanting to feel his bare skin on yours, stealing his heat until your bodies are running at the exact same temperature.

His hands, large and calloused from playing professional sports, lay heavy on your thighs. Mingyu pulls at the waistband of your panties and takes a second to lock eyes with you, guaranteeing your approval. 

You can only hope you’ve got the good pair of underwear on. 

But it doesn’t matter, because he pulls it off at once, discarding it above his shoulder to fall somewhere along his shirt. 

Your dress is bunched up around your waist and you should’ve felt more embarrassed to be completely exposed before him but Mingyu looks at you with such reverent eyes, taking every inch of abundant flesh with care. 

“Fuck–” He groans, eyes glued to the spot between your legs. You can’t even close them in an attempt at modesty because he is standing right there and not going anywhere. 

He runs a slender finger across your slit, breathing heavier at the sight of moisture that pools along the lips. 

When you bite your lower lip, unknowingly coquettish and staring at him all bright eyed and pleading, Mingyu let out a strained sound that could barely be classified as a groan. 

“Can I?” 

His finger dances around your slit and he looks unsure. You nod with a soft “Yeah.”

Nothing like anything you’ve felt or done before.

That’s the only way to explain the feeling of having his long finger prodding at your hole with gentle movement. He soon joins another one, stretching you out with delicate scissoring motions, he’s not focused on making you cum, he wants to prepare you for him. 

And that very thought makes your stomach tighten in anticipation. 

You don’t even realise when your hips are thrusting against his hand, matching his pace. And you’re definitely not thinking when you ask in a gasp:

“A… Another one–”

Mingyu stills. 

“You don’t fuckin–” He leans forward, forehead flushed to yours, uneven breath tickling your sensitive lips. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me, babygirl.” 

You feel your body consumed with an unstoppable amount of confidence, knowing the grip you hold over Mingyu at this moment, you’re dizzy with power.

“Show me, then,” The lazy smile that finds your red stained lips is a sight to bear.

He smirks, knowing he will make you eat your words soon. 

As he pulls his fingers from your cunt, there is a thick string of arousal that coats his skin in a sinful glaze. With a confident smirk, Mingyu 

But he doesn’t expect when you lean forward, letting your tongue run all over, cleaning his fingers and tasting first-hand the pleasure he brings you. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

Mingyu could’ve cum right then and there. 

You’re giggling as he fumbles with his belt, he wishes he could’ve stopped to appreciate such a sweet sound, but he was way too horny to think about anything other than plunging his cock into you at once. 

When the night breeze hits his throbbing erection, Mingyu shivers.

You’re chewing on your lower lip, equal parts excited and terrified at his sheer size. He is large. And fat, with bulging veins running down his length and a thick head that’s trickling with pre-cum. 

“Oh my god.” 

Mingyu cowers at your gasp, “What?”

“You’re huge, fuck.” 

Oh, your praise runs straight down to his erection. His chest puffs out with absolute pride.

“Do you have a condom?” It was a silly question when aimed toward Mingyu, of course he did. He always does. 

He fishes out his wallet and pulls a fresh packet, tearing the foil apart with his teeth and pulling the pre-lubed rubber. Mingyu is about to roll it over himself when your hands find his. 

“Can I–?” You ask and he almost sighs. 

He watches you with bated breath. You’re delicate, small hands quietly rolling the condom over his seemingly unending length until you’ve reached the base. Your fingers linger in curiosity and he can’t help but to find it adorable.

Properly protected, Mingyu grasps his length as you position yourself better on the hood, legs wide open, dripping in anticipation. Oh, you couldn’t fault his desire to tease, could you?

Running his tip over and over your drenched core, he groans. You’re clenching around nothing, hands fidgeting with the bunched up fabric of your dress. Mingyu has a stupid confident smirk on his lips, watching you squirm at his minimal touch. 

“Mingyu!” You whine when he brushes against your clit. Reaching your right hand, you claw at his heaving chest. He doesn’t budge, however.

“What?” He plays dumb, toying with your hole. 

“F-Fuck me? Please…?”

Fuck seven point five, you were a ten, a twenty, a one-hundred, no fucking numbers could quantify your allure, no. You could charm your way out of any crime if you pursed your brows and pouted your lips like this, smeared red lipstick painting your soft skin, saliva dripping down your chin so indecently. 

And your hand was still, caressing his stomach, like a succubus ready to pounce and devour him like a five course-meal. Consume him whole, body and soul until he has nothing left to give. He would let you have him, any way you wanted, you just needed to say the word.

Just needed to let his name fall out of your pretty lips in a breathy gasp and he would be at your call. 

Mingyu enters you slowly, stretching out every millimetre of your walls with a burning feeling of fullness.

“Fuck–” He groans, “Relax for me, baby.” 

You take a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as much as your brain allows at the moment and he takes the chance to stretch you out further, hips pistoning forward. 

Mingyu feels the pleasure seep into his body in one fell swoop, dissolving in his bloodstream, filling his lungs with heat. You’re snug around him, clamping down on his sensitive erection, pulsing alive and throbbing. 

“Are you in?” You ask, not risking looking down and disappointing yourself at the remaining length. Mingyu is hovering just inches above you, hand taut on the hood, using every bit of restraint imaginable to not pound you into tomorrow.

“Just a little more,” He breathes out, head coming to rest on the crook of your neck as his hip comes to meet yours.

He allows you a moment to let the stretch lessen, to allow your discomfort to slowly morph into pleasure. And soon, you’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders, his almond eyes have completely surrendered to the dark gaze of lust, devouring you alive with their insatiable hunger. 

“You can move now…” You breathe out, fingers tangling around his silky smooth hair. 

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiles against your lips, hips finding themselves a languid, slow and torturous pace until you’re begging for more. 

The way his body feels against your is something unforgettably wonderful, every curve of his torso giving into your own, every inch of you filling into the gaps of his in an imperfectly perfect little puzzle.

With every thrust, you’re pulling at the roots of his hair, gaining yourself sharp hisses from Mingyu. Though he enjoys the tugging, leans into your scratching, presents his lips to you with total eagerness.

He fastens his movement, thrusting into you with sheer fervour. His hands are exploring your body, kneading at abundant flesh with excited fingers that leave trails of crescent moons shapes along your skin. 

Out here, in the middle of nowhere, caressed by the breeze and the moonlight, you’re whispering his name in an unanswered prayer, letting the syllables dance around in your tongue before you let them slip away into the starry night sky to be forgotten. 

You’re clenching around him with pleasure, feeling the knot in your belly tighten and tighten. 

“Feels– So good,” Mingyu hisses against your kisses, hips not stuttering even once. 

Brain an absolute mush, you can’t find any words to respond other than strained moans.

“So– Fucking good…” Nuzzling along your jaw, he grazes his teeth on your neck, painting your skin with love bites.

“I–” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He doesn’t even need you to finish your sentence to know what you meant.

“Yeah? Me too– Let go, baby.” 

Digging his hands into your hips, Mingyu hurries his thrusts, hitting your sweet spot again and again until you’re melting in his arms, singing praise of his name with your candied voice and luring him into his own orgasm. 

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a harsh kiss, hips slowing down as he comes undone, tainting the condom with heavy spurts. 

You’re both gasping in complicity, blanketed in the summer night.

Once the condom is discarded, Mingyu lays by your side and pulls you into his heaving chest. You both lay there in comfortable silence, letting the orgasms fade out into strained sleepiness. 

“Will you promise to remember me?” You ask, watching the twinkling stars that lay before you two.

“Where did that come from?” Mingyu chuckles. 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is a soft whisper that dissipates into a shaky, hesitant breath, “Do you promise to remember me?”

He laughs, but your eyes hold such urgency, he can not ignore the human need to sympathise with your woes. “...Why– Why do you say that?”

“Because…” You sigh, “Because I’ll remember you, – this,” Hands vaguely gesturing toward your conjoined bodies, “For the rest of my life… And I’m afraid even a decade from now, you won’t be able to recall my name or what I look like.” 

It’s serious, it’s a concern that has plagued your mind since the moment you laid down. However, Mingyu can only focus on the fact that you’ve assumed the two of you won’t see each other again, ever. 

Leaning forward, his slight smile does nothing to hide the clearly confused look that is plastered across his handsome face, “It’s like you plan to disappear. We’ll see each other again.”

You shake your head, “What are the chances, Mingyu? We’re just�� Fleeting seconds in centuries. What are the chances alumni – Not even from the same major, – will meet again?”

“What if we promise to meet?” Oh, he’s absolutely set on it, but you find it adorable; this fervorous intent on defying the hands fate has laid before you.

“Then, what happens when we’re bored of each other?” You chew on your lower lip, but he discards your argument. 

“That might not happen,” He points out.

“We’re too different. It defeats fate to force it,” You sigh.

Mingyu doesn’t have an answer right now, but he’s seeking one with furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“Remember me like this, no wait–” You run your fingers through tangled hair in an attempt to fix the messing he’d done before. “Done. Like this.” You flash a smile, posing your body in the best angle it has, to construct the perfect memory.

But Mingyu sees your flustered cheeks, smeared lipstick that leaves behind a stained trail of hot red over swollen-kissed lips. Sleep hazed eyes that gaze at him with such warmth, that hold a longing he wouldn’t be able to grasp for another decade. You liked him, you truly did. And that’s why you would never allow your memories of him to be tainted by the grasps of time. 

You’d forever remember his dorky smile and dad jokes, his clumsy hands and warmth.

And Mingyu doesn’t realise it yet, but he would forever remember you as someone who marked him forever. To disregard the cards you’re dealt, make your own memories, remember it all fondly. 

Maybe in a couple years, you will have a wild dream about this very moment, a fuzzy memory that leaves behind a nostalgic smile that will follow you for the day, reminding you of this perfect feeling. You’ll look back with wistful thinking of the good days. 

And will keep it close to your heart.

Where it belongs.

You thought about it often the day after, but days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. And a decade later, you found yourself having a dream about the distant memory, and the sweet nostalgic feeling accompanied you throughout your routine. 

After university, you had found a simple job in your area that sufficed the need for experience and filled the empty stop in your resume. Though it was far from fulfilling. There was no creative liberty allowed and you often found yourself overworked and constricted by tight deadlines. 

The dream of your own line had yet to die, however. That’s why you had volunteered for such a demanding gig: designing for a historical movie. Luckily, your resume had allowed you a good position, overseeing the wardrobe and designing the pieces that would be forever captured on film.

The main character, a pretty young thing with curly hair, was extremely excited to work with you and almost cried when she saw the dresses she would be wearing. 

Today, you would be fitting for the lead male role and designing him some characteristic James Dean style clothes. Your assistant led him to your office while you were gathering your materials. 

When you enter the room and you’re met with those gorgeous almond eyes, you can’t help the stupid smile that finds your lips.

“This is the lead actor, Kim Mingyu,” Your assistant explains. 

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh. 

He stands up, a charming smirk plastered on his pretty face, “Hey.”

Your assistant looks at you with a puzzled look, “You know each other?”

Mingyu nods. 

“Yeah, I never forget a pretty face.” 

[whole-circus]

Homicidal Liu NSWF Headcanons/Imagines x fem.reader!

➥ The things I would let him do to me.. tw. There are a guns and knifes mentioned almost at the end! Please, always remember about safe sex! Take care!!;3

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

☆ Such a soft dom! He would never be a meanie to you! You are his little, precious angel..you are definitely a good girl, and they do deserve a special treatment..

„Come on sweetheart, i know you can take it. Can you feel how deep I am? How full are you, baby?” he say, as he bury his thick cock inside your tight hole, his balls slapping your skin.

Also! Cares about your pleasure more than about his own! He would worship you, you are his Goddes..say the word and he will do it!

My ladies.. Liu is also a consent king! In your first few time he asks literally for everything! Can he hold your hand? Can he kiss you on lips? Can he touch you here or there..? Such a gentleman.

☆ Liu's cock is slightly above average and quite thick, plus he knows how to use it! I believe he is well groomed and really care about hygiene. Might give you a small bulge in throat or in your tummy..no worries tho! He is such a gentle lover!

„Look sweetie..look how deep I am. Can you feel me?” - he asks, gently putting his palm on your belly.

☆ Loves making out with you! He could do it for eternity..giving you sloppy and needy kisses, his tongue deep in your mouth..<3 His hand starts with your hair, to end up on your cute ass! He is such a good kisser! You will get all horny just from his lips on yours..Just imgaine what he can also do with that tongue..!

☆ He loves eating you out! His favorite place is in between your legs. When i say he could do it for hours - i really mean it! Also please, seat on his face! Dont worry about his comfort..do it! The feeling of your thighs on his face, and your wet pussy..he just melts at the thought!

„Come on doll, seat on my face..you were such a good girl, let me taste you..”

☆ Eye contact! Makes you look at him when he fucks your brains out, or when you are giving him head. Dont be shy or he will make you look at him, holding your chin up.

„Ah ah..my eyes up are here love..” he says, as his soft hand grabbing your cheeks and make you look into his green eyes, as he fucks you silly.

☆ His fav position is definitely missionary! He can hold you close to him and look at your cute little expressions? He is in heaven! Also you holding hands when you are cumming!

Liu really enjoys cock-warming and cuddle sex! Just anything that lets you be close to him!

☆ Liu isn't too loud in bed. He whispers soft praises in your ear or whimper, his breathing fast. But! Sometimes he will moan! His mouth will make the most prettiest sounds!

☆ He doesnt have specific turn on's. You always look so so pretty! No matter if you wear pajama, have a bad hair-day, are sick or if you wear clothes straight from red carpet! He loves you in everything!

☆Titties or ass? Personality.. If he has to chose - breasts! Doesn't matter what size, he just love having them in his soft hands, caressing them and licking your nipples. And also the best cuddles are when he puts his head on your chest!

☆ Kinks: I would say he is pretty vanilia on the whole, but he is eager to try new things! On the other hand..he would like to try something with a guns or knifes, maybe just holding it up to your neck, or give you a slight cuts - but only if you would be fine with that! He would never ever hurt you! Also might be eager to try spanking or fucking you in front of mirror (there is something about watching ever little detail of the things that you are doing!) He is also not scared of getting messy - perfect guy for period sex.

☆ Aftercare. When you are both satisfied, he will gently hold you for a moment, just caressing your hair and whispering soft „I love you..”, „Are you feeling alright sweetheart? Do you need anything?” or some praise - „You did such a good job, my little one..”. If you are sore, he will made you a bubble bath. Hungry? He is already putting on apron. Just thirsty? One word and you will get whatever you wish. Please, please dont forget to take care about him too! You will also get reminded to go pee before sleeping (you dont want to have UTIs!!). After your visit to bathroom? You will talk about anything, till you fall asleep in eachother arms <3

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

[justmeinatree]

Cocaine, Side Boob, …

Summary : harry wants to go to the beach. and there’s cocaine.

TW : smut, drugs, choking

Word Count : 2k

A/N : WTF YALL okay, i’ve been writing for literally years, i have so so many blurbs and some fully finished multi chaptered fics. i finally feel like i want to share some with you, so please be gentle !!! ✌️ also, i absolutely suck at endings dont come at me

“are we there yet ?” you grumble, stretching your neck. 

“keep driving,” harry mumbles, concentrated on the small tray he found god knows where in this van, tapping a bit of the white powder onto it.

“harrrryyyyy,” you whine. “i’ve been driving for hours. when you said you needed a break, i didn’t think you were gonna be snorting coke in my face.”

“would this make it better ?” he asks, large dimple-showing smile as his finger extends towards you, a small bit of powder on the tip.

“yes, yes it would. thank you honey,” you hum, inhaling the little bit of snowey white off his finger.

the year was 1968, you were with your boyfriend, harry, driving off to the beach. it sounded like a great idea when harry presented it to you this morning, all just “lets take off to the beach for the day, s’gonna be fun !”

and in retrospect, the fact that you lived absolutely nowhere near the beach would have been your first clue that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. but you were smoking your morning joint with him when he asked and well here you are. you’ve been holed up in harry’s van for the better part of the last 7 hours and the beach better be fuckin close.

“want more,” you hum, nodding towards his little tray, feeling your body relax a bit, the knots in your neck and shoulders seemingly not as bad.

“you’re driving,” harry looks at you incredulously. “can’t have my sweetie cakes crashing my van because she’s high on cocaine.”

“shoulda thought of that before tricking me into the longest stretch of driving so that you could get fucked up,” you scold him playfully, dipping your finger in the powder to sniff it yourself. “besides, i can see the water, if i crash now, at least the beach is walking distance.”

harry rolls his eyes at that, letting you be and watching you visibly relax the more substance you take. he gets cozy in his seat, just wearing an old pair of tattered and ripped light wash jean shorts and a bandana wrapped up on his head, keeping the stray flyaways out of his eyes.

his head rolls over to look at you, eyes raking over your body as the high has definitely hit him. his entire body feels like it’s floating. he notices the tan on your legs from the lengthy summer days spent enjoying the sun. you were also in ripped light wash jean shorts, albeit yours significantly shorter than harry’s.

his eyes continue their trail up your body, fingers reaching out to smooth his fingertips over your arm, sending a zap of electricity through his fingers. harry loves the effect you have on him. loves it even more when he’s high out of his brains, makes everything move slower, more intense. everything feels so much more too.

harry watches you stretch, your arm high above your head, hand gripping the awful orange shag carpet that lined the entire interior of the van. it may have been 1968, but even then, you find this van just awful. and harry knows it, loves teasing you about it.

it’s what harry notices next that makes him want to park this van right here, even if he can literally see the entranceway to the beach. your tanktop had ridden up, your stomach poking out the bottom and he wants to reach out for you so bad.

but as his eyes rake up towards your face, they settle on the view you’ve unknowingly given him. you obviously chose to forego a bra this morning, the arm hole on your loose tanktop having ridden a bit forward as you’re stretching and harry’s staring right at the swell of your breast, full side boob on complete display for harry’s hungry eyes. 

this time, he really can’t resist you even if he tried. the fogginess from the drugs on his brain making him lurch towards you, his teeth sinking into your soft skin, making you flinch.

“hey !” you scold playfully, giggling as you swat at his head. “m’trying to park this monstrosity of a vehicle and you’re biting my boob.”

“but look at it,” harry groans, and you can hear in his voice how gone he is. “s’calling my name, listen,” he adds in a hushed voice. “harry, harry, bite me,” he giggles, unable to even finish his own joke.

you roll your eyes at him, finding a good spot on the sand to park the van. you reach over for harry’s little tray, inhaling back one of the lines he’s already created. you feel like you need to catch up, watching him in that fuzzy, giggly phase and wanting nothing more than to join him in the basking glow of drugs.

“can i do something while you’re snorting that ?” harry asks, making you nod as he urges you to switch seats with him, getting cozy in the passenger seat as harry takes over the steering wheel, turning the van around so the back of the van faces the water.

“c’mon, not gonna stay holed up in the front,” he hums, nodding his head towards the back of the van, both of you climbing over the seats to open up the back doors.

the warm blast of beachy wind hits you both as the doors are swung open, the saltiness to the air invading your senses. by the time you were pulled up at the beach, the sun was already sitting low in the sky, sure to set within the next hour or two.

“so, you dragged us all the way here,” you giggle accusingly, absolutely no malice to your voice. “what do you wanna do first ?”

without a second thought, harry replies “you. m’so fuckin hard for you lovie.”

you know it’s the drugs talking, takes a lot more than a peak of side boob to get harry going that much, but the cocaine is hitting you both like a ton of bricks, the hot air making you feel the high even more, if at all possible. and now the more you think about it, the more the idea of harry’s hard cock splitting you open is probably the best offer you’ve had all day. 

his hand is roaming your side, slipped under your tanktop to feel your skin, as his mouth attaches itself to your neck, sucking soft kisses. 

you hum, nodding, unable to turn down the offer, your body feeling all of his touches so much more with the drugs fuzzing your brain. you register harry’s hands tugging on you to come straddle his thighs, which you do, quickly, wanting to feel his mouth on yours. 

his kisses are eager, full of clashing teeth and tongue swipes, hands buried into your hair to hold you as close as possible. you get completely lost in the kiss, unsure how long it’s been as your hips roll down on his throbbing cock.

you both moan loudly into each other’s mouths, the buzz in your body making that the most delicious bit of friction. you feel harry’s blunt nails digging into your skin, a small whimper coming from your throat.

his hands smooth over the crescent indents of his nails, mumbling an apology, “felt so good lovie, m’sorry. want more though, can you get up for me ?”

you stand between his legs and take note of how intense everything feels. the warm salty air, the taste of harry’s mouth lingering on your tongue, the golden hue of the impending sunset hitting the inside of the van, including harry’s face. the tingling static you feel all over your skin. and how harry’s hands have unbuttoned your jeans, slipping them down your legs.

“christ lovie, no underwear at all today, hmm?” he asks as his eyes make contact with your bare cunt, a strand of arousal still connected to your shorts as he pulls them down.

“s’the beach,” you shrug, too buzzed out to feel any embarrassment, knowing he loves it anyway.

“remind me to bring you to the beach more often then,” he hum, smiling at you cheekily, his hands coming back to rest on your hips. “turn around for me sweetheart, dont want you to miss the view,” he murmurs as he’s turning you around, bringing you back into his lap.

harry’s got your legs spread wide, on either side of his, your back pressed to his chest as he kisses your neck again, sucking soft bruises. his hands roam your inner thighs and you feel like complete jelly. you’re slumped back towards him, one hand reaching over to tangle into the back of his hair as a way to anchor yourself.

his hand grips his rock hard cock, lining himself up with you, thrusting upwards. the intrusion of his member making your head lull back onto his shoulder, giving you the opportunity to ravage at his neck.

you’re both so high and so sensitive, your impending orgasms are already approaching the more harry ruts his hips into yours. one hand comes down to rub at your clit, your head rolling forward again as you whimper.

“been so worked up lovie, m’not gonna last,” and you can hear the pain in harry’s voice, his body trying hard to fight off the orgasm that’s quickly approaching.

the sun is starting to set over the water, the last bits of warmth being felt on your skin as his other hand, the one not working your bundle of nerves, makes its way around your neck.

you groan loudly, harry’s fingers wrapping around your throat, “cum for me baby, need to feel you.”

that’s all it takes for the burning coil in the pit of your stomach to snap. your body trembling as your orgasm rips through you, harry’s hand tightening momentarily around your neck as his cock starts spurting thick white ribbons inside you.

you gasp for breath as he lets go of your throat, his hand gliding down your chest, slipping under your tanktop to keep feeling your skin. “so good lovie, so soft,” he hums slightly incoherently, his brain completely foggy. 

“fuck harry,” you mumble, leaning your head back against his shoulder to kiss his jaw. “can bring me to the beach any time.”

harry laughs against your shoulder, gripping into your hips to lift you off of him, a shudder making your body tremble as your pussy now clenches around nothing. you start to take note of the cooler air now that the sun is just dipping past the horizon.

“getting cold ?” harry hums, reaching behind himself to grip a knitted sweater and pull it up to cover you.

“thanks honey,” you smile, cuddling into him and the sweater, watching the pink hues in the sky. you take a moment to thank whatever force is on your side, the beach completely void of any other humans. you weren’t sure you’d really wanted a family walking by and seeing that.

“can we stay here tonight ?” you ask harry quietly. “would love to be able to get some sun, go in the water.”

“‘course,” harry nods against your neck, smiling as an idea pops into his mind. “dont have to wait for tomorrow to go in the water though.” he smirks at you, getting out of the van and dropping his shorts, running off into the water.

the sight of a naked harry running off into the water making you laugh loudly, shrugging his sweater off, along with your tanktop and running off after him towards the water. 

harry catches you in his arms when you’re both about waist deep in the water, lifting you and twirling you around. “love you so much sweetheart, no one i’d rather be here with.”

your heart bursts hearing him, moments like this burned on your brain. harry loves taking little soft moments with you to drop some of the sweetest things your ears have ever been blessed to hear.

you peck his lips, sucking softly on his bottom one, “never been so happy with anyone in my life.”

Part 2

……

masterlist

any and all feedback is welcomed. i hope everyone enjoyed ! i’ll post more blurbs soon ✌️

[marauders-brain-rot]

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

Wrote a really heavy and quite depressing chapter today and needed to fix my brain by writing something cute and fluffy. So, here is 1,468 words of pure Wolfstar fluff. (No Voldy/war, honestly could be with or without actual magic, I don’t make it clear either way so if you want it to be a muggle au then it can be or if you just want it to be a no Voldy au that works too)

Sirius was almost certain he’d wear a hole in the carpet long before Remus got home. He’d been pacing for hours now, his stomach tied in knots thinking about that night and what would come of it. 

It was their anniversary, eight years together as an official couple and tonight would change everything for them. They’d had nights like these before, the kind that would imprint themselves on their memories and brand themselves across their skin, tying them irrevocably together in a way that no one else would ever understand. 

The first was when they’d confessed their love for one another, never ones to do things by halves, that had been the night they’d first gotten together. They’d danced around their feelings for a while before that, their friendship always coming first, until one night where they couldn’t take the tension between them any longer. There’d been a screaming match that ended in a passionate kiss and finally a confession of their undying love for one another. They ended that night wrapped together in Remus’s bed in the boys dormitory, foreheads pressed together and bodies intertwined to the point where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. 

The next one had been when they decided to get a place of their own, another night full of tears and kisses. They’d gotten a place with James and Peter as soon as they’d left school, wanting to be out on their own but still with their closest friends, who had really become more like brothers. The years spent in that flat had been some of the best of their lives, the nights spent drunk on the floor and sprawled across the furniture would live in their minds forever, as spotty as those memories were. But, they needed their own space. It had been Remus who had said something first, though Sirius had thought it for a while. He loved their little flat with their two best mates, but sometimes he wanted to be alone with the man he loved, wanted to spend nights and days wrapped in one another’s arms without feeling like it was an intrusion on their friends' lives. And so, after a very long and very tear filled discussion, they agreed to start looking. 

Then, they bought their house together. A sanctuary for the two of them that they made entirely their own. Their first night there together was one that he hoped would never leave him, even on his last days on this planet. They’d spent the day unpacking, James and Peter had finally left and the house was quiet at last, something they hadn’t experienced possibly ever. They’d gotten their favourite mugs down from their new home in the cabinet to the left of the sink, poured cups of their favourite tea, put on their favourite James Taylor record and danced in the living room to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) together with the biggest smiles plastered on their faces.

Then came the night they’d gotten engaged, something that had been magical all on its own. Remus had asked him, because of course he had. Sirius had been planning on asking Remus, but of course he’d beaten him to it. It was private and intimate and unequivocally theirs. If Sirius closed his eyes he could see the rose petals strewn about, the lanterns that lit their home, could smell the undeniable scents of his favourite meal that Remus had spent all day cooking for him. Remus had said some beautiful, wonderful, magical words about how Sirius was his guiding light in the sea of darkness, how he’d have lost himself entirely without him and how he never wanted to bear the pain of living life without the man he’d loved since they were only boys. Sirius kissed him then, couldn’t stand to wait another moment where rings didn’t adorn their fingers claiming them for one another and as soon as Remus placed the one he’d gotten Sirius on his finger, Sirius had sprinted up the steps and practically flown into their room to get the ring he’d gotten for Remus. That night they’d fallen asleep together, their fingers interlocked and rings pressed against one another’s. 

Then, they’d gotten married. It was small, intimate and beautiful, another day with magic thick in the air. Their closest friends were there, and even Regulus came as he and Sirius had mended their relationship years prior, it was everything Sirius had ever wanted. To be able to look into the eyes of the man he loved and tell him how he was the physical embodiment of magic, how he’d loved him for over a decade and still found new reasons to love him every single day, how he had never really known what any kind of love looked like until he’d looked into his eyes. They danced to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) as their first dance and kissed under the stars in the company of those that loved them most, soaking in every moment of the night together and relishing in the complete togetherness they finally got to experience. 

All of that brought him to now, tonight, a night that would change the rest of their lives just like all the others had. He’d cooked Remus’s favourite meal, gotten his favourite cake from the bakery 45 minutes away and set the house perfectly for the mood. Everything was perfect, everything would be perfect. So why did he feel like something might go wrong? 

He heard the key turning in the lock and felt his breath leave him, there would be no turning back now. As soon as Remus opened the door and saw Sirius standing there a broad smile spread across his face, the confusion coming next as he saw the setting around him. 

“Sirius?” He hadn’t expected them to do anything tonight, Sirius had been planning this surprise for a week now and though their wedding anniversary wasn’t for another month, he felt tonight was the right night. 

“Welcome home, love,” he kissed Remus’s cheek before leading him to the table laden with candles. 

“What’s all this?” His smile was the brightest thing in the room and how Sirius longed for it to last a lifetime. 

“Eat first, we’ll talk after cake.” Was it a slightly cowardly move to put off this conversation? Possibly, but he didn’t want dinner or cake to go to waste if the conversation went how he thought it would. When they’d finally finished eating and the record had stopped for the second time, Remus finally turned expectantly to Sirius. 

“Want to tell me what this is about, love?”

“I want to start off by saying that I love our life here, I love you and I love our home and I love the life we’ve built for ourselves.” He paused, needing his words to sink in before he continued. “And I want you to know that this is because of how much I love you and how much I know you love me, I want us to share our love.”

“Okay?” 

“Do you remember my cousin, Tonks?”

“Of course I do.”

“Right, well, she’s pregnant and she can’t take care of a baby right now. She’s just getting started on her career and she has her whole life ahead of her, she’s in no place to be having a child. But, well, we are.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in and once they did he watched as Remus’s face transformed entirely. 

“You want to adopt her baby?” The smile on his face rivalled all others Sirius had seen, it practically lit up the world with how brilliant it was. All Sirius could do was nod and swallow nervously. “I would be honoured to have a baby with you.”

That night they laughed and cried, they held onto one another tighter than they ever had before. They got their favourite mugs down from the cabinet to the left of the sink, poured cups of their favourite tea, and put on their favourite James Taylor record and danced around the living room to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You). 

And how sweet it was, really, to love and be loved in return. To have a lifetime of memories together already and a lifetime of them more to look forward to. To know that their love would live beyond them and would change the lives of not only themselves but also of this new little baby they would be adding into their perfect little world and any others they might end up with along the line. They’d chosen one another, chosen love, and chosen life, and how sweet a life it was turning out to be. 

[ankiebitez]

Nsfw alphabet for my whb MC Judith

warnings: NSFT (ofc), mentions of SA but not gone into detail, not really a warning but he is trans so mentions of afab anatomy and hormones

note: did this because im bored and he's a silly guy

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

very affectionate and attentive. he's not the best with it regularly but he definitely craves some nonsexual affection afterwards. gets you anything you need, food, drink, a shower, comfortable clothes, he just wants you to be happy. he's cuddly though, either holding you close to him or climbing into your arms.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he really likes hips and the stomach area, both on himself and his partner. he got the tattoos on his hips mostly because of it too and likes when he or someone else wears something that shows hips/midriff. he cant even really explain why he likes it so much, during sex he'll either be kissing, sucking, or biting at your hips and stomach area, or running is hands over it just to feel the smoothness under his fingertips. he'll go feral if you have tattoos/piercings there or a happy trail.

bonus: he also Really likes his nipple piercings too 👀

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

he really likes it if his partner cums inside him, inside his holes or his mouth he'll be satisfied. has a slight breeding kink, but wouldn't ever want to actually have kids or get pregnant, the thought of it just freaks him out too much. lowkey wishes he had a dick so he could cum inside his partner, he's tried some toys that simulate that when he's the one topping, but he still wants to try the real thing.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

not exactly a dirty secret but he's pretty into being praised. he wont ask for it on his own because he feels kind of embarrassed for some reason, usually preferring to be degraded. he'll deny it, however, if you call him a good boy in the middle of fucking his brains out, he's immediately squirming and releasing with a heavy blush on his face. go ahead and tease him about it too, he is still into humiliation after all.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

he has a good amount of experience and knows what he's doing, he's been with a good few hookups and casual stuff, so he knows that everyone is into different things. he'll be very attentive to your reactions and make sure you're enjoying anything he's doing. he's pretty open minded to anything you wanna try too.

F = Favourite Position(s) (This goes without saying.)

depends on what mood hes in. if he's using a strap then his favorites are missionary, doggy, pronebone, reverse cowgirl, he likes being able to see it going inside the other person. if he's the one getting fucked he likes missionary, mating press, full nelson, doggy, pronebone, reverse cowgirl. he also likes 69 on occasion.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

a good mix of both, most of the time he's pretty goofy and flirty during it, unless you're doing something a bit more kinky. he's not against being goofy then either, he just gets too into it to really think about making jokes then.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

has a bit of hair but keeps it groomed and neat. his natural hair color is purple so the same goes for down there as well.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...) 

it depends, he enjoys romantic and intimate type of sex sometimes but gets way too flustered by it especially if he's on the receiving end. other times he doesnt mind if its a bit rougher or lust driven, but if he is being more intimate or romantic its definitely a sign that he trusts you since he's not very used to it.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

doesn't do it that much anymore considering a lot of the nobles are ready and willing to offer assistance if he's feeling horny. he also just doesn't find it as pleasing just by himself, but before he'd probably do it once a day or a few times a week unless he was meeting up with someone casually instead, it helps him to sleep too so why not.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

besides humiliation since thats his main one, he really likes recieving overstimulation. gag him, tie him up with a vibrator in each hole and one pressed to his tdick, then leave him for a few hours. you'll come back to a sobbing, whiny little mess for you to clean up. he'd love it if you keep him tied up and fuck him like that too, he wants his partner to make him cum so many times that his mind just goes completely blank.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

he's good anywhere honestly, as long as you're both alone thats good enough. he likes it in the bedroom or bathroom most though.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

being teased. teasing kisses touches, words, or actions will have him like putty in your hands

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything involving cnc, it reminds him too much of when he was SA-ed and he just cant do it. he doesn't want to see his partner in that light or associate them with that in anyway.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

prefers giving, he thinks its more entertaining. he has pretty good skill at it too

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

it depends on the mood honestly, if its a sweet romantic moment thrn slow and sensual, if its a bit more... passionate or he's pent up then its fast and rough

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he likes them okay but he prefers proper sex, he likes to take his time with his partner. probably occasionally but if its constantly quickies he gets pretty bored

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

definitely, he thinks its pretty hot doing more risky stuff honestly

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

pretty good stamina! he'll keep going as long as his partner has the energy for it, he also really likes being over stimulated so just keep that in mind.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

he owns a good amount of toys in the human world and has no problem using them with his partner. he'll use them occasionally for himself but if he's feeling horny he'd much rather do it with a partner, he likes using toys with his partner too and thinks they make it way more fun

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he definitely likes to tease if he's in more of the dominant mood, and he's very unfair about it. he'll tie you up and make you on the very edge of cuming before denying you, cooing and shushing you right after if you complain because he thinks its adorable

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

not very loud, but pretty whiney. during sex he'll mostly just whine, whimper, and gasp, hell grunt a couple times but he's pretty quiet (unless you overstimulate him, then he'll need a muzzle to keep quiet.)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

he really likes double penetration, would like to get double pentrated by beelzebub and one of his clones but would refuse to ask for it. also wouldn't mind if it was beelzebub and bael or amon.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

from being on testosterone his clit grew into a bit of a nub, kind of like a tiny dick but its only about an inch long. he likes it though, and if you're going down on him suck on it while fingering him, he'll cum practically instantly.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

pretty high, most of if not all the time he's a bit horny. you can blame it on the hypersexuality or his heightened sex drive from testosterone, but he's always down.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he'll fall asleep after his partner falls asleep usually. it takes him a bit to actually fall asleep but right after yall are done he'll automatically be cuddled up beside you, very clingy.

[dreambatannie]

call it fate, call it karma

there, as our backs kiss the floor, you speak your obsessions, as i let every breath you exhale invade my thoughts and mold my headspace and just like any other lover, i watch as you cut my brain into the shapes you want until i cant recognize myself anymore your words are so soft as they escape your mouth, but also so desperate to rest in the right ears and so i think, it must be so nice to hear you weep suddenly, and desperately, i find myself craving to be drained by the sound of your cries

i wanna eat your soul and breathe your words and i want those words to linger and stay on my tongue like a stain of spilled wine on a carpet

what an optimistic smile strapped into a nihilistic soul frankly dear, i’m scared to death because i know i’ll let your mysterious essence destroy every fragment of my clouded senses but hey, while we’re at it, why don’t you come swallow me up with your darkness? because even someone like me, who holds her peace carefully and oh, so dearly, can handle not seeing her own shadows just to figure you out witness me, as i find ways up into your head

but i think what scares me the most is that, someone as pretty as you could never see the ugly in me and say to yourself, “i wanna write about her flaws”

you know i only hold pretty things, and i’ve been hanging on your saturn rings long before your stars could even learn how to blink in their own ways you are an amazing formation of countless tiny particles of everything you love and a trace component of everything you hate in this cosmos

you have moon dust hanging from your uvula; i would ask if it hurts sometimes, but i’m scared that you would find that a little too overstepping don’t worry, i’m quite aware that it rains of torture and discomfort under that skin of yours yet, without hesitation, i would still like to be soaked by every particle that makes up everything that you are oh, maybe i’m lacking in depth to completely grasp this breathtaking thing in front of me but i have always been drawn by the vibrating string inside of you,

on a swing, i chain myself as i oscillate between desperately trying to interpret your mind and wishing i was illiterate enough to not give a fuck how it works swinging back and forth at full speed, kicking my feet, pretending that i’m clueless

i wonder if it goes too far to say that i saw a crumb of magic in you, for you made it possible for me to see you everywhere when i can’t even catch a glimpse of you in my peripheral vision; even in lilac skies, i can touch green and i know it’s a little too late now, but boy, do i wish you didn’t make me feel like a child filling its imagination with non-existent places i wanna take you to and i do not blame you, because with a lovely presence like yours, everyone would be dying to hold your hand just to take you somewhere where there’s no trace of you

you are a little too obsessed with your dreams, but they never wear you out because you are too occupied by the mongolian throat that’s singing at the back of your ears and in the palm of your right hand in response to the ringing passion that’s pouring out of your core, you just move to the slow universal beat of your own galaxies even if i try to show you that we’re both composed by the same hands, i will always stay deaf, for you are a billion times lower than the limit of human hearing; an impossible black hole’s song, playing for its supper; the longest-running symphony in a cluster of whatever

regardless of the circumstance and consequences, i rest my lack of conscience right beneath your skeptical-like personality, and i can hear my thoughts laugh at my expense because even the worms inside my head know i might not have this tomorrow well, wouldn’t you know it?

but even if this one expires, it doesn’t matter because comedown machine is on tonight and julian casablancas is singing about some love bullshit so i ask you to dance right there in the middle of your room, we are so cool, we are so punk you look like a collection of ghosts from every dead dream i’ve had that came back to snatch my daydreams as they don’t find my nightmares satisfying to haunt anymore but oh, you also look so infinite like an endless bending of lightbeams that travel to my eyes you make it seem like this is something that could last

and for a moment there, i see all of my fears gently collapse like burning angel wings i watch as every feather covers your head while they gently turn into ashes, and you look so fucking pretty even with dead things on your hair

[daydreamgoddess14]

Coming Clean

MASTERLIST

Roy had outdone himself at the press conference. Rebecca couldn’t have been more proud. The visit to her office by Colin had only added to the overwhelming feeling of love she felt for her club at that moment. His heartfelt confession had put so much context around Isaac’s outburst. She had assured Colin, just as Ted had, that the club would love him, support him, and protect him for as long as he wanted and needed, in all the ways he needed them to.

“We do care, Colin. We care so very, very much. We are your family, and we will always love you.” The combination of the win, Colin coming out and Roy’s story at the press conference had left everyone highly emotional, so it was no surprise that both Colin and Rebecca were in tears when he’d left her office after a warm hug. He’d gone back down to the locker room where the rest of the team had asked how it had gone upstairs.

“I tell you what, boys, before Coach arrived, I would have sooner taken out a full page advert in the bloody newspaper telling everyone in Richmond, than gone upstairs to tell the boss. But she’s changed so much for the better… It was honestly like telling my mam all over again. She said she’d already had an inkling, she made some roundabout comments like Coach did - weirdly similar actually - and we cried and hugged. It was like deja vu.” Colin’s comments drifted through the open office door to Ted, Roy, Trent and Beard.

“Nice one blondie.” Roy nodded. “They’ll all be calling her Mother fucking Superior at this rate.”

“Well she certainly has that firm but soft approach goin’ on right now.” Ted agreed.

“She gave me a little rainbow-love heart-unicorn book for my girl earlier. Said she’d just seen it at the checkout and grabbed it without thinking. And sweets as well. I mean, it’s the campest thing I’ve ever seen but that’s like the venn diagram of a four year old to be honest.” Trent shrugged.

“I’m sure I heard Will refer to her as ‘Mother’ the other day.” Beard added.

“I can’t believe she fucking cried.” Roy rolled his eyes.

Rebecca paced up and down in her office, her high heels long abandoned. The emotions had her restless and it felt like there was so much she hadn’t spoken about over the last few weeks and months. Keeley lay on the sofa with her feet up on the armrest, a glass of wine hanging from her fingertips.

“He was magnificent.” She breathed. “Are you ok? Sit down, you’re gonna wear a hole in that carpet.”

“I was worried that I’d pushed him into it.”

“Well, you did babes, but it all worked out.” Rebecca ‘hhmphed’ and slumped into the sofa next to Keeley.

“That story he told… Keels, there’s something I haven’t told you, but it’s a long, long story and I feel now like I don’t know where to start. So much time has passed and so much has happened recently. I feel out of sorts” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ve been seeing a therapist.” Keeley sat up immediately and swung her legs around to the ground, keeping the glass upright and all the contents safe. “I needed to organise everything in my brain and separate the things I can control from the things I can’t and I needed to just spill everything to someone completely impartial.” Keeley nodded and reached for the bottle, adding to Rebecca’s glass. Before Keeley could speak, there was a gentle knock at the door before Ted peered around.

“Hey ladies, great afternoon!”

“It was ace Ted - nice one!” Keeley raised her glass with a huge smile.

“The best kind Ted, well done.”

“Ahh ain’t nothing. It was a group effort. Thank you for taking some time with our Colin too, he’s lookin’ like a new man down there.”

“I didn’t do anything, I only told him the truth.”

“Well, there’s a lotta love for the club’s Mamma Bear in that locker room, and they ain’t talkin’ ‘bout Beardo. Despite, y’know, the beard.” Rebecca blushed,

“God Ted, I hope they’re not actually calling me that.”

“To be honest, I believe they’ve picked up the most commonly used term - uhh, I think Keeley had a hand in it? Boss ass bitch?” Keeley beamed while Rebecca conceded that yes, that was probably more acceptable. “Regardless, as per usual there’s more love for you than you’d let yourself expect. Anyway, just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything. Otherwise I’ve got a rock ‘n’ roll night of Roblox ahead of me.”

“No Ted, we’re fine thanks. You go and enjoy your time with Henry. Send him our love as usual.” Ted smiled graciously and high-fived the tree before closing the door firmly behind him. Rebecca watched the door for a long moment and then returned her attention to Keeley, and her wine glass.

“More love for you than you’d let yourself expect, eh? Well, well, well, isn’t that interesting?” Keeley pondered with her perfectly manicured fingers tapping her chin. “Anyway, something tells me we’ll end up coming back to that. Let’s go, I want to know everything I’ve missed while I was being love-bombed.”

“I should have told you when we went for dinner, but I didn’t want it to overshadow our lovely evening. I’ll start at the beginning…” so she did, Rebecca started with Tish and her unhinged physic reading,

“A green matchbook, drenched but safe, thunder and lightning…Has anything come up that matches what she said?”

“Well I got drenched in Amsterdam, but I was safe? And I got a green matchbook from Sam’s restaurant?” Keeley nodded,

“Both true, but neither of those are your future, right?”

“No, absolutely not, the Dutch bloke was a one off and nothing happened, and it’s over with Sam.”

“Thunder and lightning?”

“Nothing so far.”

“Ok, well maybe they’re yet to appear? What was next?” Rebecca took a deep breath and an even deeper drink.

“She said I’d be a mother.” Keeley’s jaw dropped.

“That’s incredible!”

“Yes, it bloody would be! Because of her, I went to a doctor who took some bloods and ran some tests. I can’t have children Keeley. I knew it would be the case, but it’s confirmed now - I’m not going to be a mother and that bloody… fraud made me think for one second that it might actually be possible.”

“Oh, Rebecca-”

“I’m alright, I found out a while ago now. I’ve had time to… process it.”

“Doesn’t make hearing it any easier.”

“No, no it doesn’t.”

“But she didn’t say ‘pregnant’, she said ‘mother’. As in, Mamma Bear?” Keeley pointed to the floor, to the locker room below them.

“Nooo. Surely not?”

“You can’t deny this whole family vibe we’ve got going on here babe? You and Ted might as well be mum and dad, Roy and Beardo are the unconventional uncles.”

“And you?”

“Babysitter!” Keeley sniggered. “Inappropriate relationships with an older family member - Roy, sorting their shit out, making sure they do as they’re told when mum and dad aren’t around.” Rebecca frowned, it wasn’t completely implausible. “Speaking of, you and Ted are looking close.”

“No closer than we’ve been in the past.” Keeley pursed her lips,

“Hmm. If you say so.”

“I wonder that he’s still so hung up on Michelle.” Rebecca said with a frown, “When he thought she might be getting engaged…”

“Maybe he’s more worried about being left behind? She’s moving on but he’s not ready to - not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s not sure what else there is for him? If it helps, I don’t think he’s still in love with her.”

“Why would that help, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nevermind.” Keeley knew better than to push. She was far more effective when leaving little earworms behind that would linger in Rebecca’s thoughts. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you ready for lurrrve? It’s been a long time since boring John, since Sam. Are you ready to dip your toe?”

“Shouldn't we be focusing on you?”

“Nope, I’m licking my wounds.”

“And Roy?”

“I love him. So much, Rebecca, so much. But he’s really hurt me.” They sipped their wine in silence for a while. “The state of us. I should just shack up with you, you beautiful fucking goddess.”

“I’m sure that’ll raise a few questions around here.”

“Nahh, think of the PR. We could be the queerest club in the league and change the world of football as we know it.”

“Now that’s a statement. I think Colin is quite happy with his best friends knowing. Let’s not turn him into some sort of gay icon if that’s not what he wants. Not everyone wants to be a symbol.” They finished off the wine and left the club, Rebecca’s driver taking Keeley home first.

—--------------

Once she’d settled into her kitchen, Rebecca pulled out her phone to text Ted.

I hope Henry’s picked a good game on Roblox for you. I’ve sent some credits to his account. I think we handled the Colin, Roy and match situations beautifully today. Thank you for all you do 💜

She’d barely scrolled through Netflix when his reply dinged.

Well that’s very kind of you, he said thank you very much 🤩 We’re a team, Boss. We handle all of our situations as a team.

Rebecca smiled and selected a cheesy romcom. It would have been nice to share the evening with someone. Maybe they’d be cooking and she’d be pouring the drinks. Or she’d be attempting to cook and they’d be choosing a film or distracting her. It would be nice. To share that space with someone. Preparing food while Henry is on the phone in the background, making plans for his next visit to the UK while Ted makes cocktails using the fancy shaker Keeley had brought for Rebecca’s birthday. She froze with a frown, where had that visual come from?! She sighed and turned her attention back to the film, Ryan Reynolds was currently chasing down Sandra Bullock to marry her and stop her from getting deported in The Proposal. To have a love to run to, not from, she thought sadly. That would be something.

The following morning was glorious, the sun shone and it was warm. Rebecca made the uncharacteristic decision to walk round to Nelson Road. She dug out her trainers, swapped her handbag for a backpack style bag - still designer though, obviously - and put her tea in a Richmond AFC emblazoned travel cup. As she walked along the outskirts of the green, she was lost in thought wondering whether Roy had taken onboard her constructive criticism. She’d wanted to thank him after the press conference but her heart had grown to fill her throat and had taken her words away. She’d known after everything he’d said that she would have cried in front of him, and she knew how Roy felt about feelings. She hoped that he’d go and speak to Keeley, they were so clearly still drawn together and still very much in love, and maybe seeing them back together and happy would fill the space she had in her heart. By the time she reached the club, she was all geared up and ready to push him further. She stopped off at her office to put her bag and cup down, and immediately turned on her heels to head back down to the coaches office.

If there was one person he listened to - whether he truly wanted to or not - it was Rebecca. He’d respected her during her marriage to Rupert when it was more unusual to see her around, he respected her more following the split and divorce, he respected that she valued his opinion and honesty when he’d told her that she deserved to feel like she’d been struck by lightning. It was obvious, Roy Kent had a soft spot for Rebecca Welton and he didn’t really care who knew it. Which was why he knew full well that she was perfectly right when she’d given him shit about doing the press conference, and that she’d been digging at more than the press conference. He’d been feeling the pull back to Keeley since her video had hit the internet. He wanted to be the one she turned to, the one who could comfort her and tell her that it really didn’t matter what anyone else thought. If she’d sent that video to someone she’d loved at the time then it was within her rights to do so without fear of shame. He certainly hadn’t meant to shame her, he’d had a feeling that the video had been for Jamie. The way she had her hair, its length and highlights indicated a time before him, and he was perfectly fine with that. He wasn’t even sure why the question had tumbled out of his treacherous brain. He also didn’t blame Jamie, their 4am training session the following day had shown just how terrible he’d felt that he hadn’t thoroughly deleted his emails. Poor Jamie had been beside himself with guilt until Roy had suggested that he go and see Keeley to apologise in person, knowing that he’d be forgiven, and he was. The next 4am training session was a much happier one, with Jamie relieved that Keeley had accepted his apology. So although he could encourage Jamie to apologise, could tell Rebecca she deserved better, could offer snippets of advice to Ted (but not as a fucking diamond dog), he couldn’t seem to take the advice given to him. He hated admitting she was right, especially when it’s not like she was taking her own advice! He could see the way she’d softened around Ted. He could see the way she lit up in his presence, he’d heard enough from Keeley before their split about how he was all she seemed to talk about. He’d been at Nelson Road since leaving Jamie at 6am, alone with his thoughts in the near silent club. It was high time Blondie had another ‘lightning’ speech, he’d decided. While the building began to fill with people, he paced up and down the locker room. Half a mind on Keeley, half on Rebecca. By 8.30am he could take no more and burst through the door, aiming for the stairs. He reached the water cooler just as Rebecca reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Oi, blondie!”

“Oi, Kent!” They shouted in perfect unison. The combined volume caused all eyes in the vicinity to look at them.

Leslie and Keeley were at one end of the corridor, comparing calendars to try and schedule a meeting. Beard and Ted were at the other end, coffees in hand. Will was halfway out of the boot room and tried to step back into the room but got caught on the door handle. Jamie, Isaac and Moe all peered around the door of the locker room having seen Roy storm out moments before.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Rebecca bellowed.

“Me? What the fuck are you playing at?”

“I have no idea what you’re on about. Why haven’t you apologised to Keeley yet? I thought you’d absorbed what I said into your thick skull, but it looks like your brain has been so scrambled by heading that fucking football for the last 20 years that you’ve lost the capacity to think!”

“I did fucking listen to you, why don’t you listen to yourself for a change? ‘Oooh, Roy, stop getting in your own way, blah blah blah’ get out of your own way! Listen to your own shite advice!”

“You haven't listened to me! You never listen to me! If you had, you’d have spoken to Keeley and you’d be back together by now - that’s what you want isn’t it?”

“Course it fucking is, and I will fucking talk to her! We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you!”

“How are you making this about me? What the fuck has this got to do with me?”

“You and your bloody big feelings for Ted! We’re not blind you know! Everyone can see you’re in love with him!”

In an instant, you could hear a pin drop. Everyone seemed to shrink back into the walls and doorways. Rebecca’s knuckles on the handrail went white.

“How dare you. Too. Fucking. Far. Kent.” She hissed at a normal volume. The silence carried her response down the corridor. She gave his shoulder a push and turned away, back up the stairs. A moment later, her office door slammed.

“Fuuuuuck.” Roy muttered to himself. He glanced around at the audience which had gathered, eyes widening at the sight of Ted. "Fuck off, all of you before I start punching dicks." He growled before following her. In the hallway, Leslie cleared his throat and the crowd dispersed. Isaac pulled Jamie and Moe back into the locker room, Will untangled himself and went back into the boot room, Beard took Ted's shaking coffee cup from his hand and Keeley sat down on the sofa she and Leslie had been standing next to. After a moment, normal service seemed to resume and the corridor was once again filled with the chatter of ‘good mornings’ and ‘hellos’. Leslie gently patted Keeley’s arm and headed for his office, Beard physically pushed Ted in the direction of the locker room.

At the top of the stairs, Roy stopped and took a breath before knocking gently. As expected, Rebecca didn’t answer. He pushed the door open and found her sat on the sofa with her head in her hands.

“Rebecca?” he whispered, “I am so fucking sorry.” He dropped onto the coffee table which groaned a little under his weight. Rebecca took a deep breath and moved her hands. She offered him a small, watery smile and shrugged.

"It was bound to come out eventually. I'd have preferred a less… public declaration. And I'd have preferred to have had the conversation with Ted. At least he wasn't there. I'll just have to come clean before everyone starts gossiping."

"Yeah… about that…"

"No?" Her face fell.

"I'm so sorry, Rebecca. I'll go and tell him it was all me being a dickhead and that I made it all up."

"He won't believe you."

"I'll make him fucking believe me." Roy clenched his fists but Rebecca covered them with her own hands and shook her head.

"No you won't. Time for me to face the music. But the least you can do - the absolute least you can do - is talk to Keeley. I also spoke out of turn downstairs, she'll be expecting you."

"Yeah she will, but let's be honest, she's probably been expecting me for weeks." Rebecca nodded in confirmation.

"She has been. I'm surprised she hasn't collared you herself."

"Shall I… send him up?" A light knock interrupted them, and Ted peered around the half open door. "And on that note." Roy rose from the coffee table, kissing her on the cheek as he stood. He clapped Ted on the shoulder and pulled the office door closed behind him.

He stood completely still and completely silently, watching her. Noting the trainers on her feet.

"Did you walk to work today, boss?"

"Yes, I did. Seemed like a nice morning for it. In hindsight it just gave me time to get wound up at Roy which didn't work out as I'd expected it to."

"I like your sneakers. I like how you can't wait for your biscuits delivery. I like how you care so much about everyone. Keeley and Roy, Higgy, my Henry… I… I love how forthright and stubborn you are." He continued, still looking at her trainers, following them with his eyes as Rebecca had joined him in the centre of the room. "I love you." He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, taking a hand and brushing the tears from her cheeks. "Is it true? Is Roy right?" He asked, barely above a whisper. She nodded, unable to speak. "I'd really like to kiss you, Becca." She nodded again, taking his hand in hers and pulling him closer. As he closed the space between them, she caught her breath just enough,

"I love you too, Ted."

—------------

[andreusnikolaidis]

Sideralism

The event was weaving itself like a wandering dust crackling in decay. The moon was one of those last things one “forgets” in a move. From the edge of its circumference, sorrows extended immiscible towards the artificial tendons of the carpet. Stigma and relief arose from a sandy, orphaned cloud that paled in the intricacies. So, what was the cyclops doing with a lantern in that mausoleum? Not even a bad practice of a curtain-raiser, or an overnight Bolshevik was implausible to him; because those are the things one thinks about in solitude. Although he would deign to give me elementary arguments for the plot.

At one point, for example, with the purpose of shedding his melancholy, he set aside his certainty in the naive adventures of an arachnid cat, which walked along the frame of the screen. According to him, that was the first sign, and the second he contemplated when the cat began to fatten and fatten while rising over the neighborhood roofs, until it got lost in some constellation.

Soon after that, he considered, more out of the rush of wear than anything else, to park an alien God in a nearby and inevitable parking lot. Daring to ask: “Do you know what the algorithm does to me in my dreams?”

All these characters nested in some hermetic loom of novelties.

But, what to do? All this hung, depending on the moment, over the contour of the dust particles that eroded in the light of the lantern.

The light inaugurated a point, which is what it was until then, a suspect. He noticed, as he converged, a machine with five or seven holes; from one of these rose a monument with the skin of a tornado, with the intentions of not shelling the cyclops’ brain, and that of returning to inhabit. Then, the tornado descended, and bars were raised to shelter and skimp the tornado on the return. A sweet steam fictitiously intertwined in his soul, by quantum auspice.

A blinding light, wrapped in sarcasm, reconstructed uninhabitability; his eye thawed, and only then could he notice the rotten cheese and its holes during the dubious claims to memory, both in the hedonistic and the stoic, in the continuous, and in the endless portrait.

And yet, although he had not left, he realized thanks to a second and lacerating quantum auspice, that the tornado was already part of another texture, another memory. The skin of the tornado was nothing more than an excuse for the future.

I thought of writing a happy ending, due to sources with benevolent omens, but they jinxed the cyclops in the end. Our character was robotized, and he chose his QR code in the emerging lethality.

[estrellami-1]

Yarn, Twix, and Crushed Ice

November 2012

I still remember the room. My grandmother is sitting on one side of a couch, closest to a lamp.

“Mima?” I ask timidly.

“Yes?” It sounds more like chess. Her accent is one of my favorite things in the whole wide world and my thirteen-year-old brain can’t comprehend how some people don’t understand her. For me it’s as natural as breathing.

“Can you teach me to crochet?”

She grins. “Of course, baby. Come here, sit.” She always calls me baby. That’s another of my favorite things. “Mira, mija. See?” The hook catches the yarn, over, under and through, and it looks like magic even when I have a hook in one hand and yarn in the other and mine is doing the same thing hers is.

Mine isn’t half as good, though.

My first project, which ends up being a doll’s blanket, is terribly wonky. I frown at the snake-like edges until Mima sighs, drops her own project in her lap, and plucks mine out of my hands. “Mira, mija. See the tension? And here there is no tension? You need the same tension, all the way through.”

“Okay,” I say, determined to get it right this time.

I don’t.

But I don’t stop trying.

The next project is passable as a square-ish shape of fabric.

Later that night, my mom—her daughter-in-law—mutters to me, complaining about the tasteless broccoli Mima had boiled.

I don’t care. I know the love and care that goes into the cooking Mima does; adding salt and pepper isn’t hard. Certainly not as hard as actually making dinner. I don’t answer, just go on helping to set the table. A silent rejection of my mother’s opinion.

Besides, I was in the kitchen with Mima as she was cooking. I was doing my best to learn how to cook, because I see the love that goes into every single meal she makes.

August 2013

It’s three weeks after her birthday, almost to the day. My fourteen-year-old brain can’t comprehend how she does not want to celebrate.

What we do instead is go to Walmart. She has a shopping list. Because of her honey-thick accent, we call it a chopping list. Half-teasing, half-acceptance, all love.

She’s driving the cart and I’m walking by her side. I’m amazed at how fast the seventy-something woman can walk; I’m almost struggling to stay by her side. I’m especially amazed at the stream of words coming out of her mouth, moving at the same pace we are.

“We need tomate sauce, por el—como se dice—spaghetti. Look, baby, there, see? No, there!” She huffs and stomps her foot when I take longer finding the cans than she likes, but when I look back with a sheepish smile and two jars of Ragú in my hands, she gives me an impish smile.

Our favorite part of the store is the sewing aisle. She gets fabric usually, and this time we bought fabric for me: pink, and white-with-colored-dots.

A few days later, we make me a set of pajamas.

We forget to wash the fabric, and the clothes shrink in the wash. Instead of pants, I now have capri pajama pants.

I wear them until I grow out of them, and even then I try to find a way to salvage some part of them.

June 2014

It’s my fifteenth birthday and Mima’s not here. She calls me that night, and practically before I can answer, she’s singing “Happy Birthday.”

“Gracias, Mima,” I laugh, and she continues on in Spanish, even though she knows thank you is pretty much the only Spanish word I know.

It’s okay. We both know each other, regardless of the language we’re speaking, and I’ll pace holes into the carpet for as long as she keeps talking. I just like listening to what she has to say.

February 2015

Mima doesn’t come visit at all this year; she’s visiting her other kids and grandkids instead. I don’t begrudge her that.

What I do instead is make my favorite meal. I call her and hope she’s somewhere near her phone, where she’ll hear it. “Hello?”

“Hola, Mima,” I laugh. “Are you busy?”

“Por tú? Nunca.”

“How do you make croquettes?”

“Ay!” She says, somehow making the two letters last for ten seconds. “Por real?”

I laugh again. She’s kind of predictable when it comes to this. “For real,” I agree. “I have the recipe card here, but this doesn’t seem right. Is it really only one pound of ground beef?”

“Ay, no,” she says. “One pound es only por Julia’s familia. You have too many people. Two pounds, dos, okay?”

“Okay,” I parrot. “So double everything?”

“Sí,” she agrees.

They’re delicious, if a little bland; she wrote the recipe just after she’d visited her daughter who can’t have salt, so she forgot to write it down.

It’s okay. We add the salt after and send a picture to Mima. She calls the next day saying how much she loves it.

April 2016

She doesn’t visit again this year. Again, it’s okay. She has three other families to divide her time between. We’ve kept her long enough.

This time I call her on my dad, her son’s, birthday. “Hi Mima, guess what,” I say.

“Qué?”

“I’m going to make Papa your lasagna.”

“Ay! His favorite?”

“Sí,” I agree. “I have the recipe card, but can you tell me? Just in case?” I don’t tell her the real reason: I love hearing her voice. I’m selfish, I wish I could live every day with her here. I understand I can’t, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Of course,” she agrees, like I know she will. We stay on the phone while I cook, even if we can barely hear each other at times. I shoo my father away from the kitchen a few times, the way Mima does when she’s here, and suddenly I feel like an adult: I’m doing things Mima always does.

May 2017

I call Mima a few weeks before the end of school. “Mima? I’m graduating this year.”

“Ay, Dios mío, sí. Cuándo?”

“The end of this month. Will you come?”

“Of course,” she answers, like I know she will.

She brings my aunt—her daughter—and her daughter’s daughter, my cousin.

We go to Cheddar’s for my post-graduation dinner. She gives me an obscene amount of money and I burst into tears in the middle of the restaurant. I don’t have the words, in English or Spanish, to tell her how generous she is, and how much I don’t feel deserving of this gift.

I think she knows anyways.

When we get home, she makes my dad go crush ice for her, since our ice crusher stopped working. She fills a cup with the shards and adds roughly an inch of water. She brings that and a small glass of white wine up to bed with her.

February 2018

Mima left a few months ago, so I do what I do when I miss her. I crochet.

I’m rather proud of my collection; it’s moved from a plastic Walmart bag to a big black duffel that’s almost half my size. I’ve got a rainbow’s worth of colors and then some, and all the hooks I could possibly need. I feel like a true crocheter, because I have a favorite hook. That feels like something a true crocheter would have.

I meet a friend a few weeks later to help her learn how to crochet, and she remarks on the bag, saying it looks like something I’d hide a body in. I agree and our thoughts run wild, but I do, eventually, teach her how to crochet. On my way home that day, I call Mima.

“Guess what I did,” I sing-song when she answers.

“Ay? Qué?”

“I taught one of my friends how to crochet.”

“Ay!” She says again. “Really? And she likes it?”

“She does,” I agree. “We’re going to try and meet up sometime soon again so we can keep working.” Privately, I wonder about joining or starting a group at my library, some place I can go and crochet with no expectations, no distractions. I know, if I did, Mima would join me every week.

November 2018

Thanksgiving happens with Mima and my mom’s dad, Grandpa. He’s from Argentina and sometimes I think he and Mima would’ve been a better fit than him and his first wife, my Nona, but I know better than to say anything.

He always gets her a bottle of sangria when they see each other. She never tells him she doesn’t like sangria. She takes it and pawns it off to us. I don’t know what my parents do with it.

Thanksgiving dinner is KFC, because Grandpa loves it, and we all eat way more than we should.

When we get back home, so late it’s almost the next morning, we all go our separate ways to our bedrooms.

I stay behind Mima the entire way up the stairs, helping her when she needs it, sitting down with her when she needs a break.

“Go to bed, baby,” she urges me. “I can do it.”

“I know,” I say, and don’t move. I’m made from the same stuff she is, and she knows asking again won’t do anything.

“Te amo,” she says, and I whisper it back as I help her stand up again.

We sit on the edge of her bed when we finally make it upstairs and talk long past when we should. She offers me a Twix bar from her repurposed cookie tin. I marvel at her age versus what she eats. She doesn’t make sense. I stop trying to quantify her and just appreciate the moment with her.

May 2019

She’s sick, my dad says, getting off the phone with his brother. We go visit her in Nashville as soon as we can, driving the thirteen hours straight through.

We get to my cousins’ house and my first thought is to see Mima, so that’s what I do as soon as I get through the family thronging the front door.

“Hola, Mima,” I say, and she looks positively overjoyed. I sit with her longer than any of my siblings, any of my cousins.

We go on a walk. I push her wheelchair.

We go out to Olive Garden. Our treat. I help her out of the car, push her wheelchair, read the menu and order.

She outeats my teenage brother. We all laugh, because that’s just like Mima, to tell Death not yet, and have Death listen to her.

Maybe it’s the nightly Twix.

She scoots backwards to the kitchen on a rolling office chair the next morning. My sister watches her get coffee and mouths “Seven!” to the rest of us.

“Sí,” Mima says scornfully. My sister jumps, and Mima frowns. “You think I don’t see you? I know how I need my coffee.”

“No, I know, Mima, but seven sugar cubes?”

“Sí! Es what I need!”

Our cousins don’t have an ice crusher, so they bought Mima a bag of crushed ice. She has a specific cup she uses to scoop the ice into her drinking cup. She loads everything up onto a tray and carefully scoots herself back down the hall to her bedroom.

I quietly decide I want to be just like her when I get old.

December 2020

“Feliz Navidad,” I sing as soon as the call connects.

She laughs and sings the next line. “Hola, baby. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mima. Did you get my gift?”

“Sí, me encanta! Y tú? You got mine, yes?”

“Yes, Mima. You know you don’t have to send me money.” I’m pretty sure I’m the only one of her grandchildren who tells her that. I’m pretty sure it just makes her want to give me more. That’s not why I say it; I mean it. I don’t want her money, not if there’s something she could use it for instead.

She very conveniently doesn’t respond to that. Instead, she goes on about what the family she’s staying with got her. I hear the now-distinct sound of a Twix wrapper being opened and smile. I’m older than I was, but no less sure that Mima is secretly an immortal being.

June 2021

One day before my birthday. She’s in Nashville still. I’m pet-sitting at a friend’s.

I’m at work and just happen to check my phone when it feels like the entire world is a rug that got pulled out from under my feet. My heart and stomach do tandem somersaults and I land on my head. It’s a text from my mom to our family group chat, saying that Mima is sick. Doctors are giving her three weeks.

That was four hours ago.

Two hours later—two hours before I checked my phone—my mom texts again. The doctors were wrong. Mima has three days.

My parents fly up immediately. Another friend comes to stay with me, just in case I need to fly out the next day.

I get a text the next morning. 10:01am on my birthday. Hey kids, my dad says, so sorry to do it this way, but we understand that your aunt posted something to social media, so we wanted to let you know that Mima’s condition worsened SUPER quickly last night, and she went home to be with God around 10:30pm.

I very carefully don’t think about it. I very carefully don’t think about anything.

A day later my mom texts. A picture of a rosary, red elastic string, teal beads, a flower charm for the cross. We’re trying to figure out who made this. Was it you?

I lose it. Yeah, I text back, and collapse into tears, the dogs frantically licking my face.

A few days later my parents get back from Nashville. They brought presents. I got her crochet hooks, the ones she had when my dad was a kid. The ones she used to teach me, all those years ago.

I lose it again, this time in the quiet of my room. Only a teddy bear is there to simultaneously judge and comfort me.

January 2022

I find a voicemail from her, the last one, dated 2/15/21. “[Star], amore,” she says, and it’s the same voice I remember from 2012, 2014, 2015, and every day of my life. I hold back a dry sob. “I want to thank you por everything you sending to me, your heart of crochet—” my mind flashes back to a small, slightly-wonky, pink heart I crocheted for her. I sewed a button onto the middle of it because it reminded me of the crest in the Spanish flag. “—the picture of your bedroom and everything, pero I suppose you are very busy now so I may call you later on tomorrow. I love you, baby. Bye-bye.”

I don’t remember if she did end up calling me. I wish, with all my heart, that I could have just one more phone call with her.

I love you, too, Mima. Bye-bye.

[gendzl]

I finally finished How to Get Away with Murder! it was my background show for knitting to, so the fact that it kept getting crappier with each season didn't bother me but hoooo boy! they sure did come back swinging for the finale. that closing scene was fucking perfect.

[pinkrelish]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶For once in his life, Eddie makes a good decision when he shows up to your motel room early. And another good decision when he mumbles something under his breath after you outsmart him at his DND club. That's my girl.✶

NSFW — fluff, flirting, sexual tension, wearing eddie's shirt and loving the scent a little too much, & oops you discover you have a praise kink, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use, canon typical violence

chapter: 6/15 [wc: 7.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 6: The First Rule of Hellfire Club

The moment Eddie’s knuckles connected with the chipped paint under the peep hole, his stomach sank, much like the weathered bronze number Nine losing its top nail and plummeting into the number Six. In his head, strands of apologies tangled into amalgamations of concern, and seeing your distressed face pleading up at him when you struggled to open the door sent them spiraling into the single emotion he could grasp: protection. The words he’d meant to say vanished from his brain in favor of fixing whatever it was causing you trouble.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, balancing the dingy yellow phone between your ear and shoulder; arms crowded with the clunky receiver itself, trying not to press any buttons as you let him inside, kicking the cords out of his way.

“Didn’t know when you were coming–” you whispered to him, then straightened your spine and changed to a forceful tone. “Yes, I’m still here. Ye– ..Yes, I told you, I’m not home right now, but I still have the–” Eddie edged into your room and tuned out the conversation. Not necessarily because it seemed private on account of the manila file you were reading from, but because his gaze landed on your open suitcase. Specifically the delicate lace set on top.

He didn’t pin you as the type to wear that sort of stuff. Tight. Partially see through. Jewel toned. Carnal in design, mouth watering in nature. Lingering on the notion of the material against your skin..

He drummed his fingers on his leg and reminded himself, and the devil on his shoulder, why he was here early.

“Wait! Don’t–Don’t you dare hang up. Hello? Hello?” You examined the phone. An arrant dial tone persisted. You put it up to your ear again. “Hello?” Pressing your lips into a thin line, the plastic creaked under your grip, seething temper boiling under your composed exterior.

You let out a calming exhale. Relaxed the tension from your shoulders.

Then you beat the phone on the bedside table three times and slammed it on the receiver with a definitive, “Bitch.”

Curiosity aroused, Eddie asked, “Everything good?”

“Stupid insurance bullshit. Been on the phone with them all day.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Still unsure of where you stood after last night, you gave a little shrug, and put away your files, volunteering nothing more. He offered, “I can make some calls for you or something. Sit on the hold lines. Whatever would make it easier for you.”

“I can handle it,” you interjected. “Should we get going?”

Walking past him to the end of the bed, you bent to grab your purse from the floor and saw what you tossed on top of the pile of laundry spilling from your suitcase after your shower this morning.

You cut a glance at Eddie the exact moment he chose to look the opposite direction, humming a tune to himself.

Using your foot, you closed the suitcase and made to step around him.

“Can we talk first? I wanted to apologize for what I said last night.”

Despite him acknowledging the tension between you, you kept your gaze on the carpet, remaining vigilant for the sake of his feelings. “You didn’t say anything last night.” You kept moving.

He asserted his arm in front of you. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, voice cutting in and out. Harsh, yet sensitive. “Don’t walk away from me.”

The cold metal chains decorating his sleeve brushed your upper chest. You considered his method for blocking you from leaving; how he leaned into it, caging you, face tipped to speak into your ear. Aggressive to those who did not know him, but you understood the charity in the curl of his fingers hesitating in the air to refrain from an accidental caress. The desperation in his chapped lips. The absolute fatigue in his attempts to dance around the awkwardness of your tumultuous relationship.

“I..” Eddie started, fluttering his eyes shut to better sift through his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said last night. I don’t hate you.” You sighed in a way that had him cringing at his actions. It was always worse when you were disappointed in him. “To be honest, seeing you again after all this time has been.. has been..”

“Bizarre?”

“Yes, bizarre,” he said emphatically, beginning to pace. “It’s brought up a lot of old feelings I never got over, and–and stuff I wanted to forget.. And stuff I didn’t want to forget, but at this point, I’m tired of the back and forth, and lashing out at you, and being a massive asshole. It didn’t feel good to say that last night, and I swear to you I didn’t mean it. I’m not mad at you for doing what you needed to for your future.” Stopping, he drove his hands through his hair and locked his fingers behind his head, monopolizing the cramped space at the end of your bed where you wrung your arm. “You’re here now, and I like being around you, and me trying to, I don’t know, is ‘punish’ the right word? Wallowing and wasting all this energy punishing you for leaving has been exhausting and I just, I–”

Unwavering eye contact. A rare occasion as of late, taken for granted long ago. You seized it, held it, and the glimmer of hope in how his face softened when he looked at you.

“I miss you,” he admitted in a gentle breath. “I miss you and I want to be friends again.”

He wasn’t so much as asking permission to pick up where you left off as he was adamant for it, and his verbiage was not lost on you.

Eddie wanted you, needed you to be his friend again.

Faithful to your detriment, willing to make sacrifices for your best friend, ever diligent and committed to someone who returned the same kindness in the same degree with the same modesty, you smiled. “We can be friends again.”

Here is where normal people would hug. Not for you two.

Eddie beamed sunlight on a cloudy day. “I was also thinking about our conversation yesterday and I wanted you to know I’m really going to try at school this year. I’m going to graduate, and who knows, maybe I’ll end up at Penn State with you, so you can have a friend there and we can.. Okay, it wasn’t that funny.”

“S-Sorry,” you hissed through the laughter, “It’s not because of you going to college, I swear; your hair is all messed up. More than usual.” He examined his appearance in the large square mirror above the chest of drawers, and instead of fixing his mane like any sane person, he headbanged a few times and decided the wildness of it was perfect. Which it was.

Eyeing the entirety of the bed in the reflection, he smirked. “Interesting place for a mirror.” He turned to you. “Do you have your character sheet and stuff?”

You held up your purse. “Yep.”

“Sweet.”

~~~

Arriving at your dreaded destination, Eddie escorted you down the halls of Hawkins High, opening doors for you with a half-bow and grand sweep of his arm. You’d only spent one year here, and that was enough to build sore memories. Passing by your dented locker someone repeatedly broke into to steal your things, the classroom where a girl stuck gum to the back of your neck, the grassy patch near the concrete steps you had been formally introduced to after a boy shoved you because he heard a rumor you had a crush on him. All acts the principal excused as, “Kids being kids.”

Problems Eddie took upon himself to fix. Sharing his locker. Coming home with a black eye beneath the one his parole-granted father gave him. Threatening anyone who looked at you twice, regardless if he was the instigator. He shielded you. Your knight in rusted tin armor.

“Didn’t realize your club was literally at school.”

“Oh yeah, it’s the easiest place for us to meet,” he said, showing you to the back entrance of the theater. “Welcome.. To Hellfire Club.” He walked backwards into the prop storage area, and you couldn’t quite tell if you were supposed to be impressed by the big empty table in the middle, or if he was joking with you. To be polite, you pointed out the club’s handmade banner on the wall.

“Cool logo.”

His grin grew wicked. “I’m so glad you like it.” Removing his backpack, he unzipped it and took out a bundle of black and white fabric. “You should know the first rule of Hellfire Club is.. You gotta wear a member shirt.”

You caught what was hurled at you and unfolded it, frowning. “You couldn’t even turn it right-side-out?” Pulling the sleeves through and shaking out the wrinkles, you saw why it was balled up, and snarked in disgust, “Did you wear this already?”

“Rules are rules, my dear,” he sang, setting up his barricade of binders where he sat on his gaudy throne like the incensing king he wished he was.

“And where do you expect me to change?”

“It’s a theater department. Go find a prop tree, or,” –He threw his thumb over his shoulder– “The Russian cathedrals behind me, or something.”

“That would be sacrilegious, Eddie.” Opting for the gathering of standee trees and bushes blocking you from both his sight and the door, you said goodbye to your Macho Man t-shirt and peeled it off, stuffing it in your purse.

You should feel humiliated, embarrassed by how your body reacted holding his worn shirt in your hands. Flushed hot from burning cheeks to curled toes. You cradled the delicate memento to your chest, collar gripped tight in your fingers, hem tickling your exposed belly, sleeves tucked in your arms. You should feel ashamed of your nipples hardening against your thin bra when you paused in the trivial space between smelling his clothing and still having alibi if he caught you.

His shadow stayed at the table, arranging his things, and you broke for your old addictions.

An itch you could scratch again, finally.

Fabric to nose, you curled your shoulders in and inhaled deep. It was him. All him. Turning you dizzy. Invading your mind fuzz. Eliciting a perverse craving, an insatiable hunger. Inciting a primal greed over your possession. You don’t know what started this habit–him giving you his clothes and you obsessing over every little detail that was Eddie Munson–but you knew it was wrong.

However, the image of his body touching what lied in your palms, creating the scent buzzing in your veins, draping yourself in the smell of his sweat knowing it belonged to him alone.. It felt so fucking right.

Getting a hold of yourself, you quickly pulled it over your head, and tucked the hem into the corduroy skirt you borrowed from one of your teammates. You’d been hidden behind the trees long enough for Eddie to ask if you required assistance, and now you had to pretend you hadn’t been a complete degenerate for a full minute straight, getting high off his scent.

“Was it necessary to make me wear your dirty laundry?” you scoffed. “And what is this stain at the bottom?”

“I think it’s from a–” He turned around to finish his statement. The dice tower in his hand tumbled to the floor.

What a fantastic thing white shirts revealed to be when under the dramatic overhead lighting of the drama department.

He swallowed. “From a pen exploding on me.” Managing the meager sentence, he commanded his gaze off your chest and met your equally stunned expression reflecting the thrill of catching him. “I designed the logo myself,” he said a bit too loudly.

“Cool.” You nodded slowly, locking in the memory of how he devoured your clothed body, how he had to blink away and adjust his stance. “Cool, and what were the other rules?”

“Other rules?”

Picking up the dice tower at your feet, you put it on the table, taking inventory of the figures and miniatures he would be using during the game. He returned to his flamboyant throne, organizing stacks of campaign plots written in his neat handwriting. “You said wearing the shirt was the first rule like there were more, so what’s the second?”

“Oh, there is no second rule.” He smiled above the binders, all cocksure and full of himself as if you hadn’t just witnessed him staring at your tits moments ago. “Except, of course,” he implored, tilting his head, “Having fun.”

Attraction be damned, you could, in fact, wring this man’s neck.

~~~

The stage lights had been dimmed. A candelabra behind the throne cast the campaign in shadows, setting the mood. Jeff was the first to open the door, and his laughter trailed off. Gareth was second, watching you and Eddie converse over the graph paper map on the table.

“That wall should go one square to the right.” He checked his notes. “Then Gareth’s figure would be one to the left.” You leaned over the plastic chairs opposite him, following his directions, replicating where they left off on their game last Friday. “And I think we’re done.”

Breaking the spell settling over his Dungeon Master’s face as he watched his assistant saunter to the right hand spot at the table where Jeff usually sat, Gareth stepped forward and announced his presence rather well, he thought. “So that’s why Eddie was talking about you at lunch.” To which Jeff added, “You should’ve seen him, he looked so cute updating us on you..” And serving the knockout punch was Lloyd, who had just come in. “Hey Eddie, Eddie’s girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.” You tried not to do the cliche thing of shifting your eyes to Eddie, but your curiosity got the better of you. “You were talking about me?”

Jeff supplied the answer, “Oh yeah, he was bragging about you being the best gymnast on your team.” He sat across from you, ignoring the way Eddie was shaking his head at him, frantically communicating his panic through his wide-eyes screaming at him to shut up.

Gareth piped up again, “He said you ran off to Penn State.”

“And he warned us not to be weird at DND tonight, presumably he meant not being weird in front of you,” Lloyd said.

Tickled by their eagerness to divulge this information with you at their leader’s expense, you found it most interesting Eddie was speaking so highly of you when he hadn’t apologized yet, or ensured you two were on amicable ground before giving them a dissertation on your life since you left. “Is that true?” you asked Eddie, who performed his best innocent act.

“I–Well, it’s not like it sounds.”

“You see,” Jeff ribbed, “he hadn’t talked about you in years. He was just excited you were back in town, and wouldn’t let anyone else get a word in edgewise; going on, and on, and on, about how you’re some college big shot now, and just so cool.”

Eddie pointed a stern finger at him, and said through gritted teeth, “I did not say that last part.”

Luckily for the blush crawling up Eddie’s throat, the door opened again and all attention turned to the last three guests for the evening. Unfortunately for Eddie’s self-esteem, Dustin was in a chatty mood.

“Sweet, a girl’s joining us. You must be Eddie’s girlfriend he was talking about at lunch.”

“Fucking Christ,” he put his face in his hands.

You offered a faint, “I’m not his girlfriend,” and introduced yourself properly to those you hadn’t met yet, amused by Mike’s haircut resembling a certain someone’s next to you, and Lucas’ windbreaker pants, wearing them from his first basketball practice.

However, as the idle chatter waned, you gave in to the irking awareness someone was staring at you, and quirked a brow at Jeff, who was squinting at something in particular.

“Nice shirt,” he said, flicking his gaze to the ink stain.

This was going to be a long night..

Intervening, Eddie slammed his hands on the table, shaking his plethora of binders, commanding his distracted party to assimilate into their characters. “As we left off..” Slipping into his role as Dungeon Master, he sat at the edge of his plush seat, legs spread wide, gripping the ornate edges of his throne. He wove the tale in a mysterious tone, building anticipation, “Taking the quest from Hordram, the dwarven barkeep, you find yourselves lost to the labyrinth hidden deep within the Mountains of Hag Baduhr. Days are immeasurable as you succumb to sleep-deprived delirium. All you know is darkness, cold, and the stench of old gore dried to your clothes. Dank mildew stuck in your nose. The faint drips of water..” He held up his hand and curled his fingers in one at a time. “Drip. Drip. Drip. A clock with no hands, nor face. Neverending shadows playing tricks on your mind as your torch loses its flame, knocked from Sargas’ hand in the last battle.” Eddie made a show of gesturing to Lucas to indicate that was his character. “Gareth, you chose to limp deeper into the narrow passage of the maze, hissing at your wounds, clutching onto your wounded arm. A musty, warm breeze caresses your right cheek, almost undetectable. Around the corner you approach comes a soft orange glow. You hear something shifting. What do you do?”

Gareth chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered where his figure stood on the map. “Can I tell if there is another pathway nearby?”

“Roll for perception.” The dice tumbled from his palm. Eddie sucked his teeth. “No, it looks to be a dead end and your only option is the stretch of light coming from the right.”

“I tap my gauntlet on the wall twice, giving them the signal for backup.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at the rest of his little adventurers, and they agreed. You garnered they had just finished an intense fight from their descriptions of having the help carry Lloyd’s tiefling barbarian. “Now, the smell of smoke wafts to you. Soot and pine.”

“Another torch?” Jeff whispered in character.

“On three?” Gareth said to his team. They nodded, and looked to Eddie to lead them through the scenario.

“Upon the bend in the labyrinth, you peek around the corner as one, weapons at the ready. Breaths held. Peering into the depths at..” Dramatic pause. A swell of his chest as he bewitched his audience into hanging onto his every word. “You encounter not a monster, but another person, perched on a mossy slab.” With a dramatic sigh, he slouched sideways on his throne, propping his elbow on the chair’s arm and settling his cheek into his palm, tapping his forefinger on his high cheekbone. Beholding you from beneath his long lashes as he granted you the stage to introduce your character.

Unfolding the paper in your shaky hands, you didn’t know if you were supposed to roleplay yet, or read from the sheet, but with how dry your mouth became, you chose to stick with what you wrote. If you could read it, that is.

Everything swirled. Stammering, you tried, “I’m a half-elf cleric named Valendrei. Lawful good. Level 5. Uh..” How much were you supposed to share? Did it sound dumb? Was everyone expecting more? When were you supposed to enter the scene?

Eddie bumped his leg against yours, ceasing your nervous bouncing.

“Uhm, I chose the Life Domain, if that matters..” Calm. His adoring gaze. Calm. Proud of you for taking part in his hobby. Calm. “My shield lays in splinters at my feet, and my mace rests propped against the slab. I’m unarmed except for the torch I’m using to cauterize a wound on my knee.”

Lloyd reacted first. “Intense.”

“That’s metal,” Dustin said, impressed.

Earning their respect stirred a deep-seated desire etched into your very being; a want to belong. And same as always, you glimpsed at Eddie for his approval to gauge whether you were doing the right thing, but instead of being met with his mild reassurance, he looked at you in bold admiration. Stark glory, hair fanned about his face from him twisting it. Eyes nearly closed from how broad his smile was. Fingertips placed on his bottom lip, tracing it languidly as his chest jumped with a laugh.

“Should’ve known you would pick a healer,” he said to you, and sat up to address the others. “She hates it when her favorite characters die in books, so now she wants to be the one to save them.” Entranced by his mouth, you watched it form the coy remark, wholly invested in what annoying observation he would conclude next. “Although.. Lawful good? That’s a mighty claim. Need I remind you, I’ve seen your permanent record.”

“Shut up. It’s my character, she can be lawful good.”

He seemed hellbent on oversharing your previous life together. “You know that cheerleader Brittany who graduated two years ago, the one with the broken nose? Guess who did that.” Their eyes were on you. You kicked Eddie’s shoe under the table, telepathically yelling at him to cut it out. Much to your dismay, he snapped a few times, recalling something, and said, “That’s right! And there was that other time in 8th grade when you were suspended for beating up that popular girl. Man, you guys should’ve seen it. She knocked her to the ground, sat on her chest, and just fucking whaled on her.” He mimicked your punches while the guys laughed. “It was crazy. I’ve never seen so much blood. What did she say to you, anyway?”

Trailer trash. She called Eddie weird, she called him ugly, and she called him trailer trash. In a classic misunderstanding, Eddie was being his normal self around Jessie, who was from the good suburbs, and she mistook his goofy, boisterous antics as him flirting with her. And as soon as he was out of earshot, she turned to her giggling friends, and your next vivid memory was pulling your fist back, musing over how sticky blood became when it reached oxygen. “I don’t remember,” you mumbled.

“You fucking rock, dude,” someone said. You weren’t sure who.

“I mean, you see her guns, that girl stood no chance,” Eddie raved. With the candles crowned above his head like a halo, you had no choice but to bask in the radiance of his everlasting light. “Strongest person I know,” he said quietly, dragging his gaze over your broad shoulders filling out his shirt. Deliberate in his efforts to appreciate the finer details of where it hugged you.

He was so obvious. A wave of whispers ensued; gossips of yours and Eddie’s names at the intimate table where his knee touched the skin of your thigh through the rips in his jeans.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he was all business. He staked an elven figure on the map, and demanded silence and the continuation of his game. “So, you see an unassuming, unarmed half-elf before you. Do you invite her to your party?”

The clear answer was yes, and yet..

The apple of Jeff’s cheeks shined with joy under the same benevolence you shied from. “I’m not about to trust some rando in a dungeon,” he said to Eddie while picking up a dice. “I prepare my spear.”

This would be a long night, indeed.

~~~

Neverending encounters.

Dismembered goblin parts laid in heaps like bricks around your party. Their gore clung to your armor. In fantasy, your half-elf worked to bandage your teammate’s wounds; in reality, clusters of dice rolled across the table top. Bleak were the low health points. The squish of pallid flesh, the metallic taste in your mouth, the putrid reek of entrails. Eddie’s knack for descriptive storytelling would follow you to bed that night.

More dice rolls. Lucas found a treasure chest of disappointment. All those goblins for very little loot, and anticlimax in the form of him passing off his Wand of Magic Detection to you. An impractical object since the spell could not penetrate stone, and being in a labyrinth inside a mountain, it was not exactly useful, but considering you had the bag space and no shield, you accepted it.

Down, down the labyrinth you traveled. An enemy here, an ambush there. Dense packs of creatures, but low on health, meaning this was a good sign you were heading in the right direction. Gareth and Lloyd led the way with your dwindling torch, insisting those of you with darkvision determine paths. Up, up an incline, over a ravine on a tattered rope bridge. The wind became thick. The scent earthier. It seemed like you were helping them escape the maze. It seemed like you were everyone’s hero, healing their sores and sending them off to freedom. It seemed like you were the star of the night after answering a riddle far too easily for the cunning mind who created it. It seemed to be too good to be true, because it was. Especially paired with the Dungeon Master’s rolls behind his binders, running his tongue over his top lip with an excited lurch in his posture when Dustin suggested Mike’s wizard bounce a fireball down a hallway, and suddenly, fog engulfed the party.

A smirk claimed Eddie’s face as he placed an elaborate figure of a winged lion on the map. “My friends, you have alerted a manticore to your location, and he, and his prey hiding amongst the shadows, are not very happy to have you in their domain.”

~~~

You tried. Cantrips on your tongue, hands aglow with prayers. Spending actions until your spell slots were nearly exhausted. Salves, bandages, well wishes; they fell short. Your friends laid splayed on their backs, gurgling through mucky blood in their throats. Manticore spikes impaled their forearms, protruding like breached bones. Skin flayed in ribbons. All the while, the manticore stood ready to attack, its thick fur acting as armor. Another round of Death Saving Throws were completed and Eddie’s menacing leer was upon you.

“The manticore sinks into its hind legs, nails scraping the stone floor, and he leaps forward. His wings extend, catching the draft, and he lunges for you, Valendrei. Mouth open. Fangs glistening in the torchlight, dripping with blood. What do you do?”

Two second level spell slots remained. You asked Lloyd, “If I cast Healing Word, can you protect me?”

“How confident are you that I’ll heal enough to not immediately die again?”

“Not very.”

“Mm.”

Tapping your pencil on the corner of your character sheet, you ground your teeth at your options, weighing them in your head as Mike offered a cooing wisdom.

“This was a tough dungeon and the school year just started. Don’t worry about our characters dying, we can always make new ones. It’s not your fault, no healer would’ve been able to juggle a party this size.”

His well-meaning kindness got under your skin.

You weren’t a loser. You didn’t earn consolation prizes. You were a gold medalist, you could outsmart the Dungeon Master.

“Tick, tock,” your smarmy friend added from over his binders.

Reading over your abilities, your bag space, your copper–anything, your gaze zeroed in on one item.

“What does the Wand of Magic Detection look like?”

Eddie blinked. Gears turned in his head, calculating your scheme, rushing through simulations of where you were leading him, and finding no flaw–nor logic–in your question. As a severe, but not unkind Master, he consulted his books, and figured he’d be generous. Just this once. You had 4 hit points left. You weren’t coming out of this scenario alive, anyway. “What do you want it to look like?”

Flipping over your sheet, you sketched a straightforward rod with a pointed gem at the top, not unlike the ones you’d seen in the Player’s Handbook yesterday. A simple wand, but efficient. You weren’t about to take advantage of Eddie by conjuring up something ludicrous and overpowered. “Like this.” You showed him.

Suspicious, he drawled, “Sure, that works.”

“I shove it in the manticore’s mouth.”

“What?”

“You said his mouth was open, so I wedge it in there. Vertically. Preferably with the gem against the hard palate and the base against the soft floor under his tongue, but I’ll take what I can get.” You laced your fingers and appeared stoic despite his condescending taunt.

“I’m gonna need a dex check for that one, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

You disregarded the pet name, ascribing it to one of his habits. A slip of his tongue, nothing more. Besides, you had a game to play.

The table embraced your confidence. Murmurs of encouragement, exchanges of premature celebration, more than one person chanting for your victory. You picked up the die and imbued it with your collective support, and rolled.

“Nat 20!”

“Man, that’s one way to decimate a monster.”

Slowly, Eddie drew his gaze to the paper in front of him. Eyes moving back and forth over his handwriting. Losing the crease between his brows as he buckled under the weight of acceptance. “Roll for damage,” he mumbled.

You complied with an arrogant lilt, “Is 28 enough?”

The corner of Eddie’s lips jumped in a small smile aimed at his clasped hands. Gareth erupted in a rowdy cheer, recognizing the look on his face as one of content defeat, and Jeff took it upon himself to flick the manticore figure off the map. “Screw you and your grueling labyrinth.”

You were being rocked back and forth. Many hands patted your back, shook your shoulders, bumped your fist. Lauding you for your wit, and for being the one to put Eddie in his place. You were glowing under their excitement, their congratulations, their insistence on coming back to Hawkins to play with them again, and your best friend sat on his throne, chin in his hand–palm covering his mouth–smitten from the group’s acceptance of you.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t mean for anyone to hear it, and for the most part, everyone had sat back down, busy making their Death Saving Throws and rationing out potions, gunning for your spell slots. But you heard it.

That’s my girl.

His praise, the creaking of his chair as he leaned forward, the rustle of his papers as he poured over his notes for the next part of the story he crafted; shifting the same way he did yesterday in his van, except there was no lighter to drown out his words.

You were his girl.

Your heart raced at the implication. Turning your body heat on high, and with it, carrying his shirt’s scent to your nose again. Snapped to attention like an obedient animal and it didn’t even phase you as you did it. Frozen on the receiving end of a brutal awakening. A winner all your life, but on the caveat you could score higher, move faster, perform sharper. Words of affirmation followed by a critique. Not from Eddie, though. You were his perfect girl who did everything right.

What else could he praise you for?

A whine hitched in your throat at the visual your mind latched onto.

And he caught you in the midst of your preening for more. How you sat up straighter. Unadulterated desperation in your candid expression; a slight parting of your plump lips. Tempting his massive ego into discovering your secret. Too taken by his words to erase the evidence of your reaction.

Eddie’s pupils were black lakes absorbing every detail of your face. Mirrors reflecting intrigue. Exhilaration. A curiosity rivaled by no other.

Leaning towards you, head and voice down where the others could not eavesdrop, he asked, “You good?”

Ever the deviant, you responded with one short confirmation, loud enough for his ears only, “Yes, sir.”

He tensed. Eyes widening the exact way someone’s would when trapped in this predicament; squirming under the narrowed scope you viewed each other in after hitting that sweet spot neither of you were aware of, and having no outlet to act upon it. Afterall, you had only agreed to be friends again hours ago. There were boundaries to your relationship. Walls. Guards he resurrected around his heart.. And drool pooling against his bottom lip as he remembered you were wearing a skirt and what sort of sinful delights were trapped between your thighs.

Fervent whispers were had at the other end of the table, and after a hushed debate, Dustin spoke up, “Are you two going to keep flirting, or are you going to wrap this up so we can go home?”

Recovering first, Eddie forced a laugh and opened his arms wide. “Taken by surprise, the manticore continues its planned trajectory, biting down on the wand with its powerful jaw. The gemstone pierces the tissue at the back of his throat. Blood flows over Valendrei’s arm as she retreats from her move. He attempts another bite, lusting for her demise, but the wand lodges deeper into its flesh, crushing his windpipe. Succumbing to the pain, it stumbles backwards into a shimmering wall and disappears behind it. Shimmering, shimmering. The wall waves like heat refracting on hot ground. And then.. It dissipates. Striking bright light blinds you. Warmth gathers all of you in a hug. Scents of damp tree bark and chimney smoke welcome you. The manticore lays in an open plain of grass, gasping its last breath. Beyond him, on a hill in the far distance, is the beginnings of a village amongst the sparse woods.”

”Whiteridge!” The name of the town their original quest was for, before the unrelenting maze of the labyrinth diverted them. Next week they could return to their adventure, experience gained, and free from their Dungeon Master’s cackling.

A succinct, yet satisfying close to the evening. Pushing back from the table, you carried a conversation with the guys outside the theater while Eddie made notes for himself about the map and what miniatures he would need for the village.

Falling behind the freshman, Jeff, Gareth, and Lloyd slowed once you’d said bye to the others, passing around silent looks in lieu of spoken word. When you turned around, Jeff volunteered as the one who should confront you.

“So, about Eddie..”

“About Eddie?” you asked, feeling the elation of the evening evaporate from your mood at his serious tone.

“We feel like you should know how he reacted after you left.” Taking a deep breath, he struggled to explain. “I don’t know how much he told you, or if he told you at all; and you know I’m not really into all the stuff you guys do–drugs, or whatever–but.. I don’t know, man.. He was on some serious shit for a while after you left. No one knew what happened to you, and he just kinda.. spiraled out of control.”

Lloyd said, “My mom worked at the pharmacy back then. It was a shitload of pills.”

“I went over to get him for band practice one time and..” A wince developed on Gareth’s face as he came to terms with what he saw. “It was sad, walking in on someone crushing their day’s worth of benzos into these little meticulous lines to snort later.”

“Jesus..” You thought back to the diner and shook your head, confused. “He said it was a few days that he couldn’t remember.”

All three of them bulged their eyes at the ground. “It was definitely more than a few days.”

Gareth soothed you, “He evened out eventually, obviously. He’s been normal since then, but when you first came back, we were kinda worried he’d relapse, but, uh.. I guess things are fine now?” He ran his hand over his nape and shrugged at the others.

“Whatever you two are,” Jeff began. You didn’t bother picking at the scab of correcting him that you were only friends. “We hope you’re working things out. I know you’re in town for other reasons, but I wouldn’t hate it if you came to visit again some day. Don’t forget you left me without saying anything, too.” He drew in a long breath, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, swaying. “But if Eddie can forgive you, then you’re cool with me.”

“Yeah, you’re fun to play with,” Lloyd added. “Just saying, give it a thought if you can make the drive.”

Sensing the end of the heart-to-heart, Gareth walked in the direction of the school’s parking lot. “There'll always be a seat at the table for you.” Lloyd dipped his head in farewell and joined him.

Waiting for them to disappear amongst the cars, Jeff shifted his weight beside you, crunching grass beneath his shoes. Faced turned up at the stars, taking a moment of peace for himself. You sighed into the cricket-laden night. “Was Eddie really that bad?”

He gave you his blessing. “He’s better now, and I think that’s all he cares about, and all you should focus on. The present. See ya around, yeah?”

“See ya.” Watching him leave, you tightened your arms around yourself, fiddling with the sleeves of Eddie’s shirt as you unpacked way too much information for one day. Returning to the prop area, you shut the door softly behind you, and picked up a trash bin, cleaning up the soda cans and snacks while Eddie packed his things; stuffing papers in his binder and closing it, putting figures in a wooden box. You worked in quiet tandem. Avoiding the other, and being painfully aware of their presence all the same when the unexpected graze of fingers produced a physical yearn–a flinch–when you both reached for a notebook, and the simultaneous whispers of, “Sorry,” stained the interaction as an accident, thus no longer meaningful. “Can I ask you a question?”

Eddie hesitated. “Depends.”

“How come you were talking about me at lunch when we didn’t end yesterday on a good note? You had no idea if I still wanted to come today.”

Relieved it wasn’t about other matters, he revealed his truth. “Hope, really. I had hope. I thought if I manned up and apologized, you’d want to try being friends again, and want to play tonight.” Putting on his jacket and grabbing his bag, he continued on the way to his van, “Plus, as annoying as he is.. Jeff was right about one thing. I was excited to brag about you.”

It was times like these, when Eddie minimized his pain and downplayed his hurt, that you wondered if there were enough apologies in the world to overcome your guilt. He didn’t talk about you for years. Numbed himself for days, weeks, months, and lied to you about it.

He opened the car door for you. Because of course he did.

He kept the radio on low, in case you wanted to talk, because of course he did.

You were finally friends again, and you couldn’t look at him. He could look at you, though. Glancing every minute he drove at a reasonable speed down the dark road, gripping the steering wheel too tight. Taking a breath as if he were about to speak, and letting it go by clearing his throat when he couldn’t get the words out.

Jeff could be right about two things.

Moving on was easier. Reverting to your old dynamic, your style of banter, of laughing until your stomachs hurt; though it came with the confusing sentiment of relentless adoration, yet keeping each other at arm’s-length. You were ready to embrace it. Ready to work on forgiving yourself, if you could manage.

You wanted Eddie, needed him to be your friend again.

In the motel parking lot, he aimed for the room on the corner near the edge of the woods, with the extra window opposite the bathroom where a lamp you left on painted the green bushes lining the trees stark orange.

It was far too easy for Eddie Munson to be charming.

Standing in front of your door, caught in the headlights of his van, you both made awkward attempts at hiding your shy smiles. For a beat, your eyes met, and his toothy grin was as generous as him. This could be it, this could be goodbye. You could never see him after today and he spent his last moments with you nervously playing with his watch.

“Thanks for walking me the..” You eyed the ground. “Four feet to my door. What a gentleman.”

He swung his arms about him. “Anything to keep you safe at night.” You giggled. Waiting for either one of you to make the first move; to leave, to fuel the conversation, to say goodbye and mean it. Waiting for the sky to fall so neither of you would have to make a decision.

After another agonizing minute of sidelong looks, he brought his thumb to his mouth, and ran it over his lip. “So..” he attempted.

“So.”

Eddie dropped all pretenses and went for it.

He asked casually, “Does your fancy dorm have a communal phone, or a payphone nearby, or something like that?” Understanding immediately what he was getting at, your surprised expression did no favors in helping ease his adrenaline. His confidence wilted. He gave you an out, “If not–”

“Every room gets their own phone with an extension. I just have to share it with my roommate. It even comes with an answering machine, so if we’re not there, someone could, in theory, leave a message.”

He whistled. “Extra fancy,” he said, raising his brows. “Could, ah..” You swore you could hear his heartbeat in the shallow breaths he took. In the antsy way he punched his fist in his hand, like old times. “Could I, maybe, get your number, then? Y’know.. If you want to talk more..”

“Sure.” Calm. Full of starstruck smiles. Totally calm, you ripped open your purse and took out your character sheet, tearing a long strip from the top, and using your pencil against the door to write the obscenely long number, trying not to tremble. You handed it to him and he pocketed it without reading it. Too enamored with the positive result of throwing caution to the wind.

“Sweet. Uhm.. I’ll see you–or–call you later. Not tonight, obviously.. But soon, yeah?”

You should win a gold medal for keeping in your laughter. “Yeah. Soon.”

Not at all fumbling with your keys while unlocking your door, you closed it behind you, dropped your head back on the wood, and released your energy in a suppressed squeal.

“Holy shit!” You couldn’t wait to rub it in your roommate's face, “A boy just asked me for my number.”

~~~

Forgetting to drive away, Eddie stared at the paper in his hand, studying it and the way you wrote the numbers above your half-elf’s name. He was so pleased with himself, he could pass out from the blood rushing to his head. “Holy shit.. I fucking did it.”

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[silversatoru]

play-thing — part one

gojo satoru x getou suguru x f!reader

t/w: nsfw 18+, dark content, drugging, manipulation, noncon/dubcon, oral (f!receiving), nipple play, this story contains very dark themes so please do not read it you’re sensitive to any of these topics

synopsis: suguru and satoru are missing something in their lives, and who better to manipulate than an lonely, impressionable girl who just moved to tokyo from another city. they’re willing to take extreme measures to transform you into their perfectly submissive little play-thing. 

wc: 1.9k

suguru and satoru do everything together; live in the same house, work at the same company, even share a closet of the most expensive clothes, but something was missing. they both felt it, the empty space between them, and they were determined to find the perfect piece to fill the gaping hole in their lives.

and you practically fell right into the palm of their hands, in a local grocery store of all places. a pretty little thing with a freshly broken heart who’d just moved here from a neighboring city. no friends, no family nearby, anxious and impressionable and desperately in need of a couple capable men to show her around. it all started with an innocent question: “hey, sorry to bother you guys, but could you tell me where the baking aisle is?”

how you ended up here you still weren't quite sure. 

“let us take you on a tour of the city tonight,” satoru had cooed at you.

“there’s a few really nice bars, we could grab some drinks,” suguru added, both their voices smooth and terrifyingly persuasive.

but they seemed nice enough, and you weren't in any position to be picky with making friends right now — after all, you’d have to get accustomed to the city somehow, right?

wear something pretty, satoru had winked at you before you parted ways and continued your shopping, and for some reason you were very inclined to do as he said. they were both intimidatingly attractive and you weren’t exactly sure what their dynamic was yet, but you decided that if you ended up in bed with one of them tonight, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

you’d chosen a short and silky black dress, something elegant but classic that would absolutely catch the eyes of both men. and it did, satoru’s eyes glazing over your body several times before he even bothered to say hello to you. suguru was less obvious, his dark eyes giving you a quick once-over before giving you a warm smile and wrapping his arm around your shoulders as the three of you entered the first bar.

it was small, dimly lit with a few lanterns and packed tight with people. a little too crowded for your level of comfort, so you stuck closely to the sides of suguru and satoru as they led you deeper into the pub. the dark-haired male gestured towards an empty seat at the end of the countertop, the two of them standing on either side of you after you slid into it. satoru spoke with an impressive level of charisma, ordering three of the same drink from the bartender — who he seemed to know quite well.

taking a few sips of the liquor did wonders for you initial anxiety, and the casual conversation with both men was helping you to settle in as well. 

so, where are you from? 

what made you want to move to tokyo?

what do you do for a living? 

you were painfully oblivious to how the conversation stayed entirely centered around you; you still hadn’t learned anything about the two men, but they were learning everything about you. 

an hour or so in, a warm dizziness began to swirl around the inside of your head, slowly exacerbating until you felt like you were about to tumble out of your seat. you’d only had a couple drinks, and you normally handled your alcohol fairly well, so why did you feel absolutely sloshed right now? 

“guys, i think maybe-” you turned towards your two tour guides and crashed forward into suguru’s chest without warning. 

“think you went a little heavy, toru?” he scooped his hands under your plump ass and lifted your unconscious body into his muscularly arms. 

“not my fault she has no tolerance,” satoru shrugged, throwing some cash on the counter, “might be easier with her like this anyway”. 

“i suppose,” suguru clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “stupid girl, didn’t your parents teach you not to trust strangers so easily?”

the two of them casually made their way out of the bar together, making jokes about how poorly you handle your liquor to anyone who gave them a questionable look — but the bar was so loud and jam-packed with people that they made it out without any incident.

you were slow to come out of your sleepy haze, head nodding up and down as you struggled to maintain consciousness and take in the scenery around you. in a futile attempt to brush some hair out of your face you realized your hands were tightly secured behind your back. panic immediately flooded your system, chest tightening and hot tears brimming at the edges of your eyes. 

“just a precaution, angel,” suguru came walking into your hazy vision, a warm smile on his face as he tucked the loose strands of hair behind your ears, “how are you feeling?” 

“wha-, whaaat happen- ed?” your words were garbled, your brain barely able to form them. 

“don’t worry about it,” satoru appeared next to suguru, “you just drank a little too much, but we’ll take good care of you, won’t we suguru?” 

“of course, no need for you to worry about anything anymore,” he gave an affirmative nod. 

“i don’t think-” you wracked your brain for any recollection of what had happened tonight, but you found nothing, “i don’t th- think i — understand”. 

“you will soon,” satoru flashed a bright smile, but it wasn’t nearly as inviting as the first time you saw it. this time it was eerie, evil, threatening — what exactly was he talking about? 

your brain was quickly turning to absolute mush, your vision getting darker and foggier than it already was as you tried to hang on to the sound of their voices.

just relax

we’re gonna make you feel good, you wanna feel good, princess?

you want us to make you feel better?

“mhm,” you gave them a slow nod. you did want them to make you feel better! you felt groggy and confused and nauseas! so of course you said yes! that is what they were asking? right?

you felt the bed shift around you, several hands tracing over your skin and gently pushing you onto your back. you tried to question them, tried to form the words, but your brain was unable to produce a single word or movement at this point.

a hot tongue connected with the side of your neck, lips latched onto the skin and sucking gently on the sensitive area. another mouth was on your inner thigh, sucking a little harder and undoubtedly leaving a small marking. you subconsciously let out a squeaky, shaky breath, the warmth of their tongues eliciting a response in your doped-up body.

goosebumps raked through your body when you felt a pair of slender fingers slip under your dress and brush over the thin material of your panties. it was satoru, his middle and index fingers prodding at your clothed cunt and sending jolts through your legs. meanwhile suguru continued to cover your neck in sloppy kisses, one of his large hands groping at your covered breasts.

your brain had gone numb, from the drugs, the confusion, the terribly intoxicating pleasure. you hated how clueless you were, how useless your body was right now, but what you hated most of all was that you weren’t even trying to fight back. their touch felt good — too good for you to ask them to stop.

it wasn’t long before satoru’s fingers were replaced with his mouth, his tongue running up and down the fold in your panties and absolutely soaking the material with his saliva. he groaned from the taste, getting just as much pleasure from this as you were. he was quick to push the fabric to the side, sliding his tongue against your sticky folds with hunger and urgency. he lapped at your cunt, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue and evoking a series of twitches from your lazy body.

“be gentle with her” suguru’s voice sounded far off in the distance as he mumbled into your chest.

satoru heeded to the other man’s instructions, slowing his pace and going more gentle on your sensitive, puffy clit. suguru found your hardened nipples through your thin dress, rolling them in his fingers and enhancing the already blissful feeling you were getting from satoru’s tongue.

the two of them working together was incomprehensibly euphoric, your stomach coiling into tight knots with each swipe of his tongue. without warning he dove even deeper, his tongue shooting into your cunt while his nose rubbed against your throbbing bundle of nerves. between that and suguru giving your nipples a sudden tug, your body was crashing with waves of pleasure — strangled moans and pitiful whimpers the only sounds that your mouth could produce.

it was a near-holy experience, the feeling of the sedatives pumping through your veins as satoru tongued your pussy and suguru massaged your breasts through your heightened orgasm. you felt like you were floating, the room was spinning, and then everything went dark.

a real shame that you wouldn’t be able to remember any of it by the time you woke up.

bright sunlight pierced through your eyelids the following morning, forcing you awake and causing you to jolt up. you were laying in a large bed that was situated at the back of a rather large room, fitted silk sheets cool under your skin. confused of what happened and where you were, you stood from the bed and made your way to the door, feet patting on the soft carpeted floor. 

when you opened the door you entered a long hallway that led to a wide stairway covered in the same fluffy carpeting. two voices were laughing and talking beneath you, and curiosity fueled your motivation to walk down the stairs and into an open-concept kitchen and living room. 

satoru and suguru, the two men from yesterday were busy at the stove, pancakes and bacon sizzling away on two cast-iron pans. they wore matching aprons, suguru’s reading chef daddy, and satoru’s reading mr. good-lookin’ is cookin’. 

who the fuck were these guys?

“feeling better?” suguru was the first to notice you loitering at the edge of the room. 

“yeah, how are you? didn’t picture you to be such a heavy drinker,” satoru laughed, flipping a pancake with grace. 

you didn’t remember much, nothing past sitting down at the bar with them. you weren’t much for getting wasted but you were plagued with more stress than usual lately — maybe you really let yourself go last night. 

“ah, sorry about that, I don’t even remember what i did, honestly,” you shrugged, “thanks for looking out for me though, where’s my stuff?”

“in a hurry to leave? stay for breakfast,” suguru brushed off your question with a captivating smile, his eyes squinting together in the most adorable way. 

“we insist,” satoru chimed in, humming as he continued to focus on the sweet-smelling food. 

and so you stayed, which was probably the worst mistake that you’d made in the past twenty-four hours of countless terrible mistakes. 

part one | part two

a/n: im on a yandere/dark content kick today i cant help it. anyway if u wanna be tagged when i post part two lemme know :) and if u want some yandere megumi go read @katslutski​ ‘s tell me 

(ily kat <33 so happy to have someone to get into very specific obsessions with)

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

A fascinating episode - some really strong and on point analysis of where they are at this point, and why this album is interesting and unexpected. But also quite revealing on the meta level.

They talk about Larry as a cultural phenomena early on and I liked what Nora said putting it in the context of wider fan stories and fantasies

But she also said that there was "a long and ugly history of conspiracy theories about gay relationships creating a connection between homosexual relationships and sneaking around and hiding bad things."

And I genuinely don't know what she's talking about - I don't know what history she's thinking of. But more importantly - every so often a certain sort of liberal argument will be put forward that basically amounts to: "People noticing the world is unjust is the problem actually". They're always brain meltingly terrible arguments. The problem is homophobia and the closet, not the people who have noticed that these things have existed. (I have many questions that I'd ask someone who tried to advance this argument to me in person - I think I'd start with Olly Alexander suggesting that because they wanted an out British gay actor with a high profile in his twenties for Richie, he knew there was no real competition for the part). There are good reasons for being really fucking careful about how you talk about celebrities and sexuality, particularly on podcasts with this sort of backing and reach.

But the idea that the reason that perceiving that homophobia exists and celebrities are closeted does harm is total bullshit. And I'm interested that it sounds credible to anyone.

And throughout this episode I thought again and again how in some way it's almost impossible to understand and talk about 1D, because 'Larry' becomes this weird black hole that it's impossible to properly navigate. I'll talk about this more in response to another ask, but they discuss both Rainbow Direction and #projectnocontrol, and miss really important aspects of their dynamics.

I think the problem with talking about 1D is that if you don't directly address that Larry Stylinson was a cultural phenomena then many things make absolutely no sense. But it's very difficult to discuss it as a cultural phenomena without immediately getting bogged down into questions of validity. And as soon as you're like 'are these people right?' you're not really coming from a place of curiosity.

I don't exempt from that - I think my understanding about 1D is hampered by my belief that Larries are both correct and include. But I do wonder why 'Larry' as a cultural phenomenon has this power. The popcast people were able to talk, not just about Taylor, but also about Kaylor, perfectly cogently.

And before I move on entirely from that train of thought. The absolute highlight of the episode for me was when they were discussing Peak Louis. They mention that Louis felt really sensitive to speculation about his sexuality, and suggests he might have written No Control in response to that speculation - to wear his heart on his sleeve. And in case it's not clear - they think that No Control was Louis exerting his heterosexuality. Which I absolutely love as a take. Imagine if it was true - hypothetically straight Louis putting all his feelings about heterosexual sex into a song, and this is what happens.

Anyway back to the actual podcast. They've touched on the controlling nature of fandom throughout the podcast, and I liked how explicit they got when it came to Zayn leaving. It hit hard for me, listening it on the back of the anon I got yesterday suggesting that some fans thought that Zayn was 'selfish' for smoking.

I loved that they talk about Lima's infamous fan service red carpet. I definitely disagree about peak Liam peak Liam at this period is watching some kind of political movie late at night and then tweeting about how some people don't have access to McDonalds. And I really disagree with them about the nature of Liam's responsibility at this stage. He's not really a caretaker, although he'll take care of people if that's supposed to be his job role. He's very focused on keeping people happy, and not breaking the rules.

Anyway I've got a few more asks where I'll discuss the podcast some more - so I'll stop here. I really love hearing people take 1D seriously and I can't wait to hear what they say about the solo albums. If anyone figured out how to listen to their live Coachella episode can you let me know.

Edited to Add: I forgot to mention that I love how much Nora hates Ed Sheeran. Obvious highlight her response to the question about Ed Sheeran's song 'Don't' was 'I would leave Ed Sheeran for Niall Horan any day the week'.

[mystic-sky]

|✨Part 1✨| |✨Part 2 ✨| of the Friends with Benefits Series.

Your relationship with Suguru started off somewhat unexpectedly. A new semester romance, however it was unwanted after dealing with Satoru Gojo just last year. You tried not to blame yourself for the situation unraveling the way it did. You did your best to make Satoru comfortable with you- at least you thought you did.

He cut you off as soon as you made your feelings apparent. You wondered if he somehow did it for your own good, or maybe there was something deeper that went along with it. No matter, you remained optimistic. You were young, and bound to make mistakes. This was just a story to tell your children about in the future if you ever felt it was necessary.

But back to Suguru, who had wiggled his way into your life somehow. He wasn’t a random guy actually. More like a familiar face you’d seen in a few of your classes because you both were in the same major. Just so recently, he decided to talk to you.

You weren’t expecting to hit it off with him so easily. He was sort of scary looking, which led you not to engage with him in the first place. He never tried talking to you before 5 months ago. And neither did you, considering you thought he was so handsome he’d break your heart too somehow.

His arms were sleeved with tattoos that would bridge at his chest. The tattoos would sometimes peak out of his wide collared shirts if he chose to wear one that day. He had a thing for wearing these huge ear gauges that had his favorite anime on them. Though, you never noticed until you sat close enough to him to see the designs. It was a rainy day, and both of you ended up sitting beside each other in your sociology course in the back of the classroom. You were both late, having come in just after the other.

It was weird seeing him this close. He never did come late to any class you’d ever been in with him. Even if you wanted to sit with him, like Satoru, he never had any available seats beside him. He didn’t disturb you until the lecture ended, commenting on one of your anime themed mechanical pencils. That sparked your first conversation with him, and he wasn’t shy to ask you out for coffee right after.

He’s been keen on you since, and you just barely give him the time of day in the beginning. You were just cautious, after the whole Satoru situation. Suguru was fine with whatever you wanted the situation between you both to be. But you will admit, the conversations he’d keep you up with at night made it hard to not fall in love with him.

He’d take you out to dinner, study with you, and sleep with you from time to time since the sexual attraction between you was hard to deny. You think your favorite thing about messing around with Suguru was how he’d always pick your brain after sex with manga theories and better endings than the canonically debuted ones. He was a really good cook, and you often challenged him to make your favorite dishes. They were excuses to invite you over to his place, so he gladly took each one with merit. It was friends with benefits but with far much more substance to hold onto.

He never poked you about getting serious. Whatever you both had was still young at barely 5 months. He could tell you’d been going through something mostly because of how you sexed him. Sometimes you were the dominant one- you’d throw him on the bed and bounce yourself on his length until your knees were far too tired to go on. Other times, he’d steal the show from you, showing you just exactly what he was capable of.

He spread you onto the desk in his bedroom, face deep into your folds. He also loved to spoil you, like Satoru, but you did your best not to think of him when you both were together. Suguru had so much more hair to grab, considering his tongue work was so good it scared you.

“Be a good kitten and cum for me.” He said between sucks on your clit. You often couldn’t think, and that was a good thing. He numbed you in plenty of ways, he knew he had been helping you get over something. He had been doing the same thing but you could care less.

“Actually, I changed my mind.” He tore his mouth from your steaming sex, wiping his chin. You gasp as he lifts you up off the desk, holding your body without leaning against anything for support. You felt weightless, feeling his length prod at your entrance. You tried to hold back a giggle as he smiled smugly at you.

“You ready?” His eyes were sincere, asking for your consent again as he was aching to sink you onto himself.

You nod, feeling a bit nervous. “Stuff like this is about balance. Start flailing around again and I’ll drop you.” He teased. Your hands found some of his hair again, tugging on it a bit.

“Just fuck me.” You roll your eyes as he slams his length into you, making you cry out and clutch your arms around him. His large hands firmly grasp underneath your thighs, using the way your ass recoiled against his thighs to keep a steady rhythm. He’s immersed in the way your broken moans pour into his ear, fueling his stamina. He’s a stickler for teasing you the entire time, praising you for taking his length so well.

“Such a good kitten, you’re taking it so well.”

It was the third time he’d ever held you up to fuck you. After letting go of the fear of him dropping you it became incredibly easy to focus on the pleasure.

“You’re gonna cum aren’t you? Don’t worry about the carpet baby, make a mess for me.”

He knew how to mix things up the way you needed. On your rough days he’d sex you slowly, more passionately and generously. If you were happy and feeling frisky he’d fuck you accordingly. He was pretty good at reading your body just after the first few fucks you had. You hated comparing the two men, but it did happen from time to time when you were in solitude, plagued by your own self-deprecating thoughts every now and then.

It was weird how they emanated each other’s personalities in certain ways. And then you found out that they used to be good friends in high school until something happened. You never poked Suguru about it, since he’d seem to get irritated when you were around groups of friends and Satoru’s name was mentioned. You did your best to be satisfied with what you had. He was handsome, smart, and possibly wanted to be your boyfriend in due time.

But you couldn’t help but think about Satoru. Not only was your experience with him a wild one, but he was fucking everywhere. It’s always like this for you. It’s not until you’re trying to avoid someone do you begin seeing them absolutely everywhere.

You stared at Satoru over Suguru’s shoulder, poking your cheek with your tongue. The audacity he had, showing up in the cafe where you both first met while you and Suguru were on a routine study date. Well, it was a hotspot for a lot of students, so who are you to say he can’t come in here.

“I think I’m overworking myself today, we can go eat now.” Your mood change was evident to Suguru, but he couldn’t put his finger on why at first. He watched you get up and pack your things before shortly following.

As you tossed your bag over your shoulders, he took hold of one of your hands, squeezing firmly. He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Is it something I can cheer you up from when we get back to my place?” Suguru was a bit smug about it, and also painfully intuitive about your emotions even though you’d been close for such a short time. Your cheeks went red, eyes burning holes through the floor.

“It’s nothing, really. Let’s just get out of here.” You manage to look back at him, just barely glancing at Satoru who probably had been looking in this direction. Suguru pressed another kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arm around you and leading you out the cafe. He nearly touched shoulders with Satoru and his own dame, smirking just loudly enough for him to hear.

Suguru wasn’t dumb, finally having noticed your energy change just a few moments after Satoru Gojo entered the cafe. This was your favorite place, and he hated how someone could ever ruin that for you. He felt urged to do something about it- with or without your consent. He doesn’t poke you about it until you’re in the car.

“Random question, but do you know Satoru Gojo?”

The question like a pin in your spine, making you visibly un-slouch in the drivers seat. He doesn’t look at you, feeling that would make it easier for you to talk. You take this the wrong way, and feel even more tense.

“I do, we were a thing at one point.” You manage not to stutter. You had no idea why you felt scared or touchy about the subject- you shouldn’t be. His entire vibe had changed, and he didn’t have his usual grin peaking at the corners of his lips.

“Oh,” he says simply. The longest ten seconds of silence reign throughout the vehicle. You’re anxious to turn on the radio, anything to rid the first bit of awkwardness the two of you had ever shared.

“He’s an asshole, isn’t he?” He randomly chuckles heartily, somewhat calming you.

“Yeah,” you’re exhaling properly now, “he really is.”

“We were best friends for about four years. I know him like the back of my hand. Granted, he’s probably changed a lot since high school.”

“But you’re both so-

“Different?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“If he was an asshole then, he’s multiplied tenfold.” You roll your eyes. “You both don’t talk anymore?”

You knew they didn’t, but you took the opportunity to ask anyway.

“Nah, he’s a slimy bastard. I hope karma turns him rotten.” You’d never seen Suguru scowl before. He must really hate him, you thought. Still, what a small world; first Satoru and now his ex best friend.

“You still talk to him?” He pokes again. His tone is just barely playful. God, you changed your mind. You didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“No, we don’t talk anymore. It ended pretty badly.” You say simply. You also decided not tell Suguru that the both of you messed around just before you started messing with him.

“Sorry about that. If we were friends sooner I’d have told you about him.” Suguru is apologizing for something you weren’t entirely ignorant about in the first place. You knew what you were getting into.

Satoru never tried to convince you the situation was anything other than what it was— until the end. The sweet things he started saying to you during those final months often echoed in your head- like he meant all of it.

The sex developed into something that it shouldn’t have. Sex that passionate should be forbidden if you aren’t already in love. And the things he said to you the last time he dropped you off didn’t make it any better. You wanted to slap his stupid, pretty face.

“I’m over it now.”

Suguru pans his gaze to watch you nonchalantly staring out the window. He knew better than to ask anymore. He was more elated that you didn’t interact with him at all. He didn’t need Satoru painting a picture about him in your head before he could first.

What sucks the most about dating people you go to school with is how often you’d see them. Satoru was fucking everywhere. The local restaurants, the library, the cafe, and he’d registered for two of your classes this semester. He didn’t speak to you at all, but he was always just there. Perhaps he’d always been around but since you’d been involved with him you were more aware of his presence.

You were standing in line in the library, attempting to return some books. He entered the space, and walked up behind you, standing on the line and giving your space. You turn your body slightly, peering up at him. You thought to leave, but just because you resented him didn’t mean you were going to cower every time you had to be around him for a while. You let out a sigh as you tip toed to peer in front of yourself; at least the line was moving.

Both of you had made it to the front, talking to separate librarians beside one another. When they both got up from their seats to head towards the back, he spoke directly to you, without actually looking at you.

“(Name), word of advice— I’d steer clear of Getou Suguru if I were you.”

Anger poured over you; you did your best to keep your voice low and eyes forward when saying this.

“That’s the first thing you say to me after almost a year? Go fuck yourself.”

He bites back a witty response, poking his cheek with his tongue. “Whatever. Find out the hard way.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve. Why the fuck are you telling me this?” You’re whisper-shouting, considering it’s a library.

“Because,” he turns to look at you, “I care about you.”

“What a load of shit.”

Satoru Gojo doesn’t care about anyone, you learned that the hard way.

He let out a sigh. He knew he had no right, but even if he couldn’t get you back, he wanted you to know what kind of guy you were seeing. He couldn’t say anything, he knew you wouldn’t listen. Not like this anyway. Both librarians returned, and gave you back your borrowing passes. You quickly departed, refusing to give Satoru another opportunity to speak to you. His words stuck with you on the way home. You didn’t have any reason to be afraid of Suguru, right?

Two months had passed since Satoru had “warned” you about Suguru. And nothing has happened to lead you to be cautious of him. Satoru hasn’t spoken to you either.

You’re sitting in the guidance counselor’s office as it’s the end of the semester once again. You typed away on your phone, telling Suguru you’d see him for dinner in a bit before throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. The heaviest sigh left your lungs, you were thankful the semester was nearing its end. You had quite enough of studying and needed to unwind.

You feel a presence on the end of your bench, making you open one eye. You see white tresses, and you catch the scent of familiar cologne.

Satoru doesn’t look at you, but he’s quite aware that he’s sitting beside you as well. You almost scoff, only crossing your arms and legs. Noticing the undone laces of your boots, you lean forward to tie it. Your loose bag on your shoulder which unfortunately wasn’t zipped, spilled small notebooks and pencils all over the floor. Spare change rolled across the walk way along with other items.

“Fuck...” you muttered. His head snapped towards you as you let out a sigh and bent down to pick up your things. Your phone that was your on your lap hit the ground as well. You saw his hand in the corner of your eye reaching down to help.

“I got it.” You say sternly, and shamelessly picking up your things. He retracts his hand, and instead gets up to pick up the items that were further away from you, ignoring your request not to help.

He sits back beside you, handful of change and pens. He holds it up towards you quietly while you attempt to fix your bag back to the way it was. You turn to look at him for what feels like the first time in forever, blue eyes pouring into your own (eye color) ones.

“I didn’t need you to do that.” You say, taking your things. You initially thought to take your things from him without a word. He went back to staring in front of himself, waiting to be called. You shifted uncomfortably, and fidgeted with your fingernails. You forced yourself into to pay attention to the soft music playing from the back of the office until he spoke.

“How have you been?”

For some odd reason though, you wanted him to say something to you. You had a lot of things to let off your chest considering the way things ended. You thought of giving him a piece of your mind right there in front of all the staff members, but you restrained yourself.

Instead, you found yourself saying “I’m doing great.”

“That’s good.” He says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t even sound sure of his own response. A few minutes of silence resumes after. You’re a bit startled when speaks again.

“I’m definitely out of line right now, but I’ve been wanting to talk to you about some things.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” A lot. You were bubbling over.

“There’s a lot of things, at least for me, that I’ve never really told you.” He’s looking at you now. “Can we talk somewhere quieter? Whenever you’ve got the free time, and only if you want to.”

He was offering closure to you a bit too late. Or maybe all this time you’d convinced yourself you’d moved on. You often found yourself replaying the morning he brought you home and all the things you should’ve said in that moment.

That’s not exactly moving on. Unfortunately, you also found yourself comparing him to Suguru more often then not. That’s not moving on either.

“Okay,” you said. “Later on today. Round 8pm.”

He looks thankful. Just as he spoke, your counselor called out to you to come into their office. You stand up, looking down at him.

“Cafe then?” He suggests.

“That’s fine. See you.” You shrugged. You didn’t care that much for the place. You heard him say goodbye as the door shut behind you.

You had half a mind to never speak to him ever again. Though both of you were using each other, he knowingly crossed a line, making you feel things for him in a situation where feelings weren’t supposed to be involved. And he never gave you a chance to truly address the situation. Now, almost a year later, he’s ready to speak to you on his own terms. You’d be sure to tell him you had no intentions of making amends with him. If you personally didn’t have interest in what he had to say, you wouldn’t bother gracing him with the ability to explain anything to you.

You would’ve made him suffer. He’s lucky you’re still a bit distraught about the situation. Any longer into your situation-ship with Suguru and Satoru wouldn’t even have the slightest chance at something like this.

Dinner with Suguru was transparent. He could tell something was on your mind but he didn’t pry much after his first attempt. The last time you both talked about Satoru he turned into a different person, and it didn’t sit right with you. You did your best to brush it off, assuming he was just protective over you. But Satoru’s warning in the library echoed in your subconscious more and more. Just what happened between them, and would it be okay for you to ask Suguru about it?

He wasn’t your boyfriend either, but you suppose he wanted to be? You hadn’t brought up the dating conversation in while and you probably wouldn’t until you situated the Satoru thing.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Suguru’s holding your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His smile is incredibly gentle and you feel guilty for keeping this from him.

Perhaps you should hold Suguru accountable too, for being so sweet to you like this. He informed you he wouldn’t up and leave unless you wanted him to and that he’d never say anything he didn’t mean. But after dealing with trauma from past relationships, affection like this was always perceived cautiously.

“I know,” you say, feeling his lips press against your forehead again. “It’s just not easy to talk about right now.”

“That’s alright,” he assures you. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

His lips connect with yours while his hands slide down your back. He feels you relax a bit, and that makes him smile. How could he possibly be a bad person?

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

You nod, watching him part from you and get into his car. You never did come to understand how he could afford it; a black Mercedes Benz-Coupe. You assumed that and his nice apartment were inherited wealth from his parents.

You wave at him before going into the station. Luckily he had things to attend to, and you didn’t have to bother making up anything about tonight. It was just barely any of his business, right?

You had an idea of what to expect from Satoru when you got there. You were rehearsing things you wanted to say in your head, some of them incredibly mean. You wanted to hurt his feelings too, if you had it in you. It didn’t take you long to get to the cafe, and you’d arrived early, already finding Satoru in the very back, furthest away from people. You gripped your bag strap, before sitting across from him.

“Hey, you’re early.” He says surprised, looking up at you from his phone.

“You’re the early one.” You say, not even cracking a smile.

“How are you?”

“Same as earlier. What did you want to talk about?”

He’s visibly gulping, and you’ve never seen him this nervous. He places his phone face down on the table, turning the sound off. You cross your arms.

“Right,” he lets out a heavy sigh. “Where should I start?” He attempts to gather his thoughts, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“I’m not the kind of guy who really addresses his feelings, if you couldn’t already tell at the time we, you know... I’ve been fucked over a lot. I don’t have a lot of actual friends, and I’m constantly aware that people cling to me for my money or looks.”

He never acted like his entourages bothered him per se, but you did notice that he never bothered being around people anymore when the two of you were a thing. You prompt him to continue with your eyes.

“The only best friend I’ve ever had used me until I realized what was going on and cut him off. The first girl I ever really loved chose him instead of me shortly afterwards. Obviously, it’s not a legitimate excuse to have treated you the way that I did, but I guess what I’m saying is that I’m cautious of people and have been for a long time now.”

“But I never tried to use you,” you interjected. You felt a bit insensitive for spitting it out like that, but he really did hurt you.

“I know, and I realized that a bit too late.” He sighs. “But more importantly, I realized that I didn’t talk about or convey my feelings correctly. I know I confused you a lot, and you didn’t deserve that at all.” He tried to keep eye contact with you when he spoke, but your lion like force was pretty strong.

“And when I dropped you off— I shouldn’t have said those things to you. You were so much more than a warm body to me. You were the first real friend I’ve had in a long time. Things got so cloudy for me since we were sleeping together. I didn’t know how to address it, and it freaked me out when you told me you wanted more. I should’ve been elated, but I suppose I didn’t want my heart broken again either.”

“So basically...” He breathed out, “I’m really sorry. I’ve got some messy emotions, things I’m gradually learning to deal with. I’m not making excuses for myself. It’s just I never did talk about myself much when we were a thing, so I wanted to tell you something at least, and apologize. I hated the way I left things. I know it’s long overdue for an apology but...”

“But?”

“I still have feelings for you. I never stopped. The more time passed, the harder it made it for me to apologize and tell you how I feel. And then I noticed you were going out with... him, so I thought it was too late. But I still wanted to try, I guess.”

He looked so awkward, you almost laughed. Apologies were definitely foreign to him. You could tell he meant it, but even so, he wouldn’t be getting a relationship out of you, if that’s want he wanted.

You let out a large sigh. For some weird reason all the angry things you wanted to say wouldn’t come out. You wanted to be angry at him but you just couldn’t. And your heart was swelling at the idea of him still having feelings for you. Did he really mean that?

“We’re not together. Not yet anyway— it’s complicated.” You crossed your legs and leant back in your seat. Suguru probably would’ve been your boyfriend already if you weren’t so stuck on Satoru.

“Oh,” he said quietly. You’d never seen him look so small, it was definitely out of character for him.

“I forgive you,” you lean forward, holding your head in your hands. All this time and you still had soft spot for him.

“Really?” He’s surprised. Your friends will be too after you tell them this story.

“You want me to take it back?” You’re pinching the bridge of your nose.

He chuckles nervously. “No ma’am.”

“Are you... doing okay though?” He probes after noticing the stress in your brows.

“I can’t stay mad at you. And I want to so bad. It’d make my life simpler. Now I’m conflicted.” You drag your fingers under your eyes, before smooshing your own face, stressfully so. He thought you were cute, but he felt bad being the source of your distraught-ness.

“So I take it you still have feelings for me?” His voice is regular now, and just barely his normal cocky tone.

You won’t even look at him. “I mean...”

How do you explain to him that the only reason you’re messing with someone right now, who just so happens to be his ex-best friend, is because you were trying to forget about him in the first place?

“I get it if you don’t.” He says. “It’s been a while.”

“I do.” It’s almost instinct for you to correct him. “That’s the problem.”

“Ah, I see.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again. You wished you could start over with a clean slate. School and dating shouldn’t be this difficult.

Satoru thought to warn you again about Suguru in that moment, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to make it seem as if he was badmouthing him so you could favor him more, he wanted you to lean towards him naturally, if possible.

Silence reigned throughout your little booth in the cafe. The sound of rain hitting the window screen made it easy not to talk so much. It also made it hard to see a certain black, long-haired male in his Mercedes Benz, parked just across the street.

Suguru threw his cigarette out the driver’s window, continuing to watch the both of you inside. He shook his head disappointedly before starting his car.

“And that reminds me,” you say, making Satoru swallow hard and shift in his seat.

“What was that nonsense two months prior, about Geto Suguru?”

[bethanysnow]

“I didn’t give it” (A fic for @maneskinbrainrot​ )

Måneskin was invited to perform for New York Fashion week with Gucci. Paraded around by the luxury brand was not a exactly- fun - thing for them to experience, but it paid the bills. Their manager knew this about them, so it wasn’t a big surprise for her to get a text message from Thomas saying they were ‘escaping’ and would be back by dinner. They were in New York City after all! Play tourist for a while in a country they felt a little more safe not to be spotted in. Especially on fashion week where all the art hoes came out of the woodwork. A couple Italians were nothin! With some rudimentary googling Vic found a cafe and a thrift store to barricade themselves in for the next hour or so. The streets of New York were messy and smelled funny, but were alive. The ground hadn’t been smoothed flat with a millennia of people. The brick buildings rose into the sky and the skyscrapers tore holes into heaven. 

People around them didn’t give them the time of day. No one was shouting their name. No one knew who they were, and if they did no one gave a flying fuck by the looks of it. It really was heaven. They loved their job of course, music was their life. But fame was bitter, grainy and left something stuck in their teeth. Here it was like they were nobodies. Not that they minded of course. Vic led the way to the thrift store she had found online, under a block of apartments was the glass window front. A green awning with golden letters of the store. The neon open sign was lit up so the band walked in. A brown countertop near the front of the store was personless. Racks on racks of clothes covered the floor. 50s-60s ball gowns hung from the ceiling beams. The air was musty just in the way vintage thrift stores tended to be. History on all sides by the articles people have worn. Rock music left the speakers pinned to the walls, playing Arctic Monkeys, Queen, and others. 

The band split up to look for a clerk of some kind. A store wouldn’t just be open by itself- right? 

Damiano went down a long aisle of what looked to be 70s memorabilia by the avocado green and bright yellow clothes. A neon red glow caught his attention. Making his way to the back of the store the glow came from a neon sign bent to look like a naked lady. Strategically placed ribbon over certain areas. A paper taped to a hanger with ‘XXX Lingerie section’ printed on it piqued his interest. Even more so when he looked in to find a beautiful woman laying on the red shag carpet cuddling up to a nighty asleep. 

“‘Scusa- Miss? Are you- do you work here?” Damiano asked quietly. Her eyes shot open and looked at where the voice came from. She held a hand to her heart, taking a breath.

    “Sorry! No uh, my best friend works here. I am just visiting, but I can help I guess. Whatsup?” She said getting up. Brushing off imaginary dirt from her hands as she reached her full height. She was shorter than him, her hair was slightly a mess from an interrupted nap. She’s cute. Damiano was lost in admiring her beauty until he blinked and she was waving her hand in front of his face, unaware that he was staring. 

    “Earth to dude, you ok?” She chuckled though still slightly concerned for his wellbeing. 

“Sorry- I'm Damiano, I’m here with friends of mine and we were checking things out. What was your name? I didn't catch it.” 

    “Cuz I didn’t give it.” She winked and Damiano’s blood pressure went higher. Attractive and a flirt too??? Fuck! 

He grinned at her as she was about to put the nighty she was using as a pillow up back on the rack. Damiano took his shot. 

“You know, it might look good on me. What do you think?” Holding it up against his body, the white silk ending just above the waistline of his pants. Leaning on the clothing rack he tilted his head to catch her eyes looking at the garment. “Look better on you though-” Whispering as her face froze and flushed a bright red. Quickly grabbing it and putting it back where it belonged she cleared her throat. 

    “No- uh I don’t wear that kinda stuff. But on you sure. You looking for anything specific?” 

“Besides your number? ...I was looking for some shirts honestly” She nodded and pointedly ignored his previous comment. 

The rest of the band were busy debating on a pair of corduroy pants Ethan was wearing as Damiano showed up with another person in tow. Introductions were made of who they all were and the woman offered some suggestions to the debate going on. But Damiano couldn’t help himself. 

“So Bellissima we have a gig going on later tomorrow if you want to join. Be our plus one as it were-” Vic raised a brow at that. Asking some random girl to go with them to something was one thing, but to ask a random girl to a gig at fashion week was another. And to top it off, a runway of one of the most well known luxury brands in the world. Her concerns were met with their singer giving her a look that meant he knew what he was doing. Or at least he thought he did. 

To Damiano's surprise the woman in front of him shrugged, looked at her phone checking something and said sure. SHE SAID SURE! That was enough for him. Soon the whirlwind of the band and their new found friend were busy trying on clothes and dancing through the store. Thomas' foot got stuck in a platform boot as another person walked into the enclave that they had made that afternoon. The woman that they had met earlier smiled and introduced them as her best friend- I.E the one who actually worked at the store. Explaining what had gone on and the fun chaos that had happened since. 

The day started to wind down and the band had all gotten texts from their manager telling them to come back to the hotel. Picking out their favorite pieces, it all was thrown onto the counter. The woman placed everything in bags, handing it to them once finished. 

As Damiano was to leave the woman he had met stopped him. 

    “You forgot something-” 

“I did?” Checking for his phone or wallet or whatever he could have misplaced. 

    “Yea here- hold on” She ripped out some paper from behind the counter and wrote on it slipping it into his front pocket. With a wink they left. Getting back to the hotel he pulled it out finally after it was burning a hole in his brain.

it read-

‘###-###-#### y/n <3 P.S. Nice music btw. L’altra dimensione slaps.’