#the bohemian get away

[ushas42]

Lamiroir really was screwed no matter what she did, huh?

Like, how do you choose to live your life? Do you decide to be free, follow your dreams, run away from your stifling family obligations, get teen pregnant by a guitarist and backpack across Asia? Or do you decide to be a dutiful daughter, take up the family profession, marry your father's more favored apprentice and bear him an heir?

Doesn't matter, actually. Both choices end the same way: Torn away from your family, alone and without support in a foreign country.

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

i'm watching old concert videos again and theyre all so beautiful and full of life and i wanna go deep into the woods and scream and sing along to every single song

[everysongineverykey]

I LOVE YOU THE WORKS!! i love you hammer to fall i love you radio ga ga i love you keep passing the open windows i LOVE you i want to break free. i love you fresh new (for the time) batch of amazing classic songs after a not so great tenth album (hot space :/) i love you THREE greatest hits on one record i love you. I LOVE YOU THE WORKS 1984

[thecoochiefairy]

xxx. suguru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, roleplay, non-consensual consent, rough sex/rough play, dominant suguru, black woman, vaginal penetration, hair pulling, creaming, squirting, choking, knife play, oral [f] [m], praising, size kink, overstimulation, degrading, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, doggy style, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this may not be everyone’s tea. for sure one of the hottest things i wrote in my book of eroticas. enjoy, cause i did. dedicated to my mocha, @st4rbwrry ,she asked me to do this for her once.

nasty links, ya nasty— bounce. take it like a good girl. ooh, you’re so good for me.

SCARY MOVIES WEREN’T YOUR THING. They were simply a morbid curiosity, especially in your household. Your father was an extremely Christian man, anything seemingly too creepy or Halloween affiliated was the work of the devil. A god-fearing man, yes—But nothing was more terrifying than your boyfriend. 

Suguru Getou. It was like a hushed name within the night, calling him three times like CandyMan, even a cross wouldn’t keep him away from you. You were a Christian woman as well, but not as harshly as your father. You had your own questions, moralities, beliefs. You didn’t judge anyone based on their views—you never judged him. 

Meeting him within the bookstore as you went to pick up a pink Bible, your cheeks went warm as you accidentally dropped the book in your hand on the way out—he then noticed the second one you clutched to your chest, never noticing it was a deeply egregious erotica. His tattooed hand gripped the object off of the ground, veiny and large as he handed it back to you. You were a beauty to him. 

Freckles along your cheeks, button nose and slender eyes with bohemian goddess braids, flyaways sticking to your round face. He caught sight of the golden cross that sat in between your breasts, the dark inked skull tattooed along your neck giving him whiplash. When you bent down to reach for the book, he caught back dermals just above the yoga pants you wear, long sleeve top clinging to your frame. Your voice was sweet, the blush of your cheeks delineated innocence, even if the sight of you didn’t.  You were pure to him. 

At least…he thought you were. 

You were sitting along your bed, the sheer white canopy atop of it paired with champagne lights hung all around the ceiling. Your background played SCREAM, one of your favorite horror movies that Suguru had introduced you to, as you were a little afraid to watch them by yourself—but he was busy tonight, and you figured you’d face your fears. 

Your glasses hung on the tip of your nose as you were more hyper-focused in your book, the sexual endeavors of the characters making your thighs rub together a bit, a highlighter in between your plump lips as you wanted to remember all the best parts. Your attention was pulled away as you heard rustling coming from your open window along the second floor of the house, enjoying the cool air of the night. You frown, lowering your book. You listen. 

Nothing comes in return, so you go back to your book. The rustle happens again. You narrow your eyes, standing from the bed as you go towards your window in preparation to just close it. That’s when a knock comes on your door, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. You were always jumpy.

You go towards the door, tightening the robe you wear, pushing your glasses upon your nose as you open it. It’s your father. 

Giving him a warm smile, you greet, “Hi, Daddy. All packed up for your trip?”

“Yup. All packed up and ready to go, sweetie. Did you remember everything?”

A gentle yet stern tone comes from him. One you were used to hearing by now. The tall, strong yet slender man gave a soft smile before speaking once more.

“You’ all right? You seem a bit startled.”

You sigh, “Been watching scary movies again—it’s only the first ten minutes where the girl gets a weird phone call. I thought I could handle watching it alone—unfortunately, I’m a wuss. Are you heading out to the airport now?”

Your father let out a soft chuckle.The first ten minutes always got to you somehow. To his dismay, this was why you had Suguru at your side to comfort you when you needed it. But he wasn’t here tonight.

“I’m about to head out now. I was hoping I would be able to see you one more time before I get on the plane.”

“You’re such a big teddy bear,” you poke fun, “I’ll walk you to the door,” you offer, pushing on your bunny slippers as you follow behind him downstairs. You lived in a big house, taking ages to get anywhere whether it was a bedroom or bathroom.

The man rolled his eyes though he couldn’t help a soft smile, amused from the way you teased him. He loved you, all too much. 

Once you both get downstairs, you go to the front door where your father picks up his bags and checks to see if he had everything. He spoke again, a frown appearing once more.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright in the house by yourself? I know you’re not always fond of being alone at night.”

“I think I’ll survive,” you give him a warm smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sigh, “I love you, okay? Be safe.”

He wraps his strong arms around your frame, hugging you close to his form as he kisses your forehead. He loved you more than words could describe. You were his little girl, after all.

“I love you too. I’ll call you once I get to the hotel, alright?”

You give him a final wave as he makes it out to his taxi, blowing a kiss as the vehicle pulls off. You were relieved to get some alone time, and now you could fully dive into your book. You search the pantry as you grab for your sour gummy bears, plopping one into your mouth as you make your way back upstairs. You could hear the sound of screams, knowing the movie was still faintly playing on your TV. But as you enter your bedroom, you notice something. 

Your window was…closed?

You frown. You were certain that you had left the window open, but yet, it was closed. You shake your head, telling yourself that it was nothing and you’d forgotten to close it. 

You release a breath as you mutter, “Girl. Don’t be scaring yourself now.”

With that, you decide to cut off the movie, turning on some soothing music to calm your nerves. You return to your bed soon after, setting your gummy bears down beside you. You’re back to reading—but you can’t shake the raised awareness in the back of your mind.

As you continue to read, you can hear the house's landline going off downstairs. You sigh, pausing your music. You’re quickly making your way downstairs before the call hangs up, pulling the phone to your ear as you speak, “Hello?”

You expected it to be your father, telling you that he had left something behind, or maybe a friend of yours. It would’ve been normal for either. However, you were only greeted with silence for a moment.

But then, you soon hear the sound of a deep voice, an…unfamiliar tone.

“Hello, ❤︎.”

You blink at the voice knowing your name, placing your hand along the table as you speak, “Um—hi. Who is this?”

The voice was deep and alluring. But that didn’t make his familiarity any less uncomfortable. It’s a tone you’ve never heard. It sent chills down your spine.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Let’s keep that a secret for now.”

“Well if it’s a secret, then we don’t need to be talking,” you say, quickly hanging up the phone. 

You frown, wondering if you should call your father. Or Suguru. You didn’t want to worry him as he was on the way to the airport, and his flight would be soon. On top of that, your boyfriend was at work. You decide on grabbing a bottle of water, going to make your way back upstairs—

But that’s when the phone rings again.

Your breathing picks up a little. No, you shouldn’t answer it. You hope it’s a simple prank. Your mind goes back to the movie earlier. You should just ignore the call, or maybe you’re just scaring yourself over something so simple. 

You take the phone back into your hand, answering as you say, “Hello?” More impatient this time. 

Once again, the same deep voice is heard on the other line, though the tone had a hint of annoyance. You could practically feel a sinister smile through the phone.

“Why so impatient now, sweetheart?”

His tone was taunting, almost as if they were making fun of you. It was starting to get under your skin.

“Because you’re playing on my phone. Who is this?” You question again, eyes warily looking around your kitchen. You then make your way over to your front door, unlocking and relocking it for your own security.

There’s a soft, airy chuckle that comes before the voice replies, his tone still playful. Like this was some sort of game to him.

“You’re awfully stubborn, aren’t you? Do you always have this much trouble listening?”

The line goes silent for a moment, though you can still hear faint breaths. Chills run over your body again. You could feel eyes on you. Like someone was watching you at this very moment.

You grip the phone tighter in your hand. You then say, “Suguru, I know this is you. Quit fucking with me because I told you what I was watching earlier. It’s not funny.”

“It’s unfortunate for you that I’m not your boyfriend.” 

It’s like all the small hairs on your body prick up. Your heart begins to stammer in your chest, your eyes blinking. You feel like you’re in a dream.

“…What?”

The tone is no longer playful, instead becoming more…disturbing. But, there’s also a hint of amusement. Like they’re enjoying this. Enjoying you getting frightened.

“I said— I’m not your boyfriend.”

A pause, your heart beating faster. All of this felt so… wrong. Then, the voice continues—

“Though, I wish I was. You look good as fuck in that robe.”

That sentence was chilling. Your entire body went cold, and you felt frozen in your spot. You joked about watching this type of situation in the media. What you would do, how you’d never be as stupid as the character in this scenario. But here you were, unable to move, your heart pounding in your chest.

The voice on the other line chuckles again, his walk heavy as you can hear his steps. Though, he can’t help but become intrigued that he had struck such a nerve in you. You were such a…fascinating little thing. He knew you were shaking.

“Now tell me, ❤︎. Did locking your door make you feel safe?”

You didn’t know if anymore fear could strike through your veins, but you felt paralyzed.

 You try to keep yourself calm as you lie, “My boyfriends gonna be here soon. So I suggest you get the fuck off of my property before he kills you.”

“I don’t like being lied to.” 

The line goes silent again, but your heart still pounds in your chest. Where could he be at this very moment?

“My next suggestion would be that if you’re gonna lock your door…at least check if your window was actually closed.”

From your eyesight, you can see your bedroom. But you can only see the light coming from it, and your heart stops. You don’t have time to be afraid. You just needed to leave.

You slowly back your way towards your front door, continuously watching the outline of your bedroom, as if you were just waiting to see a figure pop out. As soon as your hand reaches the lock, you slowly turn it, reaching for the handle. 

The sound of your window within your room slams shut.

You yank the front door open, going to make a desperate run for the neighbors—

But that’s when a figure is already in front of the door, and as you trip back, you freeze.

A GhostFace mask appears in your sight, the person wearing it tall, broad. The dark shirt clinging to his olive complexion, tattoos scathing along his large arms, holding a chrome Bowie knife. 

Your scream pierces through the door frame as your instincts make you step back, thinking quickly as you take off back into your house.

Letting out a chuckle at your attempt to escape, he steps into the doorway, slamming the door closed as you try to run off. His footsteps were loud and heavy, like he was taking his sweet time, knowing that you were only tiring yourself further.

You eventually find yourself ducking into the next hallway, finding yourself in your father’s cigar room. You find the closet within it, rushing inside as you close the door, holding it towards yourself. Tears want to brim your eyes as your entire body vibrates from the fear, and you clutch your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from crying, hearing as his footsteps become closer.

Your breathing goes ragged and labored, your chest tightening as you try your best to muffle the sound of your hyperventilating. You then hear the footsteps get closer and closer. That’s when they stop right outside of the closet.

At this moment, you stop breathing. You close your eyes, awaiting for the next few moments. Nothing.

Instead, you hear the footsteps begin to echo away, up until you don’t hear them at all. You wait for a moment, wishing you had a phone to call someone. Anyone. But you couldn’t stay in this closet forever.

This was your opportunity to escape. You give it a couple more seconds as you gently push the door open, sliding yourself through the small opening to not cause any noise. You peek down the hallway, seeing nothing again. Yet you hear the sound of footsteps from above, meaning he was checking to see if you’d hidden yourself upstairs. 

You bolt down the hallway and back towards your front door, going to throw it open as you see that large, veiny palm raise over your head, slamming the door shut. Your scream rips from your throat, ducking under the figure, trapped as their hand clasps along your throat, thumb along your jaw.

 All you can see is that mask, your eyes wide as they lock down to the blade coming at your throat, lightly connecting to the skin of it.

He was much bigger than you, broad with a toned muscular body. He could easily have you in a death grip if he wanted. You could feel his hot breath coming from under the mask, staring down at you.

“Please don’t hurt me…” you’re desperate, unable to know what else to say at this moment.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, though he can’t help a soft laugh as he’s just realized something. And it makes him…furious. But he keeps his cool, tightening his grip on you ever so slightly.

Leaning down, he brings his covered face so close to your ear that it makes your skin tingle. He speaks in a low tone. It’s almost a growl.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t lie…” you say, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your eyes roam back and forth, hand pressed along his stomach. It’s hard.

His frame is solid, all muscle and toned. He doesn’t buy your excuse for a second. But he continues to take you in. Your face, your body. Your scent. It’s a mixture of amber and vanilla. He could feel how you trembled in his grip, though a part of him wished he was gripping by your chin, making you look him in the eye. But he was enjoying this. The fear on your face.

“You told me your boyfriend was coming.”

Shit, you did say that. 

You can’t come up with a quick enough excuse. You say, “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.”

He has a grip on your wrist, dragging you up the stairs as you try to pull away, yet the knife in his other hand keeps you from fighting more than you wanted to. He slams the door of your bedroom, your fearful frame stepping back as you’re trapped inside with him, glancing back over to your window.

At this moment, he has you trapped alone in your bedroom with no one to help you. Yet, you could see his eyes studying you through the mask. Taking in every slight movement of your body. Every shake, every shiver. He was enjoying the sight of you being afraid. It was thrilling.

It felt stupid to plead your case. But you didn’t know what to do. Your brain runs amuck, and you can’t stop yourself as you stupidly say—

“Please don’t hurt me,” you repeat, “I’ll do…I’ll do anything.”

He can’t help the wicked smirk that appears across his features under the mask as he tilts his head, taking a single step closer to you. Like a predator closing in on its prey. The way his eyes remained on you was entrancing. 

“Anything?” 

He repeats, his voice deep.

You clutch the material of your robe, nodding your head in response, your heart in your throat. 

It’s like you’re trying to play detective, eyeing his tattoos, his muscular arms, trying to find a familiarity in his body. Nothing. His onyx shirt clings to him, which almost curves inwards from how fit he was. His ring clad fingers, veins traveling beneath as he clutched his weapon within his hand. A rush of…something else ran within your body. 

What was wrong with you? 

Yet, your fuzzy brain is pulled out of the clouds as you hear his low tone tell you to, “Take off your robe.” 

You blink for a moment. You then give a soft nod, beginning to untie your robe, draping it off your shoulders, dropping it down along the floor. The air in the room hits your skin, the pale pink babydoll slip you wore, your brown nipples showing through the thin fabric. The sheer material glides down to the thong you wear, barely covering your ass, the small bow within the back attached to the lingerie. 

Your body is revealed to him, his eyes gazing over your figure. Yet, he remains still. Though, you can see the rise and fall of his chest become slightly quicker. He just didn’t move, his expression almost unreadable behind the hard, white mask. Silence, all apart from the hammering of the heart that was stuck in your throat.

You can then hear him say, “On your knees. Crawl.” 

And so, you listen. Your palms lead the way, your legs slightly dragging against the carpet as you make your way over to him, slender eyes feline, coaxing. You don’t know why you have the urge to give him a show, but you pause when you’re directly in front of him, politely sitting on the balls of your feet, knees pointed to the floor. 

He towers over you, his large frame making you look so… tiny. Yet, he can’t help but become impressed at the way you had obeyed his request. His dark eyes don’t remove themselves from you for a single moment. Like he’s studying every movement you make.

He was being far gentler than what you expect. He tilts your head by the point of his knife, forcing you to look up at him as he looks down at you through that damn mask.

“You listen good as fuck, pretty.” 

Your eyes blink at him, palms itching along your lap. He then takes his other hand as he runs it through your hair, lightly, as if you were delicate to the touch. Your body tenses as he then gets a grip on your hair, clutching the braids in between his fingers, tugging your head back to fully look at him. 

And he likes it. He likes how you look right now. Your head pulled back, looking up at him. It’s like you were at his mercy. Like you were completely and utterly at his whim. Just how he wanted you.

“Open your mouth for me.”

Another slow flutter of your lashes surpass, and you part your Cupid’s bow lips, sticking your tongue out in the process. 

A sinful grin makes its way across his face, even if you can’t tell. 

He moves the knife's blade to your chin, tipping your jaw a little more up to see you better. His voice is still low as he tells you, “Wider.”

You open your mouth even more, breath hitching as you do so. Your eyes can only search the terrifying white expression, but when you glance down, his body…terrifying wasn’t the exact word you’d use. 

He’s enjoying the way you’re submitting to him. It’s like something within him had woken up. You can see the rise and fall of his chest again, his breathing having picked up slightly. Like it was arousing him. 

“All that fuckin’ mouth you had over the phone. Where’s that shit at now?” 

You lightly dig your teeth into your lip, the tone of his voice through this mask. It’s doing something to you. You’re crazy. But this entire situation is.

Your voice is soft, your own words passing through your mouth before you could think about them.  

“Put something in it, then.”

His fingers come along the side of your jaw, his thumb running over your lip, sliding against your tongue. 

“You’ want it in your mouth?”

You nod your head, eyes glimmering beneath the lights of your room. 

“Suck some fuckin’ dick, then.”

You’re already unbuckling his belt, reaching under his boxers as you pull his length from beneath the compressing fabric. It springs out as it’s already hard, pink tip glistening from the pre-cum, slapping along his belly button in freedom. 

The veins along it make it look terrifying, heavy in your palms as you lean forward, taking in the scent of rum spice and cedar wood against his smooth skin. The olive tone of his complexion is covered by ink, even in the most intimate areas. You drag your tongue along his tip, raising your eyes up, lash extensions flickering like dark butterflies.

You can hear the grunt that comes from his mouth, tugging at your hair as you fully wrap your lips along his tip, swirling your tongue around, enveloping the clean taste of his flesh. You adjust yourself along your knees, arching yourself closer to him, moving your head slowly back and forth, allowing your mouth to collect more inches each time you take him deeper. His tip begins to caress against the roof of your mouth each time you move.

The warm walls of your cheeks hollow his dick, entrapping the heaviness of it as you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you wrap your small fingers along the base of him, rotating your palm around. Pulling his tip out of your mouth you then drop spit along the veiny flesh, beginning to revolve your hand around, almond brown vision flickering back up to the mask, your other hand running under his shirt, feeling the way his muscles flex within his abdomen.

His hand grips tighter in your hair, pulling you closer to him as you stroke faster. He lets out a low groan, hips bucking slightly, grinding his dick between your lips and hand. You can feel his pulse beating against your fingertips, throbbing with every pass through. He pulls your head back, smearing saliva across your jaw before shoving his tip back into your mouth, sliding all the way to the back of your throat. Your head nuzzles side to side, allowing it to shuffle even deeper, the walls of your throat flexing as you gag.

 You hear his deep voice lowly drop, ”Fuuck...”

You pull your mouth back, cheeks warm on the outside, freckled and lightly hueing a red tint as you softly ask, “Does it feel good?” Slapping his dick along your tongue, kissing the tip in an almost polite way.

“Feels good as fuck,” He grunts, grabbing your chin firmly and tilting your head back, exposing your neck to him. "You’re so fuckin’ sexy. Pull your tit’s out. Go down until you’re rubbing your pussy, I know this shit’ is making you wet.”

He was right, it was. Each time his tip slammed against the back of your throat, your inner thighs became warm as you rubbed them together. You yank down the material of your babydoll slip, exposing your brown nipples, using one hand to lightly rub at the hardening skin, using the other to hold his dick in your hand, dragging your mouth back around the shaft of it. He twitches in your mouth as you start to suckle, slurping heavily, saliva spurting in between the space of your lips each time his balls slam along your jaw. He keeps a grip on your onyx hair tighter—you’re nasty with it, guiding your head up and down erotically.

You then slide your hands down your stomach and thigh, coming around to meet with the inner part of it, brushing your fingers against your clit that throbs along your thong. It almost makes you flinch.

He watches you with lust-filled eyes, the ghost mask seeming to leer as you touch yourself. He feels as you tense up, “Be a big fuckin’ girl and make yourself feel good.” 

He guides your head faster, thrusting into your mouth with increasing force. His balls begin to slap loudly against your chin, precum leaking from the tip to coat your tongue.

“Call me baby,” you protest as you find the space to pull away, immediately going back to keeping your mouth full. You almost break, your voice feeble as you talk, “Want your fingers. Wanna squirt on them…” you can’t stop whining to him, moving your head back and forth, faster to meet the mean pace he gives.

“I know you fuckin’ heard what I said. Sink your fingers in,” he grunts to you, feeling the whimper around his dick, your fingers listening as you drag them down, nudging them at your opening. You can hear how wet you are, but your own aren’t enough. You need more. 

Your other hand is still locked around him, keeping your mouth steady as he has one hand on the back of your head, the other on your jaw, pulling it open wider as he fucks your face. 

“That’s fuckin’ good, baby. Listening good as fuck.”

You become frustrated as you pull back, pouting to him, “I can’t make myself cum…” 

You spit against his tip, now focusing in as it seems to be sensitive. You protect your teeth with your lips, sucking inward as you bob your head up and down, using your throat as you muffle out hums to add to his stimulation, talented in pleasuring him. 

He groans deeply, feeling your tongue continuously swirling around the tip, sending jolts straight to his entire body. 

“Fuck,” he aggressively grunts, “Ooh, shit. Baby. Keep doing that," he growls, his hips jerking slightly as he loses control for a second, pushing deeper into your mouth. "Gonna fill that pretty ass throat up."

That’s when you become more defiant—The pressure in between your legs is almost painful. You need him. You pull yourself back, placing yourself along the bed, spreading your knees apart, arching your back as you press your stomach against the sheets. Your face is tilted backwards to watch him, taking your hands as you spread yourself apart.

“Fill up my pussy, baby,” you whine, pitiful, but you didn’t care.

His eyes darkened with lust as he saw you spread yourself open for him, your juices dripping onto the sheets below. You’re grinding your clit against the pink comforter, making it a darker shade as it becomes drenched. He stalks towards the bed, fully ripping off his clothes in haste, dragging you fully to the end of the bed as his palms locked around your ankles. 

"Shit, look at that pretty ass pussy," he mutters, his gaze fixated on your glistening folds, “You want my cum, huh? Beg for it."

His words are demanding, but there's an underlying tone of pleasure and desire. He's eager to claim you.

But you’re even more eager.

 You grip his arm, pulling him down to where his back is along the sheets, climbing atop of him. You don’t forget to lock your mouth around his tip for a moment, dropping your lips down to reach his abdomen, saliva dragging out of your mouth, dribbling along your chin as you pull back, seeing as his abs tighten, giggling as that makes him give you a harsh spank to your ass. 

Your knees are on each side of him, already wrapping your fingers around his tip, guiding it as you rub it along your clit. 

You whimper, “Wanna slide down on your dick, baby. Tell me I can…”

“Go ‘head. Drop down, slowly.” 

You do as you're told, placing your hand along his stomach as you lean forward, sinking yourself down, his tip plunging in between your tight folds. He was like a monster, attempting to rip you in half. Your eyes lightly roll, your hips spazzing at the feeling. A baby gasp parts from your mouth as he roughly spanks you again, coaxing you to keep going. You sink yourself down farther, the heaviness of your ass sticking against his abdomen, his tip already kissing your cervix, it makes your face contort in an aching pleasure, so fucking horny as you already begin bouncing on him, your pussy squelching as you whimper from the slight pain.

It was like a soreness from a workout, a burn from a meal you couldn’t wait to cool down, you whine messily as you drive yourself wild, clapping your ass down against his thighs.

His eyes follow every movement of your hips, drinking in the sight of your ass slapping against his thighs. The lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh fill the room, mingling with your desperate moans of pleasure. He grips your hips tightly, fingers digging around into the soft flesh of your ass as he begins dragging you to meet your own downward motions.

"Yeah? You’ gonna keep fucking me like that? Like you needed this fuckin’ dick?”

You’re looking back as the skin of your ass shaking in his palms, sobbing already, eyes rolling back as you pout heavily, nodding your head as it falls back, whimpering out messily, “Yes, baby. Been wanting to bounce on your dick just like this…” 

You hiccup, your soft cry echoing along the walls, louder than your skin slapping against his, “So fuckin’ needy for you…”

His thumbs dig deeper into the supple cheeks of your skin, spreading them apart slightly as he watches himself disappear into you over and over.

"Pussy hungry as fuck, sucking my shit in…” He growls low in his throat, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine. 

"Keep going, needy ass fuckin’ girl—fuck,” he lowly moans, head falling back against the bed, mask tilting upwards. His hands move to grip your waist, helping pull you down onto him with force, his thick shaft stretching you impossibly wide. The sensation borders on painful, but the pleasure far outweighs it, making you pathetically cry out in ecstasy.

With a guttural groan, he thrusts up into you hard, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the sudden depth. He holds you there, still and deep, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness before starting to move once more. His hand is on your shoulder, slamming you back down, sounds erotically implausible. 

"You love this, don't you?" He growls, voice strained with pleasure. "Love being stuffed full of my dick,” His hands slide up your sides, fingers splaying across your ribs as he begins to piston in and out of you with relentless intensity.

He’s like a demon climbing out of hell for the first time. You keep up with him though, keeping your eyes locked on his as you groan, “Love it so fuckin’ much. Gonna’ cum in my tight pussy, baby?” You can hear the grunt he makes from that question, planting your feet along the bed as you raise your hips, dropping them down, “Hit my spot, baby. Wanna squirt all in your mouth soon.”

His grunts deepen into animalistic growls, the force of his thrusts growing harder, faster, more erratic. Sweat drips down from under his mask, tattooed muscles flexing beneath his skin. 

“Nasty ass fuckin’ mouth. I hear you, baby. ‘Gonna' drench me," he rasps, one hand moving between your bodies to rub at your clit in time with his strokes. 

His other hand grips your hip, using it as leverage to slam you down onto him, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with unrelenting precision. The wet squelching of your juices and the slap of skin on skin fills the air, punctuated by your high-pitched moans and his guttural sounds. He's close, you can tell, his movements becoming almost violent in their desperation.

“Fuck me from the back,” you beg, “Come fuck me, baby. That’s how I wanna cum,” you beg him, swirling your hips in circles, dragging your nails along his skin.

He flips you over onto your stomach without hesitation, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his masked gaze. One hand remains gripping your hip while the other moves around to grasp your throat, applying gentle pressure.

"You’ better be fuckin’ me back," he smacks his lips, “Keep asking for shit. Spoiled as fuck.”

With a sharp tug, he rubs his tip in between your folds, the sensitivity making you hiss a bit. But he does the opposite of what you expect, raising you up slightly to press your back against his chest, material of the mask pressed up against your face, almost to where you can feel his lips against your skin. 

You reach your hand behind yourself, holding him as he sinks himself in. You feel every inch as it goes in, sinking so deep it inflames your walls, your eyes rolling back as you gasp, “Oh, shit,” as you unexpectedly squirt, the fluid gushing out so harshly that it nearly pushes his dick out. Your thighs tremble as you shudder out in broken whines, his hand gripping tighter along your throat, hearing the arrogant chuckle in your ear.

He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle against your ear, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine even as your inner walls clench around him. His grip on your throat tightens fractionally, a subtle reminder of his dominance.

"Look at you, squirting like a fuckin’ faucet.”

You shriek as he spanks you, “So fuckin’ responsive for me. Love milking this pussy, baby. Goood fuckin’ girl,” he riles you up, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside,  slamming back in, driving deep once more, making you squirt out again.

Your hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets, reaching behind helplessly as you try to halt his hips, feeling as he yanks your hand behind your back. You plead, “W—wait, baby. Wait. Wait. Ooh, shi—oh—fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck…”

Your whine is so pretty, your body relaxing as if you’ve given up at this point, back to pouting as you can’t. Stop. Squirting. 

Tears well in your eyes, you’re crying at this point, your hips tensing, a soreness beginning to produce from your body pushing out so much energy. You’re moaning weakly as he coos behind you, “Yeah, baby. That’s good. Open up your pussy," his voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've got you."

With a sudden, brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you, grinding against your cervix. Your scream is muffled by his palm over your mouth as he holds you still, impaling you on his dick.

“Told you to fuck me back, your ass don’t fuckin’ listen,” he grunts, his hips beginning to piston in and out at a bullying pace. "Fuck, your pussy is perfect."

This is what you asked for. This is what you wanted—now you were paying for it. You’re sobbing in patterns, broken and repetitive, trapped as you can only whimper, “Please cum, baby. Cum in me. Fuckin’ fill me up, baby,” but this is your only way of escaping this depraved act.

He laughs cruelly, the sound echoing through the room as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. "You want my cum? Then fucking earn it, slutty ass fuckin’ girl. My slutty ass baby.” 

His grip on your throat tightens, cutting off your air supply as he fucks you even harder, each thrust jarring your entire body. The pressure builds in your core, your orgasm just out of reach.

With the last bit of strength you have, you apologize, “So sorry, baby. Didn’t listen. Lemme’ be your good girl,” as you begin to throw your ass back, slamming it along his abdomen, it’s nearly too slippery to have the skin stick together. You’ve coated him with your arousal, you have nothing left to give him, “Cum for me, baby. Cum inside me, need your cum, pretty boy…”

At your pitiful plea, he releases your throat, gripping your hips instead as he pounds into you mercilessly. His breathing grows ragged, muscles straining as he chases his release, his helpless moans are sexy, even a light whimper slipping out— it was rare for him to have. 

"Fuckin’ hell..." he grits out between clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. "I’m about to bust, baby. Where you’ want it?”

“In me,” you whimper desperately, “Don’t be mean.”

The bastard. He chuckles, “Shut that shit up. I know.” 

With one final, intense thrust, his dick pulses as he unleashes a torrent of cum deep inside you. He pulls himself out to replace his dick with his fingers, rubbing chaotically in between your opening and your clit, knowing how you’d react to that. Your entire body spazzes as you shout, groaning into a scream as you gush out more cum, causing him to rip the mask off, burying his face in between your legs, lapping up the final orgasm that completely drains you. You’re crying and shaking, nearly dropping forward along the bed as he’s there to catch you. 

The familiar coconut scent of his dark hair rubs up against your cheek as he turns your face to kiss him, sloppily sinking his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself.

“That was good, baby,” Suguru grunts, both of you breathing heavily against one another, desire and passion filling the air. 

“We need to watch scary shit more often,” he holds your throat, talking within your ear, the breathless giggle only being your response for a moment. 

“Yeah, we do.”

[outerhills]

jj 's an eater.

jj loves pussy.

with his typical smug, pogue demeanor, he loves eating pussy. this is something he's an absolute pro at and does purely for his own pleasure.

his favorite time is especially when reader has just came from swimming, normally after they've spent time in the marsh. she'd have came back into her cozy, bohemian styled home with a towel over her shoulder, the ends of her hair drenched in the salty water.

by this time, she was likely damp as the small bikini she wore clung to her body, barely covering her figure. the marsh water still leaving a salty taste over her body, her skin still glistening from the tiny water droplets that left her slick.

jj got caught sight of her and let out a whistle, muttering a quiet "fuck" to himself as his eyes scanned over her. by this time, he had already decided what he wanted to do.

in his mind, her just getting out of the water meant she was ripe, just how he liked it. in fact, the longer she had been in the water, the better.

she'd have caught his glances, shaking her head at him. "uh uh, nope," she'd protest, the small grin on her face betraying her. jj had already stood to pull her to the bedroom, immediately pushing her back onto the soft, bohemian styled bed that occupied the bedroom of her small beach home.

"j, i can't even shower yet? i'm all salty and sweating."

"good." that's all he would mutter, kneeling down to pull down the bikini bottoms, the sight of the damp folds before him making his mouth water like the rabid dog he came off as.

he'd hook his arms around her thighs, holding her in place so she couldn't fight him off. he loved to take everything at his own pace, no matter how much she moaned for him to finally attack the small bud within her folds.

slowly, his lips would trail wet kisses just around her inner thighs, teasingly so as her breath hitched, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

"for someone who didn't want it, you're liking this already," he'd whisper just loud enough for her to hear. eventually, his kisses turned into leaving bite marks throughout her thighs. the marks bruising as he licked over them, his saliva wetting up her thighs.

she couldn't help but give a low groan, "j, please."

smirking, he could only tease her even further, "what was that princess? i don't think i heard you."

"jj, fuck, don't play around," she groaned in frustration, her hips pushing a bit forward towards his face.

as much as he enjoyed fucking with her, his own hunger couldn't continue on, as he was ready to make himself full.

he quickly dove in, lapping up the silky arousal of her folds, the salty taste of the marsh lingering on his tongue. he wasted no time slipping his tongue into the warm slit, pulling out of it to lick a long stripe from bottom up.

his favorite thing to do was to suck on the puffy clit of her folds, removing one arm from her thigh to shove two fingers inside her, absolutely fucking her with his fingers as she squirmed underneath him.

his attack on her pussy left her drooling, her back arching from his touch as he ate at the sensitive part on her body. pulling away, he spit on it, using his thumb to rub at the sensitive bud before suctioning on it once more.

"f-fuck, j-"

"not yet."

he already knew what that whimper meant, her body tensing under him.

but she wasn't allowed to finish until he was satisfied, and if she came anyway, he'd only overstimulate her even further.

[supernovafics]

boyfriend!steve who loves recording everything

wc: 899

a/n: been thinking about this a lot a lot and finally got around to writing it

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and here we have my beautiful girlfriend who put this whole party together.”

you looked into the video camera for a brief second, drunkenly smiling into it before looking up at steve. “you’re having way too much fun with this thing already, birthday boy.”

“what? it’s actually a very cool gift.” you could tell steve was a little drunk too, but you didn’t think that would’ve changed how into the gift he was; the camera the kids pooled their money together to get for him. “say hi.”

“hi,” you said, smiling and looking right into the lens again, and then you playfully stuck your tongue out at it. 

“i love you,” steve said with a soft happy laugh. “so much.”

“i love you too. so, so much,” you told him and he leaned down to kiss you. 

“thank you again for doing this whole thing,” he mumbled against your lips. “best surprise ever.”

you couldn’t help but smile. “no need to thank me. you deserve it, best boyfriend ever.”

the camera was filming the wooden floor at this point, but it probably still picked up what you two were saying. 

you pulled away from steve after a second, knowing that the longer you two were wrapped up in one another, the more your friends would playfully make fun of the two of you.

“you should go film robin and nancy doing karaoke. i think that them drunkenly singing bohemian rhapsody needs to be documented.” 

steve nodded. “great idea.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

after that first night, it should’ve been obvious, but that camera became steve’s favorite thing. it almost made the new pair of nikes you’d gotten him look like the most boring gift ever, but you didn’t really mind it.  

it was always the most random moments that he wanted to record of you two. “for memories” was always his response when you asked why he wanted to record you two brushing your teeth in the morning or you two lying on the couch and watching a bad movie that he brought home from family video. 

or even in this moment when you two were cooking in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

you immediately gave him a look when you noticed him turn on the camera. “steve, you’re making it seem like we’re cooking something super elaborate. it’s just a grilled cheese.” 

“it’s still like a fun cooking show,” he said, smiling as he set the camera up on the counter, placing it on top of a stack of random containers. “what do you need, chef?”

there was no way of telling if either of you were actually in the frame— you had a feeling that at least your heads were cut off— but still, you decided to play along. he was acting too cute and adorable not to. 

“bread and cheese, chef,” you told him as you went to grab a pan from the cabinet below you. “oh, and butter too.”

“got it,” steve nodded and went over to the pantry and then the fridge, and then made a show of showing the camera all of the ingredients he grabbed. 

you couldn’t help but laugh a little as you watched him. you decided to play along further and follow suit as you did most of the actual cooking; making a point of showing the camera exactly what you were doing and even exaggeratingly explaining it too. 

and when you two were eating at your small kitchen table ten minutes later, you admitted to steve with a smile that he was right, and filming everything did make it feel like a “fun cooking show.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

and then there were the moments when you were the one to grab the camera and initiate the recording. it was seldom, but when you did do it, steve always got the happiest grin on his face. 

like, in this moment, when you were coming out of the bathroom and grabbing steve’s t-shirt that had been haphazardly tossed to the floor thirty minutes earlier and slipping it over your body. for no particular reason, other than you found yourself wanting to, you grabbed the camera off of steve’s nightstand and then slid into his lap, straddling him.

he was already smiling as you turned on the camera and the familiar red light came on when you pressed record. 

“say hi,” you told him, your own smile on your face as you pointed the camera at him. his messy hair from what you two had previously been doing was probably the cutest thing you’d ever seen and you made sure the camera saw it. 

he smiled wider. “hi.”

one of his hands found your bare thigh and you let out a contented hum in response. 

“y'know, i’m surprised you haven’t asked to film us yet,” you said softly. "us doing what we just did…”

his eyes widened a bit at your shy suggestion and you smiled wider, zooming in on his expression. “is that an option?”

you stopped recording him then and reached over to set the camera back down on the nightstand. 

“maybe,” you answered, shrugging innocently. “i think it could be kinda hot.”

steve shook his head. “not just kinda. very hot.”

you leaned down to kiss him then. it was slow and languid and steve’s hands immediately went to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him.  

“very hot,” you hummed in agreement. 

[sturnsdarling]

She's the coolest person I know.

fratboy!matt tries to play it cool about him and smartand'mean'!reader spending alot of time together, but fratboy!chris and Nate aren't convinced

vibe check: chris and nate being idiots, nate not knowing what an emo is lol, fratboy!matts version of fluff

1k words

A/N: this concept was born from and is my take on the wonderful, amazing and ridiculously talented @sturnioz fratboy!matt and fratboy!chrisxshy!reader au. THANKYOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LOVE ON MY TOUGH GIRL FIC OMFG. this is a lil blurb I cooked up as a finishing touch to my contribution to cas' au. also I just love this pairing so much it makes me unwell

love and cigs, merc

Matt quietly shuffled into the front door of his frat house, tucking his car keys in his pocket with as little jingle as possible in hopes of sneaking past Chris and Nate on the sofa. He clicked the door shut and the boys’ ears perked up. 

“Fuck” Matt whispered. 

“Matty boy! You’re back! Where the fuck have you been” Nate craned his neck round, a canon joint hanging from his mouth. 

“He’s been at y/ns house” Chris answered for Matt, turning to smirk at the boy as he shifted his weight between his feet by the entrance of the living room. 

“Y/n? Isn’t that the emo chick that’s best friends with your girl?” Nate asked, pointing to Chris. 

“She’s not emo dickhead, she’s just a bit… grungy” Matt piped up at your defence immediately, knowing Nate meant it as an insult.

“and s!r/n is not my girl” Chris responded to Nate’s accusation 

“She’s totally fuckin emo dude she wears fishnets and walks around lookin’ like she’s gonna kill someone” Nate snickered, “and, she’s definitely your girl” he looked back to Chris who was rolling his eyes. 

“You’re with her like everyday, kid” Matt folded his arms over his chest, taking this perfect opportunity to get the subject off of himself. 

“And you get all gushy over her like she’s some little pretty flower whenever she’s around” Nate laughed, looking to Matt who was nodding his head and joining in the laughter.

“Okay, both of you shut the fuck up, yeah? When did this become about me? Matt's the one sneaking in after spending the last three days with his little pet emo” Chris scoffed, leaning forward to ash his joint in the glass tray before taking a long drag. 

“She’s not fuckin—“ Matt gritted his teeth, “she’s not my pet you freak, we’re just hangin’ out” He shrugged. 

“That’s not what it sounded like the other night” Nate raised his brows at Matt, a childlike laugh erupting from his mouth as he blew weed smoke into the air. 

“UH! FUCK! MATT! YOU’RE SO BIG! UH” Chris moaned, making fake orgasm faces as he shifted his weight so it looked like he was getting fucked. Nate curled over in laughter, slapping his knee with his free hand. 

Arms folded over his chest and eyes firmly rolled to the back of his head in annoyance, Matt felt a vibrating in his pocket, ‘Arabella' by the Arctic Monkeys blared from his phone as he pulled it from his pocket. 

“Both a’you shut the fuck up before I break your fuckin’ jaws” Matt said before quickly answering the phone, your voice like honey on the other end. 

“Hi Matthew” you said, sweetly

“Hey angel, what’s up?” He said, turning away from the boys. 

The sound of the sofa shifting against the floor grabbed his attention back to them, he was met with the sight of Chris pretending to fuck the side of the couch, slapping the leather arm as if it’s an ass and Nate, pretending to give a blowjob to the end of his dying joint.

“You uh, you left your english lit book here, thought you’d wanna know in case you think you lost it or somethin”

“Oh, shit, did I?” Matt asked, leaning down and taking his shoe off, throwing it full force at his idiot brother and best friend making obscene gestures and noises only a few feet away from him, “I’ll come get it now, sweetheart, m’gonna need it” Matt said, his words focused on you but his gaze firmly on the boys as they curled over in laughter, dodging Matts flying trainer. 

“Okay, text me when you’re here, I’ll buzz you in” You responded. 

“Alright angel, I won’t be long” He said, ending the phone and shoving it into his pocket. 

“BYE Y/N” Nate screamed across the living room, giggling and rolling into Chris like a child 

“Are you two finished?” Matt said, kicking off his other shoe and humming it at them, they ducked out the way and their laughter continued, not yet tired of the bit they were doing. 

“You just got home from hers and you’re going back? Kids pussy whipped” Chris said, shaking his head. 

“Y’know what Chris, I think our boy likes her” Nate said, raising his eyebrows a couple times. 

“oh you definitely fuckin’ do! you actually like this girl” Chris responded, turning to Matt who’s cheeks had flushed a bright red 

“So what if I do? Is that a problem?” Matt said, near enough squaring up to the boys. 

“Nah man, it’s cool, she’s cool” Nate shrugged, sensing they may have struck a nerve. 

“Yeah she is fuckin’ cool, she’s cool as fuck actually, probably the smartest person I’ve ever met, on top of being unbelievably fuckin' hot and she’s easy to be around, unlike you two shit talkin' idiots” Matt sounded off, throwing an arm up in frustration. 

“Kids in love” Chris scoffed, cocking his head towards Matt as he looked at Nate 

“For real, he’s obsessed” Nate chuckled, “fuck baby keep doing that, you’re so sexy oh my fucking god” Nate mocked Matt, laying back on the sofa and holding his hands over his crotch, pretending to be holding a girls head there as she sucks him off. 

Chris laughed and smacked Nate’s hands away from his dick, slapping his palm and dapping him up in agreement. 

Matt rolled his eyes and tensed his jaw, shaking his head as he turned to walk towards the front door. 

“When I get back m’gonna kick the shit out’a both of you” Matt said, pushing his feet into his sliders and opening the door in a huff, slamming it behind him, making the whole front room shake. 

“Whatever you say, angel!” Chris said, mimicking Matts nickname for you. 

Matt strode down the path towards his car in a huff, almost ripping his car door off its hinges as he slammed down into the passenger seat, taking a deep and fast breath. After a few short seconds of sitting with closed eyes to ground himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called you.

"how the fuck did you get here so fast?" your voice a soothing balm to his anger on the other end of the phone.

He chuckled, "I haven't even left my driveway yet, angel, just wanted to call you and let you know i'm staying at yours again tonight" he said, putting his keys into the ignition and starting his car.

"okay, s'fine. any particular reason or?" You drew out your final word

"jus' rather be with you than at mine" Matt said, shrugging.

"Awh, Matthew, you're so cringe" your cadence was insulting but Matt could feel your cheesy smile through the phone.

"watch your mouth, tough girl, or i'll fill it" his threatening tone sent a jolt up your spine

"Is that a promise?" you asked, seductively, a quick change in demeanour that Matt adored.

"you're a deviant, y'know that right?" Matt shook his head as he smiled at your response, it was like he built you in a lab.

"Just shut up and get here, I miss you, idiot" you hung up the phone before he could respond, not wanting to face the teasing that would inevitably follow admitting you miss him after barely an hour of being apart.

Matt opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of you hanging up, a grin crawled its way onto his face and he couldn't help but relish in the way you made him feel. He meant what he said to his brother and Nate, you really were the coolest person he knew.

[cjlouwho]

“Tommy!” Eddie cheered, lifting his drink toward the sky as he spotted his friend walking toward him. “Whatcha doin' here, Man?”

“Figured I'd stop by and see how you were doing, Bud,” Tommy replied. He gave Eddie a pat on the back as he sat down in the empty seat next to him. “You come here alone?”

“Mhm. Needed ta get out. House's too quiet.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Too long,” the bartender interrupted as he walked by. “Was about to cut him off. I already took his keys.”

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed, looking around the bar counter. “Hey! You took my keys.”

“I got him,” Tommy said, giving the bartender a nod. “I gotta say, at least you're talking better than you're texting. I was worried.”

Eddie's face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh? I never did texted you.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Tommy fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and went to his messages. “'Buuuuuuuck, lezz drink, Buddy.' Then five minutes later, 'Bruck, why rn't you at bar? I waiting.' A good two minutes after that you sent me your location with an angry emoji. Then, and this is my personal favorite, 'Loser too busy kissy kissy with Tummy to be a friendship.'”

"Huh. Thought I was textin' Buck.”

“Yeah, I pieced that together.”

“So where's Buck if you're not kissy kissy?” Eddie asked, his final drink sloshing over his fingers as he attempted to bring it to his lips.

Tommy took the drink from Eddie and set it back on the counter. “Evan is watching Jee overnight so Howie and Maddie can have a night away. So, you wanna talk about whatever's bothering you? I mean, I could take a guess, but...”

“Nah. No, no, nope. I wanna,” Eddie pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Lessgo karaoke, Tomboy-”

“We're not calling me that.”

“I wanna sing to the rooftops,” Eddie continued, his words slurring more and more with each sentence. “I wanna. I wanna be, you know, be free, Tommy. I don't have a rea-,” he hiccuped, “reason to get back home.”

“Really? Seems like that's exactly where you need to be right now.”

Eddie's eyes widened, like he'd thought of the best idea in the entire world. “Let's go to Peeping Tom! That's your name!”

“Peeping Tom is a gay bar, Eddie.”

“I don judge.”

“A very kinky, fully nude gay bar,” Tommy clarified.

Eddie squinted, deep in thought. “No karaoke?”

“No karaoke.”

“Well, then were we go? Don't say home!”

“Home.”

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned, allowing Tommy to wrap an arm around his back and help him up. “You're like a no- no fun dad. Wish I'd texted fun dad.”

Tommy gripped onto Eddie tighter as he stumbled while taking a step. He sighed. “Maybe next time.”

*****

When Eddie woke up the next morning it was to a pounding headache and blinding sunlight coming through his window. He was nauseous and his mouth tasted like a mixture of gasoline and mouthwash.

He laid there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what happened that made him feel so unbelievably ill.

After a few failed attempts, he finally rolled out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee.

He froze when he walked through the door to see Tommy sitting there, reading the newspaper.

“Good... morning?” Eddie started, confused.

Tommy set the paper down. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“I- I think so, I guess. It's a little blurry.”

Tommy hummed. “Not surprising. Coffee just finished, if you want some. Your couch is not comfortable, by the way.”

“Buck's never complained.”

“Yeah, well, he's easier to please than I am.”

Eddie was too hungover for this. He had so many questions, but for some reason the first one out of his mouth was: “Where'd you put my shoes?”

“In your closet.”

He grabbed himself a cup for some coffee. “My keys?”

“We have to go pick them up at the bar today, along with your car, obviously.”

“You didn't close my curtains last night. Woke up thinking I was being interrogated by Ice T.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back in his seat. “'Thank you so much for getting me home safely, Tommy. Did it hurt your back having to drag me into the house while I belted out Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of my lungs?'” He stood, walking over to Eddie and taking the coffee out of his hand, drinking a big sip. “Thank you for asking, Eddie. I think my back will be okay, but my ears will never recover.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, turning to fix himself another cup. “Thank you for getting me home safely, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

“Mhm. No problem.” Tommy returned to his seat and Eddie joined him at the table. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, taking small sips of their drinks.

Eventually, Tommy set his cup down a little harder than normal, getting Eddie's attention with the clinking sound. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what? How your coffee tastes like cigarette sludge?”

“I'll take that as a no then.” Tommy checked his watch. “The bar doesn't open until three. Want me to stop by and pick you up then?”

Eddie shook his head. “I can just get an Uber, Man, thanks though.”

“Of course. I'll, uh, let you recover.” Tommy stood and went to leave, checking his pocket for his keys and phone.

As he neared the door, Eddie spoke. “Wait,” he said. Tommy turned back to face him.

“Yeah?”

“Why'd you sleep on my couch?”

“You're my friend,” he answered simply. “You drank a lot. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He took a step back toward the table. “Are you okay?”

Eddie cradled the mug in his hands, watching the steam rise from the cup. “You don't... How long has it been? Since you talked to your dad?”

Okay, so Tommy wasn't leaving then.

He came to the table and sat down, taking a moment to think about Eddie's question. “About six years, I think.”

“What did he do?” He looked over at Tommy. “To make you stop talking to him, I mean. Unless you don't wanna get into it. In fact, forget it, I shouldn't-”

“Eddie, it's fine,” Tommy assured him. “I don't mind.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded, sitting up straighter. “So? What happened?”

“It wasn't just one thing,” Tommy explained. “It was a lifetime of things. He's... He's not a good man. I think the catalyst was about a year after I came out. I hadn't been home in awhile, so I decided to drive to his place one weekend. When he answered the door he said, 'What the hell are you doing here?' I told him I was coming to see him and he said, 'What's the damn point in that?' I thought about it for a second and realized that was a good question, so I turned around, got in my car, and left. Never looked back.” Eddie seemed to be contemplating his words, and Tommy could tell where this was going. “It's not the same thing, Eddie,” he said, beating Eddie to it.

“What if he doesn't come back? What I did, Tommy, it wasn't... It was bad.”

“You made a mistake.”

“I cheated on my girlfriend with a doppelganger of his mom, Tommy, and he caught me.”

“Granted, it was a big mistake,” Tommy deadpanned. “But, still a mistake. He'll come around. You gotta give him time.”

“People keep telling me that,” Eddie replied with an eye roll. “That he'll come around. But it's been months of nothing. And it seems like no matter what I do, it's not enough.”

“You're trying.”

Eddie huffed. “I'm not sure getting drunk alone at a bar is trying.”

“I think it shows you care, Eddie. And, yeah, that shouldn't become a habit, but you're allowed to be upset. You're allowed to hurt. You made a mistake, but you're a good dad and Christopher knows that. He will come around.”

“And if he doesn't?” Eddie asked, staring over at Tommy.

“Then you keep trying,” Tommy replied. “You never stop trying. Keep being there, keep sending him letters and getting him on Facetime. Go for a visit. Send him texts. I'm not saying you gotta smother him, but never let him forget that you're there. That's the biggest mistake you could ever make.”

“Yeah,” Eddie took a deep breath. “Yeah, you're right. I just... I gotta keep it up. Let him know I'm here, whenever he's ready.”

“Exactly.”

Eddie looked over at the clock on his stove, 11:32 staring back at him. He had no idea he'd slept so long. “Why don't you call Buck, see if he wants to come over and watch a game? Then you can drive me to my car.”

“Oh, you want me to call Evan? Don't you mean fun dad?” Tommy asked, eying Eddie.

It took him a minute, but the memory came back to him. “I did say that, didn't I?”

“You did,” Tommy confirmed. “Which I'm very offended by, by the way. I'm fun!”

Eddie sighed, his head drooping down. “I know you are.”

“I introduced you to karaoke trivia. I've flown you to Vegas.”

“I remember.”

“I never tried to seriously injure you in the name of love.”

“Which I'm very grateful for.”

“I don't have control issues when I have a clipboard in my hand.”

“Are you just gonna keep listing reasons why you're fun?”

“I once shoved three cupcakes in my mouth at once! Nearly choked to death, but Evan whacked me on the back and everything went down just fine.”

Eddie stood with his mug in hand, pointing toward the living room, “I'm gonna go to the couch. Get more comfortable.”

Tommy followed behind, pulling out his phone to call Buck. “I'll let Evan tell you who bowled a 230 last week. Hint: it was me!”

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

feelin so bad its bohemian rhapsody time

feelin so bad had the sudden random urge to draw vito fkin scaletta

[libraryofgage]

I realized Steve is absolutely that kid whose parents put him through piano lessons solely so they could have another way to show off at parties and shit. And then that thought morphed into a little Steddie plot bunny and here we are lol:

Steve doesn't know it's the last time he'll sit at the grand piano, the last time he'll press down its keys and let music fill the empty room before bleeding out into the empty house.

He doesn't know that when his parents next come home, his mother will notice how horribly out of tune the instrument is. He doesn't know that it will be sent off somewhere for repair (his parents won't tell him where, no matter how he asks, and he'll never quite understand why) and lost to him. He doesn't know his parents won't bother buying another one; it was only ever there to impress party guests when Steve sat down and played some Bach. Without those parties, company or otherwise, there's no point in getting another one: both the piano and Steve will have outlived their usefulness.

He doesn't know that he'll be storing away his sheet music, carefully placed into folders and in a waterproof box for safekeeping. He doesn't know that he'll soon become too consumed by high school and dating and monsters to idly write down notes on a staff. He doesn't know that when he's swinging a nail-ridden bat in the future (to destroy monsters, sure, but destruction is destruction, right?) he'll ache with the pain of missing the act of creation as a means of stress relief.

He doesn't know any of that, so Steve sits down at the grand piano with a soft smile, gently trailing his fingers over the keys before lining them up in the Middle C-position. He runs through a few warm-ups, letting muscle memory take him away, so he doesn't have to think. Without another thought, he seamlessly transitions into idly playing, bits and pieces of everything he remembers and songs he's heard blending together.

Mozart's Air morphs into Beethoven's Fur Elise into Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. It doesn't all sound good together, but that's not the point when Steve plays by himself. All that matters is letting his brain shut off for a bit, letting the notes and echoes mingle together to create something new and joyful.

After two hours on the piano, his wrists are aching; he always forgets to hold them in the proper position when he plays alone. But it's a good ache, one that reminds him of the music still dancing around in his brain.

Steve takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, feeling the last of his tension dissipate. He lets his hands linger on the piano for a little longer before standing and leaving the room, tragically unaware of his imminent and unavoidable loss.

--------

Steve is sprawled across an old couch in Gareth's garage, reading Eddie's well-loved copy of Lord of the Rings. He'd promised to at least give it a go, and he had to admit he was looking forward to finally understanding some of the references Hellfire Club and the kids make. His progress is slow, but he's almost halfway through after two weeks of work. Reading while Corroded Coffin practices helps; the background noise of their music is perfect, letting him ignore all other sounds and focus.

Of course, that's provided they actually play continuously instead of starting the same song over and over only for Eddie to stop them halfway through. When it happens for the sixth time, Eddie growls in frustration, tugging harshly at a lock of hair. "It still sounds wrong!" he cries, dropping into a crouch while cradling his guitar close.

"Stopping us halfway through isn't helping," Gareth points out, idly twirling a drumstick as he watches Eddie's lament.

"Do you know what's wrong yet?" Asher asks.

Steve can longer focus on Lord of the Rings. Instead, he places the book on his chest and looks at the band to watch how this plays out. Eddie scowls and looks up at Asher. "Unfortunately, Ashy Baby, no."

Jeff, meanwhile, has locked eyes with Steve. And because Jeff knows the perfect way to get Eddie off their asses is to get him on Steve's instead, he says, "Why don't you ask Harrington what he thinks?"

Eddie whips around to look at Steve, eyes wide and hopeful. He doesn't even bother standing from his crouch, instead waddling his way over to Steve and testing his ability to hold back laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the sight. "Stevie, baby, sweetheart, lover boy, please tell me that wonderful brain of yours has an idea so your favorite boyfriend can finish this rocking song."

"You're my only boyfriend."

"Which automatically makes me your favorite," Eddie points out, grinning as he leans closer. With Steve still laying down, Eddie's the perfect height in his crouch to kiss him. He lingers for a few seconds before pulling away, and Steve knows his own smile matches the dopiness of Eddie's.

"Have you considered adding a piano?" Steve asks.

"None of us know how to play," Asher says, and Steve would look at him if Eddie's face and hair and shoulders and everything weren't filling his entire line of sight.

Without thinking, Steve hums and says, "I do."

"Do what?" Eddie asks.

"Know how to play piano."

There's a silence that follows his sentence, one that makes Steve's stomach lurch as he wonders if he's maybe fucked up the shaky peace and friendship he's finally managed to build with the other members of Corroded Coffin. He doesn't know how his words might have done it, but he's scrambling to somehow take them back when Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth, the bands of his rings pressing against Steve's lips.

"Gareth, you still got that keyboard?" he asks, keeping his eyes locked on Steve. There's a light dancing in them like he's just discovered magic is real, like Steve has amazed him beyond imagination.

With a grunt, Gareth gets up from his drums and steps into his house. The rest of them stay in silence while waiting, Eddie refusing to remove his hand no matter how much Steve licks his palm. When he finally gives up and just glares at Eddie, his boyfriend grins brightly back.

"It's a little dusty, but it'll work fine," Gareth says when he comes back, and Eddie finally moves his hand and body, allowing Steve to see Gareth setting up a keyboard a few feet away from his drums.

"Okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, taking the book from Steve and carefully setting it aside before pulling him off the couch, "you've heard the song enough. Play what's missing."

Steve hesitates before walking over to the keyboard. Eddie sticks to him like a shadow, sliding his arms around Steve from behind once he's standing in front of the white and black keys. An odd nervousness churns in Steve, tugging at his spine and making his palms clammy, but he knows it would be much worse without Eddie there. If he had to play in front of the band without feeling like anyone was on his side, he'd probably just throw up instead.

"It, uh, it's been a while," he says quietly, easily falling into the muscle memory of tracing the keys and finding Middle C and dancing his fingers through warm-ups despite his words.

Eddie squeezes him tighter as Jeff asks, "Since you've played? Why?"

Memories of his grand piano rise in Steve unbidden, overwhelming him in a rush of longing for the instrument itself and the relaxation of playing. "My parents paid for lessons and had me play at company parties. They, uh, sent it off to be tuned, but it got damaged, and they didn't get another one."

"That sucks, Stevie," Eddie murmurs, soft and reassuring and Steve suddenly feels far more confident.

He looks up at Jeff. "Can you start playing again?" he asks, flashing a grateful smile when Jeff nods and starts strumming the song's opening notes.

Steve listens closely, breathing in the tune he's heard so many times and letting it take hold. He doesn't allow himself to actually think, letting Jeff's guitar and Eddie's arms and hair and scent drown out everything else. Before he knows it, he's playing a hesitant tune that grows with confidence as he follows the song laid out before him. He's always a measure behind, chasing the guitar's echoing notes as they fade.

He and Jeff make it through the whole song without Eddie telling them to stop. When the final notes of guitar and piano echo together, the latter still chasing the former even at the end, Steve is shaking with excitement and anxiety and grief and joy.

He lets out a slow breath, feeling tension he didn't even realize had lingered for so long finally draining from his shoulders and dissipating. Steve can also feel Eddie's face pressed against his neck, a smile searing into his skin as Eddie squeezes him even tighter.

"I love you so fucking much, Stevie, that's exactly what was missing," Eddie says, his words the only warning he gives before pulling Steve away from the keyboard and off his feet and spinning him around. His surprised yelp quickly morphs into laughter that still lingers even after Eddie has set him down again.

Gareth and Jeff and Asher have already started discussing how the other parts of the song might change with the addition of a keyboard, but Steve is too busy turning in Eddie's arms and kissing his smile away to pay them any mind. He can worry about inevitably being roped into the band's practices later, after he and Eddie are breathless and flushed and smiling bright.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

This is probably small in the grand scheme of things, but how did Emilie being noble play any impact in the story at all?

I mean, I'd get it if it was just a small detail to help deepen Emilie's character, but why nobility of all things? I don't know, from what I'm seeing so far, the whole "Emilie renounced her noble title" shtick just feels worthless if it's not going to impact the story or add depth to Emilie's character (like maybe upbringing or personal values?).

I don't know. Like everything else, the noble part just feels shallow and means nothing to the story, especially for a character like Emilie, who is the plot device for the whole show. Any detail about her, like her personality and life story, is supposed to influence the story and characters one way or another, namely Hawkmoth since she's his driving force.

So what was the point?

For context, this ask is about Félix's play which says that Emilie gave up her title to be with Gabriel. I'm gonna give a slightly larger section of the transcript of the play for full context, but the relevant but is at the end of the last paragraph:

Félix: The king and queen's twins grew up, each day as different in heart as they were similar in body. The firstborn, curious and brazen, despised life at court and escaped at every opportunity. The younger daughter, well-behaved and respectful, did everything she could to please her parents, and stayed quietly in the castle. Félix: (as Mr. Graham de Vanily) Oh, my queen. Did we entrust our legacy to the right princess? Kagami: (as Mrs. Graham de Vanily) She will fall in line, eventually. Félix: Confident that she would settle down as she matured, the king and queen allowed the curious princess to leave to study beyond the sea in another kingdom. There, she immediately found true love in a humble tailor. Félix: The tailor was making clothes so magnificent that they revealed the beauty of the soul of anyone who wore them. Although it made her parents furious, the curious princess gave up her rank, her wealth and her kingdom to live a bohemian life with the tailor.

Story wise, I have no idea why any of this was added since it adds nothing to canon. It's not like this finally explains why Gabriel and Emilie are poor while Amelie is wealthy. Along similar lines, it's not like Amelie's title has ever mattered. Prior to this play, I don't think that we even knew that she had a title or that she was the younger sister. The play is all about explaining things that we never had reasons to question in the first place.

My best guess as to why the writers wrote this pointless backstory is that they wanted to make Emilie seem even more pure and perfect so they went with the tired old trope of a rich girl giving up material things for the sake of love and art because good pure women don't care about material things! Only nasty, shallow women care about money. (Way to play into sexist tropes, guys.)

There may also be cultural elements at play here given that France doesn't have the greatest history with nobility, so giving up a noble title may be seen as good and pure to a French writer, but I don't know enough about French culture to say that with any certainty. If anyone who reads this blog is French and would like to chime in, then feel free!

While we're on the topic of the play, I wanted to point out that the above quoted passage is why I say that the Graham de Vanily parents can be as kind or as abusive as you'd like to make them. It's incredibly vague and you can read into it whatever you want to read into it. Were they good loving parents who were just upset about their daughter living in poverty or were they miserable controlling classist who Emilie fled England to get away from? It's up to you because you can get both reads from this. The play commits to almost nothing of value. Politicians could take lessons from this impressive level of noncommittal writing.

A better version of the play would have focused on things that actually matter to canon like the details of finding the miraculous and/or Emilie learning she's sick, but you could only have those details if they were coming from Nathalie or Gabriel. Félix is a terrible choice for a character to tell us the show's backstory because he knows so little of it, thus the play focusing on his largely pointless backstory.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine accidentally hurts your feelings.

Prompt: friends to lovers - "oh shit, are you crying?"

~ here you go @yourlocalnegroko, i hope you like this 🤍 ~

The hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses dance around the small, dimly lit bar in south London. The warm lowlights cast a shimmer over the faces of the customers and in a corner booth, you, Lemon, and Tangerine sit like you do every other thursday. 

You swirl your straw in your glass, your eyes distant as you look at the lime floating in your drink. This afternoon had gone to absolute shit. The man who had hired you had snapped, abruptly ending the hit you'd spent months preparing, so by now you're a bundle of frustration and exhaustion.

Tangerine, always the more observant Twin, had caught on to your foul mood. He's known you since you were teenagers and it has always been easy to read the tension in your shoulders as well as the tightness in your smile.

He leans against his seat and drapes his arm behind where your head is as he looks at you with a hint of a smile. "Why don' we all get piss drunk and knock yer frown upside down," he says a little sarcastically as his voice takes on an overly cherry quality and he pushes his index into your skin. 

You smile weakly and Lemon, who is sitting across from you, joins in. "Psh, fuck sloshed, bruv," he grins and turns to you. "You, me, Tan, and some  'Bohemian Rhapsody.'" he asks and looks to the small Karaoke stage, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tangerine scoffs and sniffs, clearly hating Lemon's suggestion.

You chuckle a little. "No one in here needs us butchering Queen, Lem."

Tangerine nods in agreement with you as he sends his brother a stern, disapproving look. He looks at you again and still sees the sadness in your eyes, his heart clenching. 

"Bullocks, you're a bunch of pricks. Alright, fine, no singing," Lemon raises his hands in surrender and then takes a sip of his beer, looking suspicious. He leans forward and points his index at you. "But hey, how about ya tell us what happened, huh?"

"Nothing." You answer too quickly.

Tangerine crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "Nothin? Ya think we're stupid, Y/n/n?"

You hesitate, then sigh. "Fine. I lost that job—the one in Munich, y'know? The one that would pay thousands? The old prick said he wanted someone more experienced."

"What an arse," Lemon chimes in.

Tangerine nods, his eyes softer. "Yeah, seriously, what the fuck? The fucker needs to learn some fuckin' respect. You're an amazin' assassin and he's what, some dick who can't solve his own problems?" he huffs and sips his beer, "he the prick with that comb-over we saw last week? Who does he think he's foolin', huh?”

You laugh at the mental image, but then your smile falters.

Seeing your reaction, Tangerine pushed further, his tone careless as his anger and annoyance built. "Honestly, ya don't need a git like him— if he wants some arsehole to finish the job, let him finish it, perhaps it's for the best. If he thinks he can find someone better, let 'im,"

Tangerine means well. He always does but he's never been the best with words. You're a little confused by what he means and in your vulnerable state, everything sounds bad. Your expression shifts from amused to hurt.

"Someone better? Why would that be for the best?" you ask, misunderstanding him as your voice stays quiet, "This job meant something to me. I needed the money and it was humiliating that he made me feel inadequate in a field I've worked in for years."

Tangerine frowns, feeling defensive. "Pardon? I-I didn't mean it like that—"

But it was too late. The sting of his words, even if unintentional, had stung and you can't help that forming pit in your stomach. You turn away, warm tears falling down my cheeks as my mascara stains my cheeks.

Lemon, noticing the shift, opens his mouth to say something, but Tangerine beats him to it. He moves quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. "Shit, are ya crying?" he mumbles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. 

You stiffen for a moment, still hurt by the implications in his words. Finally, you relax against him and allow the tears to fall as they stain his shirt.

"Darlin', I didn't mean to make ya feel like you're somehow less good than us or any other man in the field—you're amazin', better than most," Tangerine whispers, his voice hoarse with sincerity. "I was tryin' to say that that absolute cock is gonna have a hard time findin' someone as qualified as ya—I, fuck, I just wanted to see you smile."

His confession causes a warmth in your stomach and you sniff, holding him tighter. You're quiet for a moment until you finally speak. "I do realize that now, Tan. I'm sorry I misunderstood. It's not your fault. It's just, everything feels so wrong now."

Tangerine continues to hold you. "Ya don't have to carry it all by yourself, ya know? We're here. I'm here. And I promise, you'll find a new job sooner rather than later."

"Ya can always work with us again," Lemon suggests nonchalantly, popping an olive into his mouth as he looks at you and his brother, a knowing look drawn across his features.

Tangerine brother nods, pulling away with his hands still near your hips. "Ya know we love when we work as a trio—like old times," he winks and he feels like he won when he finally sees you smile.

You sniff and wiping at your tears with your hand, feeling stupid for jumping to conclusions. Your smile widens as Tangerine wipes his thumb under your eyes.

"Can I drive the car?" you ask him cheekily, knowing how much Tangerine loves his car and how possessive he is over her.

Lemon barks a laugh as Tangerine's eyes narrow. However, Tangerine can't bring himself to deny you anything so he nods. "Of course," he whispers.

When you disappear into the bathroom to touch up your smeared makeup, Lemon turns to his brother and smirks.

"You're so fuckin' whipped."

Tangerine's cheeks turn crimson but he doesn't deny it.

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld, @longlivedelusion, @thewinterv

[1800titz]

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin. 

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places. 

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter. 

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals. 

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents. 

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes. 

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.” 

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder. 

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band. 

“Can I grab you another?” 

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip. 

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth. 

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?” 

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice. 

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures. 

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc. 

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation. 

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth. 

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again. 

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split. 

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation. 

It’s a different story behind the door. 

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges. 

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?” 

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again. 

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together. 

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.” 

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.” 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.” 

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway. 

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet. 

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters. 

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing. 

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to. 

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana. 

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.” 

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph. 

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough. 

Eventually. 

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat. 

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock. 

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.” 

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing. 

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head. 

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini. 

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen)

Mama, ooh-ooh/I don’t wanna die/I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all

Mamaaa/Just killed a man/Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger/Now he's dead/Mamaaa, life had just begun/But now I've gone and thrown it all away/Mama, oooh/Didn't mean to make you cry/If I'm not back again this time tomorrow/Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

"LIKE HELLO????? THIS SONG IS LITERALLY INDESCRIBABLE IT’S JUST AMAZING"

"Good god when the "Galileo, Figaro - magnificoo" hits (hold on for dear life)"

Poll Runner: The Song Ever. Everyone who's ever sung this can feel the sheer power of Freddie Mercuary in their lungs.

Farewell Wanderlust (The Amazing Devil)

I promise you im not broken, I promise you there's more/More to come, more to reach more, more to hurl at the door/Goodbye to all my darkness, there's nothing here but light/Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night/This here is not makeup, it's a porcelain tomb/And this here is not singing, I'm just screaming in tune

This here is not makeup, it's a porcelain tomb/And this here is not singing, I'm just screaming in tune

I'm the face that stares back when the screen goes to black/When your mom says you look healthy/But you know she means you got fat/I'm the tales that the guests will applaud and believe/I'm the child that you just didn't have time to conceive

You may have taken me, and made me, but I am more than what you think, and I will /not/ let you ruin me.

"I have literally fucked up my throat by yelling this song really loudly while driving. Like, my voice was weird for multiple days afterwards. I can't put it into words but everyone I've ever heard mention the amazing devil has been so fucked up by this song."

"Ok I KNOW that this isn't going to win because no one knows the song. therefore the only mark i can leave is this rant ok. So I apologise in advance but: but did you read that absolute CALLOUT section of the lyrics i put up there?? that is only a SECTION ok. this song is so fucking weird its like someone is reaching into your soul strings and pulling on tangling them making u Feel Things like WOW. its such a. callout isnt the rigjt word for it. it just fucks one up ok. like honestly just pls pls i beg of u listen to the song or even just read the entire lyrics its so. you'll get what I mean."

"It’s about breaking under the weight of expectations and showing the world yourself in all of your imperfect, ugly, and raw glory."

Bohemian Rhapsody submitted by @homosandhomies + others

Farewell Wanderlust submitted by @Gimme_DA_PIEEEE + @ceaseless-rambler + @xx0yeet-everything0xx + others

[fayes-fics]

Reprisal

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Turnabout is fair play. Sequel to Acting Up.

Warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, exhibitionism, semi-public blowjob, deepthroat, swallowing, brief d/s dynamics, brief mention of window sex.

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: So, I was in the mood to write a filthy blowjob fic, and this has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year. It was inspired by an ask from the lovely @queen-of-the-misfit-toys, so it is dedicated to them. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

Your toes tingle from crouching in the same awkward position for what feels like the last… eternity. But revenge is a dish best served not so much cold, as when least expected.

You hear him warmly greet all his guests out in the hallway, then beckon them towards the dining room. He sits at the head of the table, just a few inches in front of you. All is unfolding exactly as you expect so far. 

You are so very grateful no one kicks you as they take their places, the convivial buzz of conversation muffled under the thick drape of tablecloth fabric. You shift slightly to get more comfortable, knowing you must wait patiently a while longer; your window of opportunity will arise after their light two-course supper.

Just two weeks ago, your husband had mercilessly made you orgasm silently in front of his entire family as he fingered you to oblivion at dinner. It is now his turn. 

As Smith serves the men dessert, you place a firm hand on Benedict’sknee when you hear him complete a sentence, and his whole leg jolts. It’s the only forewarning you give him before running both hands heavily up over his muscular thighs and grabbing for his resting cock. You feel both his legs jerk, and a hand grabs your wrist forcefully. Next to you, a spoon clatters loudly to the floor, smattering a streak of blackcurrant across the pristine oak floor.

“Butterfingers!” He jests. 

Suddenly, his face appears under the drape of cloth and morphs into one of surprise as he sees you. With a raised eyebrow, you shove a little note into his hand, you came prepared.

Do not give anything away. Now we shall see how well you play this game, my love.

You watch him quickly scan the note, and then his eyes cut back to you, trepidation, challenge, and adoration—a beguiling cocktail. Realising if he stays under too long, his guests will suspect something; he straightens but not before a loving touch to your chin.

“Could not find the blasted thing,” he jokes in explanation. “Smith, please, could you bring me a new spoon?”

As soon as the conversation begins again, you reach to squeeze him again, and he helpfully pushes forward in his chair and splays his legs wider. 

Well played, darling.

You can feel a burgeoning swelling there, and you reach for the buttons at his hip, wanting to dive right in. As soon as you peel open the front of his trousers, his cock springs free, already half-erect. The fact he never seems to wear underwear makes you smirk—your wonderful bohemian whore of a husband. 

You wrap a hand around him, and you can tell from the way his hips surge how much he appreciates it. Slowly, teasingly, you strengthen your grip. He probably suspects you will just use your hands, as he did to you. You cannot wait to see how he will react when you use your mouth on him. You intend to suck him deep and hard, not wanting to be bettered in this game of one-upmanship. 

You shuffle forward, and a hand reaches under the table to pat your shoulder affectionately. 

Without preamble, you suckle his tip into your mouth and feel his whole body tense in surprise, his thigh muscles tensing, and his fingers dig into your shoulder reflexively. Smirking to yourself, you swirl your tongue around his head as his hand travels along the top of your shoulder to cup the side of your neck, his thumb swiping a few tender strokes just under your ear. 

You feel the vibration through his body as he talks, calling upon his friend to regale everyone with tales from his recent travels. “Spare no details!” he appends with an accommodating chuckle, relaxing into his chair and pushing his hips towards you, sliding deeper into your mouth as he does. 

You appreciate his smarts for that decision - he can appear to be listening intently as a gracious host but not having to lead any conversation. 

Taking a deep breath, you sink, taking half of his cock into your mouth, revelling in the contours as they pass through your lips and the twitch of his fingers in the hair behind your ear, his warm palm cupping your jaw. So you push a little lower, as far as you can, without fear of making a noise - you do not want to give anything away by choking yourself on him, as you love to do—that will have to wait for another time, in private. This is more of a challenge for him than anything.

You still, to let him feel the heat of your mouth, enticingly dabbing your tongue over his length, before pulling up and concentrating on his sensitive head, sucking on his frenulum and letting his foreskin roll between your lips, a slight twisting action to your movements that you know he loves. He coughs, causing his cock to jerk into the roof of your mouth, his fingers sliding tentatively around the back of your head as if planning to direct your movements.

No, no, I decide what happens here, dearest.

You grab his hand away and hold it on his thigh instead, lacing your fingers with his as you lower again, his fingertips curling between your knuckles, telling you exactly how much he is enjoying this, even as he remains mostly silent and still, his friend still holding court around the table above.

“I did miss my wife, though,” the man ripostes as his story ends. “Her womanly delights were a wonderful homecoming.” 

There is a bawdy round of laughter at that.

“And what of you, Bridgerton?’ you hear one ask as you change your motion, his tip glancing the back of your mouth with each deep pull.

“What of me?” his voice a touch rough.

“You are not long married. How is that sweet, innocent, young thing?” the same man continues.

You have to tamp the urge to giggle at the irony of being called innocent while kneeling between your husband's splayed legs, mere inches from his unsuspecting friends, sucking his cock so thoroughly that your jaw aches deliciously.

If only they knew…

“She is a wonder, and I love her more than life itself,” Benedict praises after clearing his throat. A warmth blooms behind your ribs as his sweet words, such a contradiction to the utter debauchery of your actions at this very moment.

“Spoken like a true poet,” another man mocks affably. “Come now, we speak of earthier matters tonight, Bridgerton. There are no such delicate ears to overhear after all.”

You want to roll your eyes at their prurient line of talk. Even as you slide up and down on Benedict’s cock, moving faster now, wanting to truly put him to the test, as he did you, something in the way he tilts his hips fractionally tells you all your need to know.

“As I said, my wife is a wonder,” he repeats with finality, gritting his teeth. 

To his friends, it likely seems he is attempting to arrest the topic out of decorum, not the fact he is struggling with composure, which you can detect from the tinge of desperation, the twitch in his legs, the harsh grip of his hand on yours. 

As talk moves on to gambling around the table, the volume increases as the men splinter into side conversations, an opportune moment for you to be a touch daring. Sinking to his root, allowing his solid, hot tip to plug your throat, emitting a tiny moan as you do, buzzing into his pelvis. Benedict’s entire body stiffens, and you feel a crest of victory as he fights not to make a noise; his body at war, wanting to thrust, to grab, to do anything but sit still and take it.

Tougher than it looks, is it not, darling husband?

You want to chuckle, but your mouth is too full of him, a salty bead of precum trickling down your throat as you ease off to allow him a moment of reprieve and yourself a deep, calming breath. Tilting your head sideways and running suckling kisses over the underside of his cock, all the way to his sac that you lap as your other hand wraps around his tip and gives soft teasing squeezes.

His hand untangles from yours on his leg and wraps around your other hand, attempting to halt your motions, silently asking for clemency which you ignore, batting him away. He gave you no such accommodation in front of his own mother, no less.

But you take pity and decide not to string it out for much longer, his friends loud now the wine bottles are empty, one beginning to sing tunelessly, and another joining in a few bars later. Using both of your hands wound around his lower shaft, constricting in a wave motion, and your mouth sucking forcefully on his head. Encourage him to break, to come, wanting that taste to flood your mouth, a heavy throbbing sensation between your legs that is your arousal. You will need him to fuck you ruthlessly once his entertaining duties are over. Perhaps facedown right over this very table or, preferably, in your bedroom window, your nipples pebbled against the cool glass as he takes you roughly from behind, kneeling on the bench seat… the exhibitionist streak that he provokes in you flaring.

The images tumbling through your mind have you feral, sucking ferociously, pushing his thighs out wider to allow yourself greater access, crowding into him, knowing that with the level of noise in the room now, you can make some sound yourself. The back of your head glancing the underside of the table as you bob rapidly, moaning lightly, drooling on the length of his cock, your saliva pooling into his trousers as you mercilessly rise and sink, breathing heavily through your nose. You sense the tension in his legs, his vice-like grip on the table edge, every cell of his being in pure ecstasy and the agony of not being able to show it. He is usually so very vocal and lavish in his praise when you do this. 

“Come for me, my love, give it to me.” you gargle around him, his legs dancing now in a staccato quake.

Even if he cannot decipher your words, he can feel the echo over his velvet skin, and suddenly, both of his hands dive under the table and grip around your ears, finger grasping your scalp. Pushing you deep onto his cock, his whole being seeming to curl around you, his knees lifting high near your shoulders as you feel his sac tighten against your chin, a strong ripple between your lips and then a salty wave in your mouth as he comes hard.

“Are you alright, Bridgerton?” a concerned voice rings out as you swallow victoriously, then slackening your mouth to allow him to slip out, moving to lick him clean as he quivers under your tender ministrations.

“Sorry, gentleman,” his voice is ragged, harsh. “I felt a wave of nausea; perhaps a lunch of venison and oysters was not advisable. But do not fear, I'm sure it was a fleeting moment of discomfort,” he lies to cover his actions, holding one hand up in a reassuring gesture as his other hand strokes your cheek, your face resting upon his clothed thigh, leaning into his doting fingers, akin to a cat. “However, perhaps it is time we sojourned to the parlour,” he announces as you carefully rebutton his trousers. “‘Tis where I keep my best liquors, after all!!” 

You hear a rousing call of agreement, all around the sound of chairs scraping as they stand and drift towards the exit.

“I will be there, anon, gentlemen; I must speak to my valet first,” Benedict fibs, shifting in his seat but not standing.

As the chorus of voices fades, he pushes out his chair and holds up the tablecloth, staring at you slack-jawed.

“At a loss for words, husband?” you smirk, raising a coquettish eyebrow as he assists you in crawling out from under the table.

“The most delightful revenge, darling wife…” he responds, his eyes glittering. “But the use of your mouth is an escalation. I rather think a declaration of war, not a mere battle.” The very beguiling threat of more challenges to come makes your stomach flip in anticipation.

‘“Promises promises…Sir,” you goad with a wink, dusting off your dress and standing up, hoping the invocation of his play title will spark something in him.

A warm hand clamps firmly around the nape of your neck, making you gasp excitedly.

“Insolence does not go unpunished, little one,” he warns lowly. 

There it is.

“Yes, Sir,” your stance instantly submissive, swaying into him. “Perhaps, you could fuck me against our bedroom window later? So the world can see to whom I belong?”

He growls softly, and his nostrils flare as he crowds into you. “That can certainly be arranged.”

“I look forward to it, Sir.” you smile, always enjoying when he behaves domineering. 

However, with a wink, his grip releases, his mien turning gentler, nuzzling your cheek.

“I am quite the luckiest man alive. I love you, darling,” he breathes.

“And I you, husband. Now, go entertain your guests. I will see you later,” you offer, kissing his jaw as you drift towards the door, wrapped in each other's arms.

“I’d rather retire to our bedchamber with you,” he sighs wistfully into your temple.

“I shall be there waiting for you,” you vow. “Naked, except for the jewels you have given me. Thinking of you. Touching myself…” you paint a vivid picture to tempt and tease him.

You squeal as he suddenly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, striding purposefully into the hallway, the sounds of the men in the room across the hall unmistakable.

“Smith,” Benedict addresses the man standing dutifully by the front door. “Please tell my guests they are welcome to stay but that I was, in fact, mistaken. I have taken indeed ill with a dreaded stomach bug and must retire from their company immediately,” he pronounces. 

You laugh at his lie, and he slaps your bottom for good measure.

“Will that be all, sir?” His trusty valet replies, tone world-weary.

“Please escort them out the rear entrance when they are done carousing and arrange for their carriages to pick them up in the mews. I do not wish the neighbours to witness their drunken behaviour,” he rejoinders as he begins to climb the stairs with you still dangling over his shoulder. 

Giggling, you wave to Smith as you go, who merely raises three fingers dryly in recognition—he has walked in upon you fucking you in every room of the house since your marriage; this is decidedly mundane.

And as Benedict fulfils your request sometime later - pounding into you so hard that the window rattles in its frame, you clinging to the wooden sash as you stare out across the treetops of the handsome square - you cannot help but wonder if the request to send his friends home another way was not entirely for your benefit.

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[spookwyrdie]

Sweet Spot {part 1}

{part 1}{part 2}{part 3}{part 4}{part 5}{part 6}

Baker Felix x Florist reader

summary: You're putting together the floral arrangements for your ex's wedding as a favor, forgetting how passive aggressive he can be about your love life. Fortunately for you, one of your best friend's in the world comes over to feed you sugar and make you a sweet offer to get back at your ex. genre: fluff, smut, angst if you squint // word count: 2.8k // warnings: adult dialogue, sexual themes, wet dream // a/n: Trying out something longer and fluffier this time! If you'd like to be on the taglist, reply to this post or send me an ask 🥰

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

You should have never agreed to do this. Your fingers were sore from wire wrapping all the different bouquets, one for each bridesmaid, the ring bearer’s pillow, and the flower girl. So far, you were only halfway done with the floral arch and hadn’t even gotten to start on the table settings yet. There were bits of torn leaves, crushed flower petals, and feathers strewn around your apartment, trying to deal with the last minute changes in aesthetic that the bride asked for.

 The shift from a classic summer bouquet to something more bohemian wasn’t impossible, but it was a challenge with the wedding a week away. It definitely wasn’t your favorite aesthetic in the world, but you were determined to make it work.

The question of why you had agreed to do this at a quarter of your normal fee was beginning to fester in your mind, especially for your ex’s wedding. 

You and Johnny were amicable, sure. Civil might be a better word for it. You didn’t have any leftover romantic feelings for the man - that ship had sailed ages ago. The main problem you had now with him is that he always seemed to be in competition with you, always trying to steal your thunder or diminish your accomplishments. It was always underhanded and passive aggressive and you didn’t have the energy to really push back.

Speaking of the devil, your phone pings with a text message.

❌J: hey y/n, just checking in about the florals. Jenny is freaking out and wants an update you: working on them now! [image attached]  ❌J: wow! Hard at work! Is this the bride’s bouquet? you: yep! Putting the finishing touches on it now’s ❌J: it looks really busy, are you sure this is what she asked for? you: yes. I promise I’m following her vision that we spoke about during our last consultation. ❌J okay! just making sure! I know some of these changes need a quick turn around. ❌J: oh also… ❌J: i wanted to chat with you about something you: ? ❌J: I know things have been a little rough in the dating department for you lately but you still officially have a plus one to the wedding, in case you wanted to bring your sister or someone! you: …thanks.  you: Don’t know where the idea that I’m struggling with dating came from, but I appreciate the plus one. ❌J: I had just heard through the grapevine is all. ❌J: there’s someone out there for everyone! You’ll find them eventually. ❌J: like me and Jenny! We were just made for each other 💕 you: okay, Johnny! Great chatting, I’ll get back to work now! 

You swipe out of the text thread and pinch your brow, the feeling of a building tension headache settling right between your eyes. His audacity is always bewildering, he can have such a sickeningly sweet tone while making sure to get a jab or two in to hurt you. 

Sure, you haven’t had a solid relationship since the two of you broke up, but he doesn’t have to rub your nose in it. The relationship ended amicably enough once you both graduated from college, realizing that the two of you were drifting apart as you pursued your respective careers. Staying civil made it easier to maintain the friend group, neither of you had any real reason to be upset with the other. That didn’t mean you were close, you still kept your distance.

 When he had gotten engaged, you were genuinely pleased for him, and a little relieved. Sometimes, when you’d run into each other at parties, he would make it a point to find you and tell you how well he was doing. You’d get the feeling that he was trying to showboat his accomplishments - he always wanted to tell you all about his successes, all the great things going on in his life. 

He got a great job at some law firm, a promotion and another promotion. Then he had met Jenny, they got engaged, and wasn’t it just so cute that their names were so similar? Jenny and Johnny, Johnny and Jenny! It became their whole personality as a couple and he’d corner you to tell you about how amazing she is and how he had never met anyone who just got him like she did. Every time you’d deal with this, you felt like he had poured corn syrup on you with how saccharine he sounded.

He’d hear about your ebb and flow of love and give you such a pitying look. “Oh you haven’t been dating? That’s too bad, there’s someone out there for everyone! Just look at me and Jenny!” Just throwing small digs in your direction that flew under the radar for most of your friends. 

But you knew. 

You knew he was always trying to make you feel like you had “lost” the break-up. 

~~~

A knock at the door brings you back to the present moment. 

“Y/n~! It’s me! Open up,” a deep voice lilts in a sing-song voice. 

You shake your head, trying to snap out of your shitty mood to answer the door. On your doorstep is one of the best things that came into your life with his ice blond hair, freckles, and a smile that could light up an entire room. Before you can say anything, Felix barges past you into your apartment, holding two paper bags with the bakery’s logo on it.

“I brought some new flavors for you to try, I’m experimenting for the springtime,” he says as he starts unpacking travel pastry boxes with different colored cakes inside.

“Ugh, please don't talk to me about weddings right now,” you sigh. He pauses his unpacking.

“What’s up? You sound like someone kicked your dog.” 

“I just had the most passive aggressive interaction with my ex, Johnny.”

You open the text thread to show him. 

“This is your ex?”

“Yep.”

“Damn, he’s not even being subtle about it.”

“Nope.”

The room is silent for a split second before Felix brightens up again. 

“Well fuck that, the flowers look great, despite the boho bad taste. Come try these new cake flavors I’ve been playing with! Sugar always cheers me up.”

You give him a small smile, he always knows exactly how to bring a little optimism into a shitty situation. “Sure Felix, what have you got for me?”

Soon, you have 4 plates and forks out for the different cake concoctions.

“I’ve been playing around with different florals and citrus for spring, so here we have a lavender cake with key lime frosting. Over here, we have an earl grey cake with lemon curd and lemon buttercream. Then we’ve got a vanilla cake with a pistachio filling and a rose buttercream. Finally we have a jasmine green tea cake with yuzu curd and a vanilla glaze,” Felix says, bouncing on his toes. 

“Okay, Mary Berry! They all sound delicious.”

“You have to be one hundred percent honest with me, I want actual feedback on these!” He grabs your shoulders and looks deep into your eyes, your heart skipping a beat briefly at his intensity. He looks so eager for you to try his different concoctions. Most couples weren’t looking for anything too extreme in the way of flavors, most opting for a basic white cake and buttercream, so you knew Felix loved to share the uncommon combinations he came up with.

They were all so beautiful, perfectly cut out and frosted with care. You picked up your fork enthusiastically.

“Fuck, Felix, that’s delicious,” you say, savoring the citrus flavors. Every single one you tried was more delicious than the last. Your favorite had to be the earl grey and lemon. “This one tastes like how a springtime tea party feels.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling into little crescent moons, his freckles stand out when he smiles so brightly.

“Thanks, it’s always nice when I get to play around with flavor,” he says, leaning back into his seat. As he stretches, his shirt rides up to reveal a small expanse of the bare skin where his hip meets his lower belly, the lean muscle definition standing out in the lamp light. You tear your eyes away when you realize you’ve been lingering your gaze on the scant inch of skin.

 “Oh my god, did tell you?” Felix blurts out suddenly. “I’ve been working with this couple for an upcoming wedding. Absolute nightmare. Terrible taste! Guess what they finally settled on for their flavor.”

“I don’t know, something basic I bet.”

“Fucking mint chocolate chip.”

“Mint chocolate??? For a cake???” You reel back in horror. What on earth kind of combo was that for a wedding cake?

“They insisted on it!” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “Well, the bride did. The groom was never at any of these sampling appointments. She was onher own and really pushing for something unique.”

“I guess it’s unique to make your guests hate you for your choice of cake flavor,” you say, grimacing at the thought of a mint chocolate cake. “Disgusting.”

“I feel bad for their wedding guests. That’s such a controversial flavor for ice cream, I can’t imagine how it’ll go down for the entire reception.”

You hum in agreement, picking up your fork and finishing off the last of your cake in one frosting heavy bite. 

“Y/n you’ve got a little-“ he reaches up, gently holding your chin. 

His gaze softens as he looks at your lips and you freeze in place. Your heart picks up speed, hammering in your chest, at this gentle touch. He doesn’t know that you have had a thing for him for years now, but you’ll never tell him. You love having him as a friend too much to ruin it, he’s the one spot of sunshine on dreary days. There’s no chance he’d reciprocate your feelings, he could literally date anyone the way strangers constantly fall in love with him at first glance.

But right now, he’s focused on your lips, his thumb brushing them carefully, swiping the bit of frosting that was left from your last bite.

“Oh my god!” You force out a laugh, pulling out of his grasp in embarrassment. Taking a napkin, you start furiously wiping your mouth. “Sorry! It was really good!”

“That’s the perfect kind of response to one of my baked goods!” He smiles, licking the frosting off of his thumb. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

Felix never seems to notice the effect he has on people, overwhelming charm, the magnetic pull he has on anyone within 10 ft of him. When the two of you worked at the old cafe together, you’d take a mental tally of the number of customers that would leave with hearts in their eyes after ordering coffee from him. You thought that after five years of friendship you could get used to it via exposure therapy, but his allure slams you in the chest all the time.  You try to keep yourself grounded in reality when he tugs at heartstrings like this - he does this with everyone so you try not to lose your head. But the way he’s looking at you now, leaning in close with fierce affection in his eyes, makes the delusion that he feels the same about you seem almost real.

You giggle nervously and move to tidy things up from the table after you two are done sampling. Felix leans against the counter, watching you, as you start washing the plates.

“I have an idea,” he says. “For your plus-one situation.”

“Okay, shoot.” 

“What if you take me as your date?”

“Be serious, Felix,” you chuckle.

“I am being serious, I clean up real good,” he says, grabbing at your waist playfully.

“Oh!” A fork slips out of your hand and clatters into the sink. “I mean- you don’t have to do that.”

“Nah, I’d like to! Think about it, it’d be perfect, Johnny has no idea who I am and I can brag you up while I’m there. Rub his nose in it for a change.”

“I-“

“Just think it over, no rush. I think it’d be real fun though!” 

You look at him blankly for a moment, your heart thumping in your chest again. “ Yeah, I’ll think it over.”

~~~

Your eyes are closed when you feel a pair of hands slink around your body, drawing you into a chest of hard, lean muscle. The scent like an apple orchard on a rainy autumn morning greets you, petrichor and wood mixed with something crisp and sweet, enveloping you in a sense of comfort. You look up to see who’s arms embrace you to find Felix hovering over you, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. You’re so close you could count the freckles on his cheeks and give a name to each one. He hums as he pulls you in closer, a deep resonance vibrating through his chest, warming you in more ways than one. 

Tell me it’s real, he says, almost silently.

It’s real, you reply. 

He leans down to capture your lips, pausing above you to nudge his nose against yours and smile. 

I’ve waited so long for this, he says as he finally presses his lips against yours softly. His movements are gentle but insistent, trying to communicate with you, speaking quietly of the years of yearning that have been building. Your skin sings with the way his hands splay on your lower back, pushing your pelvis into him as he presses his tongue against your lips, asking for permission. The kiss deepens and you fall further into him, molding yourself against him. Your hands wind their way into his hair, those ice blond strands wrapped up in your grasp.

A small tug has him detaching from your mouth in a gasp, arching into you ever so slightly as his eyes flutter shut. His fingers find purchase in your plush hips, gripping into you harshly as he yanks you even closer to his body, no space between your body and his. Your breasts press into him, feeling his every breath move against you. He groans at the feel of you before he wraps you up into another kiss, this one more fervent. The way your soft body fits against his so well has his tongue dancing with yours, surging into you then backing away, teasing you until your body feels like it’s on fire. 

You whimper into his mouth when he shifts, coaxing your feet apart to slot his thigh between your legs. He bears down on your hips, pressing your core against his flexed muscle. Liquid heat pools in your belly as he starts rocking against you, feeling his length against your hip, pleading for friction. His hands snake down to grab onto your ass, kneading into the thick flesh, controlling the pace of your grinding into him.

You feel that arousal building inside of you, the tension has you clenching while you rut your hips against him. You feel how wet your panties have become as they slide over your clit, your hips stuttering against him, nearing your peak. 

Felix, I’m- you start to say but he cuts you off with a kiss.

Come for me, y/n, he murmurs against your lips. I want all of you. I wanna feel you lose control.

His words have you moaning, your brow furrowing as your hips shake. He holds you steady as he bounces his leg slightly to add extra pressure. You gasp, feeling your muscles tighten.

Give it all to me, he whispers against your lips. It belongs to me.

His voice sounds distant as you feel yourself coming to the edge. 

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. You find yourself in bed, thrusting pitifully against your pillow, your heart racing and your skin flush with arousal. As you start to pull yourself out of the dream you were so wrapped up in, your orgasm shatters through you, moaning into the dark of your room. Your legs shake as your core muscles flutter, throbbing at the thought of Felix’s mouth on yours. As you start to come down from your high and settle into reality, you can feel your own pulse in your clit, your legs tangled in your sheets with a pillow between your legs, forehead glistening with sweat. 

It felt so real, like you could actually feel the ghost of his hands on your ass rocking you against his body, his groans ricocheting in your chest. You haven’t had a dream like that in ages, it was so vivid. You wanted it to be real so badly.

That settles it. You reach for your phone, the light piercing through the darkness, staring at the clock that reads 4:26 AM. Opening your messaging app, you type out a quick text and hit send.

you: okay Felix, let’s do it. Will you be my plus one?