#this guy's TERRIBLE at doing what he wants to do

[battymoonflower7]

Image transcript:

I was at a shitty crustpunk bar once getting an after-work beer. One of those shitholes where the bartenders clearly hate you. So the bartender and I were ignoring one another when someone sits next to me and he immediately says, "no. get out."

And the dude next to me says, "hey i'm not doing anything, i'm a paying customer." and the bartender reaches under the counter for a bat or something and says, "out. now." and the dude leaves, kind of yelling. And he was dressed in a punk uniform, I noticed

Anyway, I asked what that was about and the bartender was like, "you didn't see his vest but it was all nazi shit. Iron crosses and stuff. You get to recognize them."

And I was like, ohok and he continues.

"you have to nip it in the bud immediately. These guys come in and it's always a nice, polite one. And you serve them because you don't want to cause a scene. And then they become a regular and after awhile they bring a friend. And that dude is cool too.

And then THEY bring friends and the friends bring friends and they stop being cool and then you realize, oh shit, this is a Nazi bar now. And it's too late because they're entrenched and if you try to kick them out, they cause a PROBLEM. So you have to shut them down.

And i was like, 'oh damn.' and he said "yeah, you have to ignore their reasonable arguments because their end goal is to be terrible, awful people."

And then he went back to ignoring me. But I haven't forgotten that at all.

End Transcript

[lovecla]

MAKE IT TO THE MORNING ; JACK HUGHES

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY being jack hughes’ girlfriend comes with a lot of hardships— but in the mornings, you realize it is all worth it.

WARNINGS unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), rough sex, p slapping, cockwarming, dirty talk, jack is lowkey a little shit, reader loves him tho, inspired by the song “make it to the morning” by partynextdoor. freaky af!!!

WORD COUNT 2,3k

FROM ME TO YOU a little late (literally, it’s like 3am for me), but this is my thank you gift for you guys because today i woke up with 700 of you!! i’m still too in shock to say anything besides thank you so much. i was celebrating 600 followers like a month ago and now this. i’ll keep working hard to give you guys good content <3 ily and pls enjoy

𖧷

don't scream or shout, i'm workin' my way down

girl, you gettin' loud, now put it in yo' mouth

THE SOUND of your heels clicking against the marble floor were enough to piss anyone off. It was annoying, repetitive and even you were starting to get tired of the little tec tec sound, but you couldn’t stop.

Dating Jack Rowden Hughes was not for the weak. And you knew that, more than anyone else. Being his girlfriend of three years— the longest time he has ever been in a relationship, mind you—, you knew that the prize was good, but the job of keeping it was tiring.

You stared at him across the room, talking to some random fans who definitely didn’t know what being a fan was, since they were all over him, with their hands on his arms and shoulders.

He eyed you from time to time, blue eyes making it hard for you to stay one hundred percent mad at him— truthfully, you knew that all it would take for you to forgive him for his playboy behaviour would be a single kiss and an aggressive make out session.

“It isn’t so fun watching from here, huh?” Quinn’s new fling, or whatever the girl standing beside you was, said, approaching you quietly. “Trust me, I know how it feels.”

You hummed, not engaging with her. You knew Jack wouldn’t actually do anything, but still, it didn’t feel nice to get painted as the dumb girlfriend who has to watch her famous boyfriend laugh and take pictures with hundreds of girls while she stands in the back.

“I’m lucky my Quinn isn’t as nearly as talkative as he is,” she continues, despite your silence. “But you know, Jack is everyone’s favorite.”

You turned your head to the side, watching the girl next to you eye Jack the same way she eyed Quinn, hungry and suggestive, and that was enough for you.

“Sorry,” you interrupted, putting your wine glass down— it had been empty for at least ten minutes— and smiling apologetically. “I have a terrible headache, so I think it’s time for me to head out.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” she pouts, and you can feel your eyes twitch. “It is pretty late too, so you must be tired.”

“Mhm.” You nod, looking at your phone. 3:46a.m.

“Do you want me to call Jacky?” She asks, expectantly, and the way she says his name makes you want to smash her face against the crumbles of cake sitting on the buffet table.

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry,” you play dumb. “It was nice seeing you…”

You forgot her name. It was probably something like Olivia or Madeline, but still. You didn’t remember.

“It was nice seeing you, too!” She says, apparently clueless to your lack of memory— and interest. “I’ll text you later so we can talk more.”

“Sure thing, yeah.” You walk towards Jack with long, careful steps. “Hey, babe.”

His eyes are on you immediately, his hair moving around with his abrupt move. He smiles, stepping out of the little circle the girls had made around him to wrap his arms around you.

“If it isn’t my favorite girl,” he says. “Hi, baby.”

You can feel the girls’ eyes on you, burning your skin like the fictional fairies’ whenever they touch iron. It is a feeling you are used to already, but you feel yourself shivering either way.

“Can we go?” You ask, bluntly ignoring the other women there. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, we can,” he nods, turning his head back to his little girl group before smiling at them. “See ya, ladies.”

See ya, ladies?

“Bye, Jack.”

“You’re the best!”

“See ya next time!”

You can’t hide your pout on your way home— you don’t even try to. You have your arms crossed in front of your chest as you sit in the front seat of Jack’s absurdly expensive car, listening to the quiet hum of his air conditioner and the annoying noise whenever he turns on the turn signal.

“You’re not mad… are you?”

His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s scared of asking the question.

“Are you kidding me? You spent half of that ridiculous party talking to women. Tell me I can’t be mad about that.” You hiss back, not looking at him. You know there are high chances of you folding bad if you do.

“Baby, I already told you, it’s all business,” he says, once again, because he has, indeed, told you that several times before. “I can’t have them saying I’m a rude guy, can I?”

“Sometimes I can’t believe the shit you say,” you scoff. “You literally told a reporter to fuck himself last week, on live. Talk about being a nice guy now, Jack.”

“Come on, you’re not being fair!” He exclaims, and you can hear the pout on his voice. “He talked shit about you. He was lucky I didn’t punch him in the face.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your lips to hide your smile.

Little does Jack know you jumped out of the couch when you saw the transmission and giggled while you sent texts to your best friend about how you would have to be the mother of his children.

You stayed silent, looking at the dark streets, briefly forgetting about your anger to notice how beautiful your city is. There weren't many people in the streets at that hour— it was summer, yes, but it was almost four a.m and it was still Monday, and a lot of people were still working.

When you got to your and Jack’s apartment— a two bedroom penthouse with plenty of space and a kitchen you still fell in love with every time you looked at it— you didn’t waste time before heading to the guest bathroom shower, a clear sign that you didn’t want Jack to join you, which you knew pissed him off.

You were quick even though you weren’t sleepy, washing the soap off your body under the lukewarm water; happy because it was your favorite scent.

You got out of the stall, opening the bathroom door after you wrapped the towel around your body, deciding to change inside your bedroom.

Or at least that’s what you thought you would do.

“Y/n.” Jack calls you, sitting on top of the bed.

“Fuck, Jack,” you grunt. “You scared me.”

“I can’t have you mad at me, baby,” he says, getting up and walking towards you, only stopping when your covered chest is touching his. “You know those women mean nothing.”

“Jack,” you sigh. “We’ve been here before. You can’t just say that every time you flirt with other women.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but interrupts himself mid sentence. “You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?” You ask, holding the towel tighter. “You damn well I’m not.”

“Listen,” he says. “I’m not proud with the way I acted but I already told you—”

“It’s all business. I know, you know, we all know.” You roll your eyes, stepping back and moving forward so you can leave the room. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, locking you in place. “Jack—”

“You’re so full of complaints, baby,” he whispers. “Every time we go out you complain about something.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t give me reasons to.”

He clicks his tongue, running his fingers over your naked arms. You shiver slightly, hoping he doesn’t see it. “You want more?”

“More what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“More reasons to complain,” he continues, chuckling as he lowers his head and hides it in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Real reasons to complain.”

“Wha—”

“Because I’ll give them to you, if you want to,” he licks your skin, and you can feel yourself start to malfunction. He’s a little shit, you think, as you slowly start to give in. He’s a little shit and I’m in love with him. “Or I can keep your mouth full so you can’t complain anymore.”

He stands up straight again, staring at you while his fingers move to where you were holding your towel.

“What’s your pick, baby?” He whispers, removing your grip from the soft fabric around your body, letting it fall on the floor, like a puddle of water on your feet.

You’re fully naked, and he can’t even pretend he’s not looking— he is. He always is.

Jack kisses you with hungry, tender lips. He holds your neck while he licks your lips with his tongue, hot and messy. He tastes like beer and you hate it, but you cannot get enough.

You wrap your own arms around his neck, holding him so close to you you could feel his heartbeat. Kissing him never got old, and if you were to write down your top ten favorite things about Jack Hughes, his kiss would definitely be number one.

You breathe in his scent, your favorite ever since you met him, and you can feel your legs start to give in, just like the rest of your body. It’s late at night, almost morning, your body can’t keep up with your mind and you want to tell Jack to fuck off.

Yet.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers against your lips, as he guides you to the bed, laying you down with your hips on the edge of it. “Let me give you something to make noise about.”

That’s the only warning you get before he gets his knees on the floor and separates your legs, leaving you open and exposed. You feel his fingers spreading your lips open, and when his tongue finds its way to your clit, all of your previous complaints are gone.

You close your legs around his neck, holding him in place, while he puts on a show for you, his fingers tracing the wetness pouring out of you.

You let out a soft moan, holding his hair with your hands, not bothering to be gentle. His tongue found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

“Jack.”

You trash under him as he flicked your sensitive nub with his mouth, the wet noises making you want to disappear. Jack always seemed pleased to go down on you, but you still aren’t used to this fact about him.

“So sweet, baby,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his words sending shivers down your spine, as he dives in again.

He has you curling your toes and arching your back, moaning his name loud and proud, but still, he doesn’t stop. He slides his arms under your thighs, holding you in place by gripping your waist, hard.

He has you coming in under five minutes— it’s a shame it’s over so soon, but what can you do, really. He looks up at you between your thighs, and the sight alone has you moaning, desperate for something else.

You pull his hair, gently, signaling to him that you wanted him up, closer to you, and so he does. He kisses you again, and you get to taste yourself on his lips, moaning loudly inside his mouth when you feel his dick trapped between his body and yours.

“Jack,” you whisper again, placing both of your hands on his cheeks. “I need you.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” He says, chuckling as he gets off you and removes the rest of his clothes.

He slides inside you with no hesitation or whatsoever, knowing too well that your inside’s have his print all over it. You both moan loudly, louder than you should be moaning at four something in the morning, but you can deal with the complaint letter later.

He holds your legs together, pressing them against your chest, almost folding you in half. He is being rough, something you absolutely want to kill him for, but you let yourself enjoy the roughness for a moment; you can scold him later.

You can feel him deeper now, as your body gets dragged up and down against the mattress, making you want to scream.

“You’re wet,” he says through his teeth and you can tell he’s also giving in. “Y/n, fuck.”

You’re clenching around his length as he strokes your G spot, dragging his dick against your walls, once again making sure you can take everything he gives you.

“Harder.” You hear someone ask, probably yourself, and you also hear his low chuckle. “Not enough.”

“Still complaining?” He asks, but doesn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he removes his right hand from your waist and does the one thing he knows it will have you drooling and begging under him.

He slaps your pussy. The wet, loud sound that fills the room makes you squirm, unconsciously trying to remove yourself from his hold. But he’s stronger, always has been.

“Take it, baby.”

He then slaps you again, and again, and so many times you stop counting. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, and his rough slaps against your clit is enough to make you come, leaving you almost lifeless under him.

“Good girl, Y/n,” he says, kissing your lips, briefly. “I’m gonna come, fuck.”

“Inside, please,” you hear yourself mumbling, and you’re not even sure if Jack hears it.

“What was that, baby?” He asks, his thrusts getting sloppy.

“Inside?”

“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m—”

He cums inside you, the familiar feeling making you sigh with bliss. You are both panting, the room smells of sweat, alcohol and sex, and you swear you can see the sun start to rise through the bedroom’s floor to ceiling windows.

You’re just about to tell Jack you want to go to sleep when you feel him start to pull out, which has you protesting, immediately.

“No, I— sleep inside, please?”

His blue eyes are staring down at you, and now, there’s a hint of a smile plastered on his face. He nods once, manhandling you around until you’re under the sheets, with your back glued to his chest, and his length still nestled inside you.

“Well, if you’re still mad at me,” he whispers. “At least we made it to the morning, huh?”

“Shut up,” you whisper back, barely hiding your smile. “If you keep talking, there won’t be any other morning.”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Very well, then.”

𖧷

NHL MASTERLIST. JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST

[formerplumi]

- series : crow choir

"commitment" and pre-moving out reader is an interesting stich i want to add to the story, and a side trait to think about when reading.

the premise is that after the reader's tough time with their sister is ended by her untimely death, they're shuffled around foster homes with barely enough time to get settled, create meaningful relationships, or even say goodbye properly. they're probably in a dull headspace during the whole agenda, having to navigate through a life without their only pillar of support, and without any support at all.

it would subconsciously create an issue with attachment though, not wanting to trust or love others at all in fear that once they eventually leave, as they always do, you'll be left with a little empty pit in your heart again.

hobbies, similarly, are just quick things to occupy yourself with. not something you're actually interested in, or particularly want to do. just something to fill in the empty gaps in time when you're not with your friends or busy with work or shaking hands with a nameless businessman for mr. wayne.

because of this, everything is just... boring. difficult to do, to finish. with your family it's the exact same. wanting to be with them, trust them, love them, is like your hobbies. quick and done with, depending on your mood. it's somewhat natural to have your social battery correlate with your behavior, but with the headspace provided, it's just another cog in a endless wheel of self-pity and loathing.

you'll think miserably; why don't they want to talk to me? while having tensely excusing yourself from a family get-up with a slight grimace just a few hours ago.

that's just the thing. you're not excluded from anything. well, most things, they do sometimes forget about you, but you're not excluded. you don't involve yourself because you're scared of feeling happy with them, but feel terrible when you're all on your own too.

with an emotionally repressed background clawing it's way up from your past with a mostly-busy, mostly-angsty, tough-loving sister, you can't even identify your emotions clearly.

i imagine maybe asking dick to hang out, and he assures you he'll make time with a smile. yeah, he does forget, remembering out of his own volitation only months later, but he does remember, and asks you about the same. but if you're say, in a bad mood, which you happen to be in very often because of your circumstances, you'll probably decline. moping over it later.

there's no good or bad here. reader is not a bad person for this specifically, so to speak. neither is the family. yes, not following up on particular wishes and then blaming others and kicking yourself up over it isn't healthy, it's unfair too. but you can't be blamed. you're still living on the mindset of a little kid waiting for big sister to come home from work, ask to play, and possibly dodging a fist to your face and scrambling away to your room. you're scared.

the family doesn't exclude you, but they could be doing a better job. yes you sit at the dining table with them when you eat, but you don't join into conversations and they don't seem to care. yes you watch your brothers squabble on video games, but only from a cold distance. but they can't be blamed. they're all a little emotionally stunted, and their reasoning does seem to sometimes overpower them. maybe you're so quiet because you don't like to talk? they wouldn't want to impose themselves on you. besides, they don't know you that well either, and you're doing quite a job to make sure they don't, what would you guys even talk about?

that said, the above thoughts are fleeting. thoughts about you are neglected, and pushed into the corner, like you are. after falling out with your friends over... an incident, you grow harshly distant. you no longer fear them, no, you detest them. you begin to hate again. and that little burst of emotion, that hate, is so refreshing in the face of dull existence that you cling onto it. you get attached. it's their fault. some vigilantes they are. saving everyone but you, but your sister, your siblings, your friends, everybody who had the simplest misfortune of being associated with your unmeaning life. maybe it's unreasonable to think this way, but you don't much care.

you grow unreasonable, but you always have been.

if you like the story, i encourage interacting and sending asks, but either way, thank you for the support on the series and for reading!!

[hanzajesthanza]

the training montage in crossroads re-ignited a headcanon i had of geralt waking up and doing gymnastics, performing kickflips and mid-air spins around on a fencepost outside an hour before sunrise to ‘limber up,’ and bleary-eyed dandelion wrapping himself up in a blanket to be like "heyyy... what the hell are you doing 💖"

[balrogballs]

This! (OP im so sorry in advance for writing an essay on your post)

I always say, as someone who writes a ton about the intersections of grief and ‘madness’, that the most compelling, interesting and devastating part of the Oath to me is the way Tolkien himself described it, according to TolkienGateway: an oath that should never have been taken.

And I think that is what adds such a tragic richness to that entire sequence, because a Fëanor who likes his fancy stones and made his children swear a dooming oath and led his people into a long, drawn out war because he wanted them back, is frankly insulting to the outstanding way said sequence is laid out:

“Then Feanor ran from the Ring of Doom, and fled into the night; for his father was dearer to him than the Fight of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands; and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth? …Many there grieved for the anguish of Feanor…”

The guy went fucking insane, because the first person to have been killed in Valinor was his fucking dad. All his bullshit before was, certainly, annoying as fuck, and his decisions after were the cause of terrible violence — and tbh he’s frankly ridiculous a lot of the time, but at that moment he was clearly out of his fucking mind. The way the speech was written, the frantic, rabbit-thump prose of that entire section, you can almost see the trance state he’s in.

And that isn’t to say anything he did as a result of that was justifiable or good, this isn’t an “insanity defence” but I just think the whole Fëanor cinammon roll vs serial killer debate is so flat because, to me, someone going utterly insane with grief and doing something that dooms his own sons, is the kind of tragedy that defines the Silmarillion to me!

The entire legendarium features instance after instance (of varying severity) of desperate, impossible choices made in moments of complete mindlessness by characters rendered utterly inarticulate by grief and fear — Elwing, Isildur, Frodo, Denethor — and the long, terrible shadows of those devastating decisions none of these people should have been in the position to make.

Denethor, driven mad by grief and paranoia, walked into his son’s funeral pyre, and Fëanor walked into his father’s, leading all seven of his sons to walk into his own. The damage these choices caused are at completely different degrees, but a thing doesn’t have to cause the same amount of damage to be a similar circumstance.

It doesn’t mean the choice was good, mind you, the whole thing was an utter disaster, the Oath was the worst thing that could have happened to both ME and Valinor because there are literally zero situations in which having seven sons swear a blood oath would ever work out. Because none of the seven really seem to give a fuck about the stones and they’re all doing it for their dad, so the oath would bind them with that love, rather than their love for the Silmarils, etc.

But to acknowledge the circumstances the speech was made under does not negate the damage it caused. In fact it only makes it worse, the knowledge that a split-second choice caused All of That, the knowledge that a choice made in the wake of his father’s death would one day lead to all seven of his sons’ deaths. If he’d done it for memes and jewels, the following events just would not have had the same literary impact!

But yeah. It’s the worst yet most compellingly and devastatingly written part of the Silmarillion, and yet I so often see it flattened out as either “Fëanor made a great strategic choice and he was right” or “he did it because he’s a greedy fuck” and it’s just 😭😭😭

TL/DR: I was thinking about this ficlet someone requested from me a couple months back about Fëanor finding Finwë and how writing that provided such an insight into the wild place his mind must have been, and this word vomit is the result of that.

We all know Fëanor as “the guy obsessed with his Silmarils” but it’s quite something to remember that when he first discovered Morgoth had broken into his house, he wasn’t even thinking about how the Silmarils were most likely stolen. He immediately burst into tears not over the jewels, but over his dad.

[servndipityz]

namgyu with alternative reader? perchance.. smut🫶🫶😁

a/n ── i'm so nervous about this one! i hope i didn't do a terrible job on portraying alt culture (i know nothing about it). i kinda tried to make it not super specific so anyone can feel identified. again, sorry if it's lowkey bad. it's also my first time writing smut, believe it or not, but i've had years of experience reading it so i don't think it's that bad. enjoy :)

STRIPPED

warnings ── smut, +18 MDNI!!! porn w plot. drug usage, sex under the influence, sex in a club, fingering, orgasm denial, degradation, light choking, kinda brat taming? p in v, unprotected sex, creampie.

word count ── 4.6k

he'd ended up there. of course, he'd ended up there. only someone as unlucky as him could wind up at some fucking goth party. or punk. or… whatever. he didn't really care about the whole thing—the dramatic makeup, the dyed hair, the incredibly loud music blaring through the club. none of it.

nam-gyu had envisioned a chill night on his free day, but no. of course, his co-worker had to get sick. of course, nam-gyu owed him money for the pills he'd given him last week. of course, he had to cover for him that night.

and, of course, it was alternative night at club pentagon. usually, his co-worker handled these kinds of nights—special events, themed parties, all that.

what did nam-gyu know about alternative culture anyway? he wondered the same thing as he weaved through the crowd, making sure everyone was having a good time, keeping an eye on bar sales.

so far, he'd been stepped on twice—not too bad, except when it came from one of those platform boots everyone seemed to be wearing. those hurt like hell. but at least the night was going smoothly. for now.

so good, in fact, that nam-gyu figured it was time for a drink. he'd been working for hours, making sure this party ran smoothly. he owed that co-worker a lot of drug money, and this was the only way to settle it. it’s not like he’d ever do this out of the kindness of his heart.

he made his way to the nearest counter, resting his elbows on the cool marble as he waited for someone to take his order. he couldn't help but wonder how anyone could actually dance to this loud-ass english music that sounded more like screaming. he'd take the regular techno dj any day.

meanwhile, you finished pouring a vodka red bull and handed it off to yet another customer. that's when you noticed him.

he stood out—not in a good way.

hunched over the counter, inspecting it like he might find some cocaine stuck in it (which, honestly, he probably would if he looked hard enough), looking like a wet rat. his clothes gave him away. who even let him in like that? plain black shirt, black jeans, a couple of rings.

he looked up as you approached.

his first thought was that your leather top made your tits poke out. his second was that, without all that emo makeup, you'd actually be pretty cute.

his third was what the highest-alcohol-content drink he could order was.

he opened his mouth to ask, eyes flicking to the bottles behind you—

but you spoke first.

"you're ruining the vibe, man."

he frowned, caught off guard.

you just raised an eyebrow, speaking over the loud music. "i said, you're ruining the vibe."

"i'm not doing anything," he scoffed, annoyed. he just wanted to order his damn drink. last thing he needed was some lecture.

"exactly," you said. "you don't belong here. what are you even doing?"

not like you actually cared. you were here to do your job, bartend, make money, go home. but this guy—standing there, stiff shoulders, sharp jawline, judging everything and everyone, probably without even realizing it—looking at you like that, eyes dragging over you like you were some kind of curiosity—

yeah. he rubbed you the wrong way.

being alternative, you already got judged enough. the last thing you needed was someone doing it at an alternative party.

he frowned even further. "i'm here to work. not that it's any of your business."

that caught you off guard for a second. "you work here?" your head tilted, curiosity slipping into your tone. you leaned over the counter, the neckline of your top shifting just a little lower. who knew—if this guy was someone important, you had to use all your charms. especially after being so rude. "i've never seen you around, and i always bartender at these kinds of parties."

his gaze flickered down your cleavage before snapping back to your eyes. but you saw it. the way his jaw clenched, the way he suddenly looked more annoyed than before—like he was mad at himself for looking.

"i'm not thrilled either," he mumbled, clearly uninterested in conversation. "just covering for a friend. now, could you actually do your job and get me something to drink?"

you bristled at his tone, raising a brow as you turned to the shelves of bottles. "jeez, someone's grumpy. what can i get you?"

in reality, nam-gyu wasn't grumpy. well, he was, but that was just how he was. it was just... for some reason, you made him nervous. the girls he usually dealt with at clubs were boring bitches trying to get a VIP card or whatever drugs he had in his pocket.

you were the opposite. rude. annoying. and he didn’t like that. but for some reason, it made his blood rush somewhere else, clouding his brain.

"just give me a shot," he said after a pause. "something strong."

you turned your head slightly, a smile playing on your lips—the kind that sent a shiver down his spine. you walked back to the counter, reaching for a bottle hidden underneath.

"drinking on the job?" you asked while pouring the liquid into a shot glass, then casually grabbing a second one.

nam-gyu let out a short, amused huff. if drinking was the worst thing he’d done on the job, he’d be in a much better place. but he watched curiously as you poured the second shot, his eyes flicking up through his lashes, brow slightly raised.

"what?" you asked playfully. "if you’re doing it, so can i."

you finally set the bottle back and raised your glass. he mirrored you, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something in his expression—almost a smile. you entertained him.

"cheers," you said, clinking your glass against his before downing the shot in one go. he followed suit, setting the glass back on the counter, suppressing a grimace at the sharp burn of alcohol.

“so,” you said, clearing your throat slightly after the shot. “who’s the friend you’re covering for?”

nam-gyu said the name, and your eyes widened.

“that junkie, huh?” you smirked. he chuckled. “yeah, i know him. he’s a little more talkative than you, though.”

nam-gyu narrowed his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing. it’s okay to be shy.” your voice was innocent, teasing, calculated. you'd decided that you'd had enough, that you might as well have some fun. “anyway, my shift’s almost over. wanna get out of here?”

“i’m not shy.” he sounded offended, then glanced away, considering your offer. “and i told you, i’m working.”

you huffed. “fine. just needed someone to smoke this with." you reached into your back pocket and pulled out a tiny zip-lock bag filled with greens. "guess i'll have to find somebody else."

now that caught his attention. maybe almost as much as your exposed skin did. suddenly, he was interested. but also suspicious.

“what do you have?” he asked, leaning slightly over the counter, his voice lower, more serious.

“your junkie friend gave it to me for a gig i did. said it’s good shit.” you shrugged, playing it cool, acting uninterested—like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. and he took the bait.

“why would you wanna share it with me?” he still sounded wary, but there was something else in his tone now. curiosity. maybe even something close to interest.

you groaned dramatically. “look, i’m heading to the staff room. you coming or not?” you said, already turning away, signaling to your co-worker that your shift was over.

now, nam-gyu didn’t need weed. not exactly. he could probably find ten of those zip-lock bags hidden in his place, forgotten in favor of other, harder drugs. but he also wasn’t the kind of guy to say no to free drugs.

especially not from such a petty girl.

you grinned to yourself as you felt him rush to walk behind you, trailing after you through the club like he didn’t know the way like the back of his hand.

as you reached the hallway leading to the staff room, nam-gyu couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on your half-ripped fishnets, the way they framed your legs under that short black skirt. was he here for the weed or for you? he wasn’t really sure, and he didn’t care much.

you finally reached the door, slipping past a few couples too caught up in each other to notice, and he shut it behind him. the staff room was small, dingy, and reeked of bleach and cigarette smoke, but you still sank onto the worn-out sofa next to the table like it was the most comfortable place in the world.

you leaned back, stretching your legs out just enough for your skirt to ride up slightly. not too much—just enough to make him notice. and he did.

nam-gyu stood near the door for a second, like he was reconsidering this, before scoffing to himself and dropping onto the couch beside you. he was close, not touching, but enough that the warmth of him was noticeable. enough that when he exhaled, you could feel the faintest brush of his breath against your shoulder.

"roll it," he said, nodding at the bag in your hand.

you raised an eyebrow. "you're really bad at asking nicely, huh?"

he just looked at you, serious. "you’re really bad at shutting up."

that made you laugh. he was watching you now—really watching you—as you pulled out the papers, fingers working effortlessly, licking the edge just to see his reaction. you weren’t disappointed. his jaw flexed again, his eyes dark, tracking your every move like he was trying to pretend he didn’t care. like he wasn’t already leaning back, manspreading, trying to act like he had the upper hand here.

cute.

you tucked the blunt between your lips, lighting it, taking a slow drag before passing it to him.

nam-gyu hesitated, just for a split second, then took it, bringing it to his mouth. his fingers brushed yours in the handoff, and it was stupid how that tiny touch sent something sharp down your spine. or maybe it was just the way he inhaled, head tilting back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as he exhaled, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

you licked yours.

the weed hit, slow and warm. the music outside was muffled, the sounds of the party fading into the background, leaving only this—dim lighting, the scent of smoke and alcohol and something else, something charged.

"you always do this?" nam-gyu asked after a beat, voice lower, lazier. "lure random guys into the staff room for a smoke?"

you smirked, tilting your head. "only the rude ones."

he huffed, shaking his head, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile. he passed the blunt back, his fingers lingering just a second longer this time. you let them.

the room felt smaller. warmer.

"you always this uptight?" you asked, taking another slow hit. "or just with me?"

nam-gyu let his head roll against the back of the couch, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes. "you always this annoying? or just with me?"

you exhaled smoke, letting it curl between you. "you like it."

he didn’t answer. but he also didn’t look away.

you were both leaning back now, legs almost brushing, breaths slow and measured like you were both pretending not to notice the heat building between you.

nam-gyu wet his lips, head still resting against the couch, eyes flicking to your mouth before he caught himself and looked away. like it was a habit. like he was trying so fucking hard not to slip.

you took one last hit before stubbing out the blunt in the ashtray beside you. then, shifting slightly, you turned toward him, letting your knee press against his thigh. deliberate. slow. testing.

"you're staring," you murmured.

he scoffed, but it came out weaker than he probably meant. his hands clenched into fists on his thighs like he was keeping himself still on purpose.

"you’re high," he muttered, looking away.

"so are you." you tilted your head, voice dropping, playing with the edge of your ripped fishnets like you weren’t watching the way his gaze followed the movement of your fingers. "and what, does that mean i can’t see the way you’ve been looking at me all night?"

nam-gyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "i haven’t been—"

"you have," you cut in smoothly, shifting closer, feeling the warmth of his body now, solid and tense. "you’re mad about it. i can tell."

his jaw clenched.

"tell me," you purred. "are you mad because you don’t like it? or mad because you do?"

his fingers twitched on his thigh. his breathing was heavier, controlled, like he was still fighting it. fighting you.

so you leaned in, lips just close enough to ghost over his ear. "it’s okay," you whispered. "you can touch me."

and that was it.

nam-gyu moved so fast you barely had time to smirk before he grabbed you by the back of the neck, his lips crashing into yours, hot and desperate, all teeth and pent-up frustration. his other hand found your waist, yanking you onto his lap, and fuck—he wasn’t holding back anymore.

he was done fighting it.

and so were you.

his lips were all heat, all pressure—nothing hesitant, nothing soft. you barely had a second to adjust before his teeth caught your bottom lip, his fingers gripping the nape of your neck like he wanted to own you. his other hand, firm on your waist, yanked you flush against him, and fuck—he was hard.

not that he acknowledged it. not that he’d ever admit that you’d done this to him.

your knees bracketed his hips as you settled onto his lap, rolling your hips down just enough to feel him. his grip tightened, nails digging into the meat of your waist. he hissed against your mouth—half warning, half surrender.

“you don’t play fair,” he muttered, lips grazing your jaw now, teeth scraping skin, testing.

your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt. “neither do you.”

his hands dropped—one to your thigh, sliding under your skirt, fisting in the torn mesh of your fishnets. the other traced the curve of your ass before shoving you down against him again, this time deliberate, a slow grind that made both of you exhale sharp.

his breath was uneven, warm against your throat. “you think i haven’t noticed?” his fingers curled, gripping tight enough to bruise. “the way you’ve been—” a sharp pull at the fishnets, a rip, cool air hitting skin—“fucking teasing me?”

you laughed, half-gasping when his tongue flicked against the pulse at your neck.

his fingers dipped, pressing against the damp heat of your panties, no patience, no hesitation. his other hand was now tangled in your hair, keeping you locked right where he wanted—breath hitching as he rubbed slow, teasing.

then his hand moved, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, warm against your skin, sliding between your thighs. the first touch was barely there, just a single fingertip running along your slit, slow, teasing.

you squirmed, but he didn’t let you go. “look at you,” he murmured, mocking, the pad of his finger dragging over your cunt, pressing just enough to make you shudder. “all that attitude, but you’re already—” he exhaled sharply, felt it before he even had to say it—so fucking wet.

"fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his forehead resting against yours for a second like he was trying to collect himself. but his fingers were still moving, sliding along the slickness of you, testing, exploring, spreading it just enough to make you squirm.

"yeah?" you murmured, voice breathy, teasing. "you like that?"

his only response was a low, quiet curse under his breath before he pressed his fingers in deeper, the tips just barely pushing inside before pulling back, slow and torturous. he was watching you now, eyes dark and half-lidded.

and then, without warning, he slid one finger in, slow but firm, curling just enough to make your breath catch. your nails dug into his shoulders, and his other hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady.

"fuck," you whispered, rolling your hips into his touch, chasing it, needing more.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug, and then he added a second finger, stretching you just a little more, fucking you slow and deep with just his hand. the angle was perfect, his fingers pressing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl, made your breath come faster, needier.

"you’re so fucking tight," he murmured, more fascinated than anything, watching the way his fingers disappeared inside you, the way you clenched around them. he twisted his wrist slightly, his palm pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his fingers, setting a rhythm that had you grinding against him, chasing that pressure.

your moan was quiet but desperate, and he smirked, eyes flicking up to yours.

"you always this easy?" he murmured, his voice taunting, dark.

you opened your mouth to snap something back, but then he crooked his fingers just right, pressing deeper, and your words dissolved into a gasp, your head tipping back. his lips were on your throat a second later, sucking, biting, leaving marks you’d have to cover up later.

his pace picked up, fucking you harder with just his fingers, each drag of his palm against your clit sending another sharp wave of heat curling low in your stomach. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathy moans, his heavier breathing, the slick sounds of his fingers working you open.

"you gonna come?" he murmured against your skin, his voice rough now, strained.

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. "fuck—don’t stop," you breathed.

nam-gyu felt it—felt the way your body tensed, the way your thighs shook against his hips, the way you were right there, so fucking close. he could see it too, in the way your mouth parted, in the soft, breathy little gasps escaping your lips, the ones you were trying to swallow back like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

but he wasn’t that generous.

just when you thought he’d let you tip over, when your body clenched down around his fingers so tight he could barely move them, he pulled away.

just—gone.

the sudden loss was so sharp, so fucking unfair, that you let out a frustrated, needy little whine before you could stop yourself, your hips rolling forward, chasing after the feeling, after his hand, anything. but nam-gyu just sat back, bringing his wet fingers up to his lips, slipping them into his mouth with a slow, deliberate hum.

"mm," he mused, tongue flicking over them, eyes locked on yours. "not bad."

"are you fucking kidding me?" you were panting, legs still shaking where you straddled him, your body on fire, needing more, needing anything. your eyes flashed, your hands curling into fists against his chest like you were two seconds away from either punching him or ripping his shirt off.

he just smirked. "what?"

"you—" you gritted your teeth, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "you’re such a fucking asshole."

nam-gyu chuckled, low and lazy, his hands dragging up your thighs again, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just to remind you he still had you exactly where he wanted you. "maybe, but you're still here," he murmured. "still dripping for me."

"yeah, because you didn’t let me cum, you dick," you snapped, rocking forward again, grinding against him, feeling the hard, thick press of him through his pants. he was just as worked up as you were, and you could tell—he was trying to play it cool, but his breathing was heavier, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

that made you smirk. "ohhh," you taunted, rolling your hips again, slower this time, watching his jaw clench. "that’s why, huh? you’re hard as fuck and don’t wanna finish before i do."

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips. "watch your fucking mouth."

"or what?" you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. "you gonna do something about it?"

that was it.

one second you were teasing him, playing your little game, and the next you were flat on your back, your spine pressing into the shitty, worn-out couch, his body caging you in. his hand was already shoving your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs, not even bothering to be careful.

"you talk too much," he muttered, voice rough, breath hot against your jaw.

"and you do too little," you shot back, just to push him, just to make him snap again.

it worked.

his hand was on your throat, not squeezing, just there, just pressing, just reminding you that he could if he wanted to. his other hand yanked at his belt, the metal buckle clinking as he undid his pants, as he shoved them down just enough to free himself.

fuck.

you’d felt it before, pressing against you, teasing, but now you saw it. thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, the kind of length that made your thighs press together instinctively, made you bite your lip even as you refused to let him see you flustered.

nam-gyu saw it anyway.

"knew you wanted it," he muttered, running the head of his cock along your slit, dragging it slow through your wetness. "acting like a brat, but your pussy’s already begging."

"shut the fuck up and—"

he pushed in, just an inch, just enough to make you gasp, make your nails dig into his arms.

"yeah?" he exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, like he was already holding himself back. "that what you wanted?"

you barely had time to adjust before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep, stretching you in one slow stroke that left your back arching, your head tipping back against the couch.

"fuck—"

nam-gyu groaned, low and almost desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as he bottomed out, as he let you feel every fucking inch of him.

"you feel that?" he murmured, breath ragged, his hips rolling just a little, just enough to make you whimper. "how tight you are? how you’re fucking squeezing me?"

you couldn’t answer. you couldn’t think. all you could do was feel—the way he filled you, the way he stretched you, the way he stayed there for a second, teasing, waiting, making you want it more.

you swallowed, trying to catch your breath. "you gonna move, or you just like teasing your own dick?"

his laugh was low. then he pulled back and slammed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"fuck—"

your back was pressed against the couch, legs spread wide, thighs trembling as he held you open. his body caged yours beneath him, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other gripping your hip, keeping you still as he drove into you with rough, unforgiving thrusts. his cock filled you completely—thick, hot, deep—dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, making you gasp with each desperate slap of his hips against yours.

"you gonna be good now?" his voice was low, ragged, dark with amusement. his grip tightened, fingers digging bruises into your skin. "or you still wanna run your mouth?"

you tried. you really did. you opened your lips to snap something back—something mean, something cutting, something to remind him you weren’t easy to break.

but all that came out was a choked moan as he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, his mouth just barely brushing yours, teasing. "bratty little thing—talking shit. but look at you now."

his hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to keep you in place. not squeezing. just controlling. just owning. his other hand slipped between your bodies, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the swollen bud.

"fuck," you gasped, your hips rolling up instinctively, chasing that pressure, that friction.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug. "yeah? you like that?"

you wanted to tell him to fuck off. you really did.

but then he twisted his fingers just right, his cock hitting that spot inside you at the same time, and your body jerked, your moan breaking into something desperate.

"that’s it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his pace still brutal, relentless. "don’t fight it. you wanna cum, don’t you?"

"yes—yeah," you panted, nails scraping against his wrist where he held your throat.

he pulled back suddenly, dragging his cock out until only the tip remained, making you whimper at the loss. his fingers abandoned your clit, and before you could protest, he did something worse—something filthier.

he spat.

the wet warmth of it landed directly on your pussy, slick and obscene. your whole body jolted.

"fuck—" your breath stuttered, your back arching as heat shot through you.

nam-gyu groaned at the sight, at the way you clenched, the way your body reacted so instantly, so helplessly.

"you like that, huh?" his voice was thick with satisfaction, his fingers dragging through the mess, smearing it over you, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles.

you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t.

but the heat in your stomach coiled even tighter.

"say it," he ordered, his voice rough, his cock pushing back inside you, stretching you open again, slow and deep, making you feel every inch. "tell me you fucking love it."

your pride cracked. your body betrayed you.

"fuck—i love it," you gasped.

nam-gyu groaned, his breath hitching, his pace quickening. "good girl."

and then his fingers returned, rubbing messy circles over your spit-slicked clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, pushing you higher, harder—

you were already close. too close.

"fuck—fuck, i’m gonna cum," you choked out, hips jerking against his hand, against his cock, chasing it. "please—please don’t stop—"

and this time he didn’t.

he fucked you through it, his fingers never letting up, his pace relentless, driving you higher, harder, until it finally snapped—

your orgasm hit like a fucking wrecking ball.

your body clenched down on him so tight he cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering for the first time. the pleasure crashed over you, your whole body shaking as you moaned through it, loud and wrecked, the sound swallowed by the shitty little staff room.

"fuck—fuck, yeah, that’s it," nam-gyu groaned, his grip on your hips bruising now, his thrusts rough and desperate as he chased his own release. "god, you feel so fucking good—"

he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering, his cock twitching inside you, and then he was coming, his grip tightening, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he groaned low into your skin.

for a second, all you could hear was the ragged sound of your breathing, the quiet hum of the party outside, the distant bass thudding through the walls.

nam-gyu exhaled, slow and shaky, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your waist, still holding you, still pressed against you.

then he pulled out, groaning at the sight of his cum spilling out of you, dripping between your thighs.

he smirked, dragging a lazy finger through it before pressing it against your lips.

"open," he murmured.

you did.

and fuck, the look in his eyes when you sucked it clean—

you were so fucked.

© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapters 8 & 9

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

.☘︎ ݁˖ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

.☘︎ ݁˖ Warnings : None

.☘︎ ݁˖ WC : 2,199

.☘︎ ݁˖ Previous Chapter : 6 & 7

.☘︎ ݁˖ A/N : Hope you guys enjoy!!! How are you liking the story so far?

( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Chapter 8: The Breaking Point

The aftermath of Florian’s party lingered like a haze over the next week. Y/N found herself replaying the balcony conversation with Minho in her head, questioning every word, every glance, and every hesitation. She wasn’t sure if it was her overthinking or something deeper, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that their fake relationship had passed the point of no return.

On the surface, things seemed normal. Minho still sat next to her during classes, cracking jokes and making sarcastic comments under his breath. They still met up for study sessions, where they bickered over math problems and shared snacks. To everyone else, they looked like the perfect couple.

But for Y/N, it felt like a house of cards waiting to collapse.

Y/N found solace in sports during times of stress. After volleyball practice, she was drenched in sweat but satisfied after running drills with her teammates. She loved the feeling of camaraderie on the court, the adrenaline rush when spiking the ball, and the way sports helped clear her mind.

But even volleyball wasn’t enough to distract her entirely. The tension with Minho still gnawed at her.

Later that evening, they were supposed to study together in the library. Minho was sprawled across the table, lazily flipping through his notes while Y/N tried (and failed) to focus on calculus.

“Are you even listening?” Minho asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at the same equation for the past five minutes. “Sorry,” she muttered. “What were you saying?”

Minho frowned, leaning back in his chair. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been… off.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re not fine,” he countered. “You’ve been distracted all week. Did something happen at the party?”

“No,” she lied, flipping a page in her notebook. “Everything’s fine.”

Minho stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tightening. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Y/N looked up, meeting his eyes. “I’m not lying.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension between them was palpable. After a moment, he sighed and stood up, grabbing his bag. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But don’t expect me to keep pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

With that, he walked out, leaving Y/N alone with her racing thoughts.

Later that evening, Y/N found herself in the common room with Yuri and Q. Yuri was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while Q was sketching something in his notebook. Jin, Q’s boyfriend, was still at track practice, so it was just the three of them for now.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Yuri said, glancing up at Y/N.

“Rough day?” Q added without looking up.

Y/N sighed, plopping down onto the couch. “Minho’s mad at me.”

“Again?” Yuri asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’d you do this time?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said defensively. “He just… he thinks I’m hiding something.”

“Are you?” Q asked, setting his notebook aside.

Y/N hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe. Everything just feels so complicated right now.”

“Dating Minho would do that to anyone,” Yuri said dryly. “He’s not exactly low-maintenance.”

Y/N shot her a look. “Thanks for the helpful advice.”

Q chuckled. “Okay, real talk. What’s actually bothering you? Is it the relationship stuff, or is it… Minho?”

Y/N froze, the question hitting closer to home than she wanted to admit. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I just… I feel like we’ve crossed some kind of line, and now I don’t know how to go back.”

“Maybe you don’t have to go back,” Q suggested gently. “Maybe you just need to figure out what you want moving forward.”

Y/N sighed, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

“Well, figure it out soon,” Yuri said, standing up and stretching. “Because if you two keep acting like this, everyone’s going to figure out something’s up.”

The weekend brought another event: a track meet where Q and Jin were both competing. Y/N wasn’t particularly interested in track as a sport, but she loved supporting her friends. Besides, it was a good distraction from the mess in her head.

She arrived at the field with Yuri and Kitty, who were both surprisingly enthusiastic. Yuri was busy taking candid photos for her Instagram, while Kitty was chatting animatedly about how Jin and Q met through practice.

As the events began, Y/N found herself scanning the crowd, her eyes landing on Jin and Q warming up together. Jin was adjusting Q’s headband, a small, affectionate smile on his face. The sight made Y/N’s chest ache—not with jealousy, but with a longing she couldn’t quite name.

“Relationship goals,” Yuri muttered, following her gaze. “They’re disgustingly cute.”

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed softly.

The meet was lively, with students cheering and shouting encouragement from the stands. Q and Jin both performed brilliantly, earning medals and high-fives from their teammates. Afterward, the group gathered on the field to celebrate.

“You were amazing out there,” Y/N told Q, handing him a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Q said, grinning. “Jin’s the real MVP, though. He carried the relay team.”

Jin blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was a team effort.”

“You’re too modest,” Yuri said, smirking. “Own your greatness.”

As the group laughed and teased, Y/N felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Minho standing there, his expression unreadable.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, her heart pounding as he led her away from the group.

They stopped near the bleachers, far enough from the crowd to have some privacy. Minho shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice low. “About us. About this whole dating thing.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “What about it?”

“I don’t think I can do it anymore,” he said, finally looking up at her.

Her heart dropped. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can keep pretending this is just for show. Not when it feels like more.”

Y/N stared at him, her mind racing. “Minho, I—”

“Just tell me one thing,” he interrupted. “Are you feeling it too? Or is it just me?”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know how to untangle the mess of emotions swirling inside her.

“I…” she began, but her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

Minho’s face fell, and he took a step back. “That’s what I thought.”

“Minho, wait—” she started, but he was already walking away.

Y/N stood there, her chest tight and her eyes stinging. She had no idea how to fix this—or if it was even fixable. All she knew was that she had just lost the one person who had come to mean more to her than she ever expected.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Chapter 9: Lines Blurred

The atmosphere between Y/N and Minho was charged with an icy tension. Ever since their confrontation at the track meet, the two barely spoke unless it was absolutely necessary, and when they did, it felt… awkward. Forced.

The rest of their friend group, thankfully, hadn’t picked up on it. Yet. But Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before someone asked why the “perfect couple” suddenly seemed so distant.

To make matters worse, Y/N found herself hyper-aware of every little thing Minho did: how his jaw clenched when they passed each other in the hall, how his hand twitched as though he wanted to say something but stopped himself, how he still managed to glance her way during class despite their unspoken cold war.

She hated it. She hated all of it.

But what could she do? She had no idea what she wanted anymore—except that the thought of losing Minho for good terrified her more than she cared to admit.

The weekend arrived, bringing with it another group study session at Q’s apartment. Jin had cooked snacks for everyone, and the aroma of spicy tteokbokki wafted through the air as the group settled in.

Yuri sprawled on the floor with her textbook open in front of her. “Can someone please explain how to solve problem #14? I swear this math book is written in another language.”

“Do I look like a math genius?” Kitty replied, flipping through her flashcards. “Ask Minho or Y/N—they’re the ones with straight A’s.”

Y/N froze, feeling Minho’s gaze on her. Before the rift, they’d have exchanged a playful glance or some sarcastic comment about carrying the group’s collective GPA. But now, the silence stretched uncomfortably.

“I’ll do it,” Minho finally said, his voice clipped. He moved over to Yuri’s side and started explaining the problem, his tone professional and distant.

Q glanced between the two of them, his brows furrowing. “Okay, what’s up with you two? Did someone steal the last slice of pizza or something?”

“We’re fine,” Y/N said quickly, plastering on a fake smile.

“Totally fine,” Minho added, his tone matching hers.

Yuri narrowed her eyes. “You’re both terrible liars.”

“Maybe they’re just tired,” Jin interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. “Studying is stressful, after all.”

“Or maybe they’re having their first big couple fight,” Kitty said with a mischievous grin.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “We’re not fighting!”

“Right,” Yuri said, clearly unconvinced. “And I’m secretly a broke.”

The group burst into laughter, and Y/N tried to join in, but her heart wasn’t in it. Across the room, Minho avoided her gaze, his jaw tightening.

Later that night, as the group packed up their things, Q pulled Y/N aside.

“Spill,” he said, crossing his arms.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he said, lowering his voice. “You and Minho. Something’s definitely off.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it,” Q said. “You two were all lovey-dovey at Florian’s party, and now you can’t even look at each other. Did something happen?”

“I…” Y/N hesitated, torn between keeping up the charade and confiding in her best friend. “It’s just… relationship stuff.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Relationship stuff? Or fake relationship stuff?”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What—what are you talking about?”

“Please,” Q said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve known you for years, Y/N. You’re a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. I figured out you and Minho were fake dating ages ago.”

“Does everyone know?” she asked, panic rising in her chest.

“No,” Q assured her. “Just me. I didn’t say anything because… well, I figured you had your reasons. But now it looks like whatever this is has gone sideways.”

Y/N let out a long sigh, sinking onto the couch. “It’s a mess, Q. A total mess. We were supposed to be fake dating to make our exes jealous, but now… I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

Q sat down beside her, his expression softening. “Do you like him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe? Probably? But he… he told me he has feelings, and I froze. I didn’t know what to say, and now I think I’ve completely ruined everything.”

“Y/N,” Q said gently, “you need to talk to him. Like, really talk to him. If you care about him—even as a friend—you owe him that much.”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight. “You’re right. I just… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Start with an apology,” Q suggested. “And maybe some honesty.”

It was almost midnight when Y/N finally worked up the courage to call Minho. She half-expected him to ignore her, but to her surprise, he picked up on the second ring.

“What?” he said, his tone flat.

“Can we talk?” she asked, her voice small.

“Why? So you can tell me you don’t know again?”

The bitterness in his voice stung, but she pushed through it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I handled everything wrong, and I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause before he replied. “What do you want, Y/N?”

“I want to fix this,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you, Minho. Not like this.”

“Fix what, exactly?” he asked. “The fake relationship? Or whatever this is turning into?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “Both. I think. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” he said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this if you’re not honest with me—or with yourself.”

“I’m trying,” she said, her voice breaking. “I just… I need time.”

Minho sighed. “Time, huh? Fine. Take all the time you need.”

The line went dead, and Y/N sat there, staring at her phone, feeling more lost than ever.

As the days passed, Y/N threw herself into her sports and studies, trying to find clarity amidst the chaos. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts always circled back to Minho.

She didn’t know how their story would end, but one thing was certain: she couldn’t keep running from her feelings forever.

[pretentious-blonde]

new neighbour

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve is down because of his dating life, or lack thereof. that is until the new girl captures his attention

warnings: literally none, nervous and sweet steve!!

a/n: i have been gone for 3 months but uni has finally settled down! also if anyone wants a pt. 2 with steve trying to help move r in i am so down! i have so many ideas!!!

A steady stream of gray light filtered through the wide front windows of Family Video, illuminating the rows upon rows of VHS cases. The day was uncharacteristically slow, the kind of weekday lull that left the store feeling hollow and cavernous. Steve Harrington stood behind the counter, leaning his elbows on the chipped laminate surface, tapping his fingers in a pattern he’d repeated so many times in an attempt to give him something to focus on. 

His eyes hurt under the fluorescents, and though he tried to keep a casual expression, anyone who looked long enough could see the small, flickering signs of boredom crossing his features. On the other side of the store, Robin roamed the aisles, a small stack of VHS tapes in her hands, placing each one in its rightful place on the shelf. Every so often, she’d glance toward Steve, as if expecting some lively remark, but he remained lost in his thoughts.

“Hey,” Robin called, sliding a Night of the Comet tape onto the appropriate rack. “So… Vicky and I were talking the other night, and we thought, maybe this weekend…” She paused, drifting closer to the register so her voice wouldn’t echo.

Steve raised an eyebrow, still drumming his fingers on the counter. “Yeah, maybe what?”

Robin placed the last tape in her stack onto the shelf with a gentle thud. “Well, we’re making dinner. A real dinner—you know, in an actual kitchen, with actual groceries. Vicky wants me to learn her mom’s lasagna recipe. The whole shebang.” Her bright eyes searched his face. “Why don’t you come over? Eat with us?”

To anyone else, that might sound like a friendly suggestion. But there was a flicker in Robin’s eyes that Steve knew well: an undercurrent of pity. After all, he’d gone on a date last weekend that hadn’t exactly gone well. He was used to being the one with endless charm, the guy who always had a witty quip or a warm smile to keep a conversation going. Yet none of that had worked on Tanya—no matter how hard he tried. God was he trying.

Steve sighed, pushing himself upright. “Yeah… no.”

Robin visibly balked, confusion knitting her brows. “What do you mean, ‘yeah… no’? You can’t just respond to an invitation like that.”

“Exactly how I just did,” he said, mouth tilting into a faint, lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m not interrupting your date night just because you feel bad for me. I know you guys are trying to, like, throw me a bone or whatever.”

Robin’s cheeks puffed out in a mock sigh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turned away, pretending to occupy herself by adjusting a crooked VHS case. The slight shift in her voice told him otherwise. She always was a terrible liar. 

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You know what I’m talking about.” He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though the memory of last weekend pricked at him more than he liked to admit. Tanya had been gorgeous—dark hair, lovely eyes, a laugh that could probably stop traffic. At first glance, she was the perfect fit. But after an hour of him asking question after question and receiving nothing but uninterested one-word answers, he’d realised that appearances weren't enough to carry a conversation. The spark was missing, that intangible something that made him want to stay, to laugh, to learn more. It just wasn’t there. He was beginning to think it never would be, at least for him.

Robin finally turned back. “Okay, so maybe I know you’ve been bummed. But it’s not pity, Steve.” She rolled her eyes. “Vicky genuinely likes you. We both do.”

“Sure,” Steve said, gently drumming his fingers again. “Vicky likes me enough to let me crash her romantic, candle-lit dinner with her girlfriend.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Yeah, that’s not weird at all.”

Robin shot him a look. “It’s not weird if we invite you. And besides, it’s not like this is going to be some super fancy dinner. There might be candles, but that’s only so I can see the food properly, okay?”

Steve snorted, though the weight in his chest didn’t quite lift. “Look, Rob, I appreciate it,” he said, voice softening. “I do. But I’m not sure I’m up for third-wheeling on a Saturday night. I think it’s safer for everyone if I steer clear, especially given your experimental cooking.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “Wow, way to appreciate me trying to feed you.” Though she spoke jokingly, she studied his face for signs of deeper sadness. He was Steve Harrington—he was supposed to be the one with the perpetual easy grin. But ever since his dating and social life had crashed and burned, Robin could see the twinge of hurt in his eyes. He was insecure. He liked to feel needed, he always had. He had no problem giving himself to others. So watching everyone else find their person only made him more self-conscious. The truth was nobody needed him, and that knowledge was slowly eating away at him.

“You know,” Robin added, resting her hands on the cart that held a few more tapes, “it’s not just about the date. I get it—you’re lonely. It’s okay to admit that. We’ve all been there.”

He opened his mouth, his gaze slipping away to look out the window at a slow-moving car. The driver was just a blur behind the glass, but it gave him something to focus on. Because she was right. He was lonely, and part of him wanted to accept Robin’s invitation so badly. The other part of him couldn’t bear to insert himself as a third wheel—he knew that feeling too well. He’d spent years longing for something real, something effortlessly mutual. Maybe he’d find it eventually, but not if he was hanging around a couple who only extended the invite out of sympathy.

“Okay,” Robin said, exhaling the tension that had built up between them. “If you change your mind, call me. Seriously, no guilt trip, no questions asked. Vicky won’t mind. We’ll have a plate ready.”

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of Steve’s mouth. It still looked like it held a bit of sadness but he covered it up to not upset her further. “Yeah. Thanks, Rob. I promise, if I get the sudden urge for a crisp lasagna—”

“Hey!”

He grinned for real this time. “—I’ll give you a call. Right now, though, I think I’m just gonna stick to renting a movie and ordering takeout. Maybe keep my Saturday night simple.”

Robin nodded, accepting his declination. Her gaze lingered, and she wanted to push harder, but she knew Steve well enough to sense that pushing too much would only drive him further into his own shell. “Alright,” she said softly, reaching out to pat his arm. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

“I know. And thanks.” He meant it.

Their eyes met before Robin moved off to shelve the remaining tapes. He watched her go, then slowly leaned forward on the counter again. Outside, the sun was getting a little brighter, illuminating the Family Video sign and casting reflections across the empty parking lot. He was trying to think about whatever movie he would undoubtedly be bringing home with him for the weekend, alone. That is, until he sees you.

You’re walking at an unhurried pace, shoulders slightly hunched against the cool breeze, but there’s something about you that holds his attention. The way your outfit matches in a way that feels effortless but intentional, the way your hair catches the light, styled just enough to suggest effort but not so much that it seems like you’re trying too hard. 

You push open the glass door, and the bell above gives a soft jingle that seems to echo in the stillness. The warmth of the store envelops you, a cozy contrast to the lingering chill outside. Rows of tapes tower around you, aisles lit by bulbs that buzz quietly in the background. It all feels a bit nostalgic, not too intimidating. 

Behind the front counter, Steve stands with his elbows braced on the worn surface. For a second, it looks like you’ve interrupted him mid-daydream—his brown eyes are distant. The moment you step inside, he blinks, and you can practically see the switch flip as you catch him. Suddenly, he’s all awareness, standing straighter, swallowing once. A faint flush colours the tips of his ears, though he tries to hide it by running a hand through his hair.

He looks at you in a way that he hopes is welcoming, he’s not sure if he should say something immediately or give you space to browse. There is a gentle lift of his shoulders as he inhales, working up the courage to speak. You offer a polite nod and slide toward the nearest aisle before he can get a word out.

He exhales a shaky breath he didn’t realise he was holding, mind racing as he tries to place you. He can’t recall seeing you here before, and he was certain he would remember if you had. He drags his fingers over the keyboard, tapping random keys to pretend he’s busy. In truth, all he wants is to keep glancing your way. It was maddening forcing his attention to the computer screen. 

You wander among the rows, taking in the titles. There’s something oddly comforting about the smell of plastic VHS covers. Occasionally, you catch sight of Steve peeking over from the desk, just for a moment, before he ducks back down to avoid being caught staring. You find yourself smiling at his obvious attempt to be casual.

He, meanwhile, is silently scolding himself. He knew he was being weird—God, he needs to get a grip. But there’s a traitorous part of him that can’t help noticing the delicate way your hair frames your face, or the look of your jacket—well worn, well loved, taken care of. Even though your aura was disarming, he felt like he was in high school all over again, unable to stop staring at the pretty girl in the corridor.

Eventually, you settle on a tape, The Empire Strikes Back—something classic you’ve been meaning to watch again. Taking a steadying breath, you head to the counter, the plastic case clutched in your hand. As you approach, he forces himself to appear relaxed, collected, though inside he’s buzzing with anticipation.

“Um, hey… Steve,” you look up from his name tag, placing the tape before him. His eyes dart down to the cover, then back up to you. “Do you work here?”

The moment you say it, you realise how silly it sounds—he’s in the company vest, with a company name tag on it. Heat flares across your cheeks.

A laugh bubbles out of him—warm, kind. He shakes his head gently as if to say, Don’t worry about it. “Yeah, I do.” 

You nod, cheeks still burning from your awkward question. “Yes. Sorry, I, uh… obviously you work here.”

“Nah, no problem. I’ve gotten weirder questions,” his smile widens, softening around the edges. You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. “Good pick, by the way.”

As he scans the tape, you notice the slight tremor in his hand. It’s barely there, but you sense the sweet, nervous energy radiating from him. His gaze flickers to you, then back to the screen, then to you again—like he can’t quite decide which deserves his attention more. You, probably.

“So, um,” he starts, clearing his throat, “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you… new in town?” He tries to sound casual, but a hopeful note creeps into his voice, as though he’s crossing his fingers for you to keep talking.

You brighten at the question, happy to have something normal to say. “I am, actually. I just moved here a few days ago. The apartment is literally right across the street—well, I think you can see it from the window.”

His eyes widened with interest and with the knowledge of your close proximity. “Yeah? Pretty convenient if you want a movie.” And maybe to see me, he almost adds. “So, when exactly did you move in?”

“Three days ago,” you reply, letting out a breathy exhale at the memory. “I’ve been knee-deep in boxes ever since. I finally decided I deserved a break, and what better way than a movie night to make the new place feel more like home, right?”

He nods fervently, excitement sparking behind his eyes. “That’s true. Shame I wasn’t working that day—maybe I could’ve, I don’t know… helped haul a box or two?” He offers a tiny shrug, his words stumbling a bit as he realises how forward that might sound. “I mean, not that I… I just… you know,” he begins to backtrack.

A warm giggle escapes you, putting him at ease. “I appreciate the thought. My arms hurt for, like, the whole day afterwards.”

He huffs a little chuckle, feeling relief wash over him when you don’t seem put off. “Exactly.”

He glances around the store for Robin knowing she’s probably lurking somewhere, listening in with a sly grin. But in this moment, he can’t bring himself to care too much; he wants you to have his full attention.

“If you don’t have a membership yet,” he says, fishing around under the counter for a form, “you’ll need to fill this out.” He slides a paper and pen toward you.

“Right, I’m totally new,” you reply, stepping closer to read the sheet. As you lean in, Steve notices the light scent of your shampoo—or maybe your perfume—and it makes his pulse skip. He’s had customers before, obviously, but none have made him feel this flustered. It wasn't a feeling he necessarily disliked. 

Fighting the urge to stare too obviously, he busies himself with looking at the returns papers, occasionally sneaking a glance your way. He notices the way your brow furrows as you fill in the different boxes, huffing to yourself when you wrote your previous address, crossing it out and starting again. It was so human, so endearing, he had to turn away fully or his amused smile would give him away. 

Once you’ve filled out the form, you pass it back. He types in your details, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he commits your name to memory. “Perfect,” he tells you, printing out a fresh membership card and sliding it across the counter.

“Thanks,” you say, tucking it into your wallet. “Feels official now.”

He can’t help but feel upset that this moment is slipping away—any second, you’ll thank him, smile, and leave. Then he’ll be stuck behind the counter once again, replaying this conversation over and over until you come to return it, which could be a week from now. That would be unacceptable.

He clears his throat. “Uh, so,” he begins, voice wavering ever so slightly. “You got any big plans this weekend? Since you’re, you know, new here.” You could tell he was aiming for confident, but that casual tone of his falters as he seems genuinely invested in your response. 

His smile drops as he hears your reply. “Actually, yeah, I do,” his heart sinks, mind already going into overdrive. You’re probably telling him politely to let him down. He knew he was being too brazen, but he couldn’t stop the embarrassment from settling in his chest. 

“I need to head into town and get some furniture,” you explain as his head looks up, stopping him from spiralling. “I heard there’s a store a few miles away?”

He smiles at the fact that you’re still talking and didn’t just shut him down, you’re just busy—and that’s okay. “Oh, yeah,” he nods eagerly. “There is, um, it’s about a ten-minute drive, tops. Depends on traffic, I guess, but Hawkins isn’t exactly wild.” He lets out a weak laugh. “What are you, uh, looking for?”

“Mostly a bookshelf. I thought I could just stack my books, but they’re already in danger of tumbling over.”

He is listening, but a large part of him is cursing how little attention he paid in English class. Wishing he could humour you more. “That’s cool,” he says safely. “So, you’re a big reader?”

You nod, eyes lighting up. “Oh absolutely, I love getting lost in a story.”

He can’t help but think how sweet you are, the warmth in your expression filling his stomach, urging him past his nerves to finally ask what he had been wanting to. “Well, if you need help lugging that thing up the stairs to your apartment, I’m, uh… not working this weekend.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, he realises that, once again, it may have been too forward. 

“Really?” You ask, face brightening before he had the chance to overthink. “That’d be great! I was kind of worried about getting it back here on my own.”

His heart does that little flip at your acceptance of his offer. He nods enthusiastically, a few rogue hairs settling on his forehead, making his appearance more boyish. 

“It’s no problem,” he tells you as he puts his hands in his pockets, trying to appear relaxed as if this wasn’t the most exciting opportunity to happen to him all year. “I’ve got a car that’s… well, it’s big enough. Definitely more roomy than your average trunk. If yours can’t handle the bookshelf, mine can.”

You break into a grateful grin. “Wow, that’s really nice of you. Seriously.”

A blush creeps across his cheeks at your kind words, his face turning bashful. “Honestly, it’s no big deal at all.” It really wasn't, if all it takes is transporting some furniture to spend more time with you, he would gladly do it.

You lift your shoulders in a shrug, feeling slightly indebted. “Well, at least let me buy you a coffee or something afterwards, to say thanks. I insist.”

“No, that’s—” He starts to protest, but the look on your face tells him you’re determined. It’s kind of adorable how your eyebrows pinch together.

“I insist,” you repeat, a little more firmly, and he laughs quietly. So you're stubborn, he can work with that.

“Alright,” he concedes, holding up his hands in surrender. “Coffee it is. How about…” Think, Steve, think. “Saturday morning, I can meet you out front, say, 10:30? Unless that’s too early?” In truth, he’d be ready at sunrise if it meant spending more time with you, but he doesn't want to sound desperate.

“That’s perfect,” you say, beaming as you pick up your rented tape. “Thank you again, Steve.”

“Sure,” he replied, feeling a grin stretch across his face, so genuine it almost hurts his cheeks. He is shocked at how he managed to do this. How—by some miracle—you of all people had moved across the street. 

You give a small wave, and the door shuts behind you, the bell chiming one last time. His heart is still hammering away as he stares at the closed door, trying to process that he just—did that. He just set up what is basically a date… or at least a coffee situation. Either way, it’s something.

In the sudden quiet, he hears a muffled sound from behind him, and when he spins around, there’s Robin standing in the break room doorway. She’s practically bouncing on her heels, eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh, my God,” she says, not even bothering to hide the grin overtaking her face. “Was that—did you just—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts her off, rolling his eyes even though he can’t keep the giddy smile off his own lips. “Shut up, Robin.”

She doesn’t shut up, but he doesn't mind. All he can think about is Saturday morning, and the way your face lit up when he offered to help you, and how maybe this is going to be the start of something really, really good.

[reallife6anoufriev6boy6]

okay i cant post a screenshot of it because i havent written it out yet (im a bit busy at the current moment) but i have it planned out in my head how things are gonna go between cal and andre in the drunk noncon fic.. i will very shortly write this out for you guys

“no, no, cal,” andre pulls himself together, his words a hiss of discomfort and anxiety “get - get off, fuck, you dont know what youre doing - im… im basically *raping* you.”

cal giggled, not able to take his best friend seriously “youre not *raping* me, andre, i want it. just ‘cus im drunk doesnt mean anything,” its almost like a taunt, but a legitimate one follows right after “oh, dre, dont *rape* me! i dont want it! oh, oh, dont cum in me, dont get me pregnant!”

it was awful. it made the brunette sick to his stomach, however his stomach and dick had two very different reactions. he mightve felt the bile in his throat, but his precum only beaded at the tip.

“shut up, shut up,” he tries to sound stern, but it comes out in a whine “get off of me, get off.”

“dont *you* need to get - get off? arent *you* raping *me*?,” he rolled his hips against him, his cunt sticking to his cock and making a terrible sound “dont rape me, dre. i didnt know you - you were such a sick perv!,” he couldve shut up, he *shouldve*, but he kept going “i bet you only see me as a - a girl too, huh? you wanna make me your girl, dre?”

[ilysungho]

hihi! its messy-sex-lover-jaehyun anon returning to your ask box bc the comment you made about him liking tit fucking made me feel crazy...i feel like he's a big boobs guy anyways and this would just be one of his favourite things for sure!

if i can share a lil specifc scenario: thinking harddd about wearing an outfit around him that shows off your cleavage nicely and seeing him struggle to hold back or focus on anything else. and once he's got you alone later, he'd be so over-eager and desperate to get his hands and mouth on them he'd pin you down with more strength than he usually uses and almost tear your top pulling it off. probably gets your tits covered in drool within minutes from a mix of messy licks, sloppy kisses and direclty spitting on them. and of course that only makes it even easier for him to slide his dripping cock between them and rut against you till he's making an even bigger mess😵‍💫

omg… anon this is already perfect as it is, idk what more to add to make this better!! but i did think of like a setting! i hope this is good 😭

in a formal event, you’d be wearing a beautiful dress that perfectly accentuates your body in all the right places. jaehyun would really be trying so hard not to ogle at you, especially your tits that are pushed up and together while showing so much cleavage. he’d be going insane even, thinking about what to do, whether he should just take you to the bathroom and be risky, or wait until the event is over. and on the way back home, his hand’s would be all over your thighs… he’d be telling you how gorgeous you looked and how you stole his breath. and as soon as you reach where you’re staying, he’d be so impatient, just pushing you against the entryway wall and hungrily kissing you like an animal. the sweet jaehyun from the event and car ride disappeared the instant he’d got you alone.

with how your dress showed so much cleavage, he wouldn’t even want to remove it from you yet. he’s obsessed with anything to do with your tits so naturally he’s kissing and marking them all over, saying how “you should’ve gone out like this, make sure everyone knows you’re my slut.” he’d be so mean and possessive, making him so hot as he pulls the dress just past your boobs so they’re fully out for him. he’d barely take you into the house, laying you down on the floor as he takes out his length. he’s so terribly hard that it hurts, yet he’s so obsessed with your tits that he doesn’t want his mouth away from them for even a second. he’d be drooling while sucking your tits, and you’d be giving him a handjob to try and help. you’d even pull him between your tits to suffocate him and he’d reach straight to heaven at that. gobs of spit would be spat in the middle of your chest as he tells you to take what he gives like a good girl, getting up to finally fuck your boobs like he had been envisioning the whole time.

[luv-lock]

Your context is exactly what I'm saying. It's not true by any means. It's all misinformations. Ubisoft is trying to rewrite history and that's why they're silencing Japanese people who are talking against this game on internet. They even changed the name "Samurai" in Japanese version because they knew it's not true.

Look at some comments from Japanese people:

— Because of you, some people overseas now believe that Yasuke, a black man, was a samurai who significantly impacted Japanese history. This has led to a harmful trend of black supremacists claiming that samurai originated from black people and that Japanese culture is essentially black.

AI-generated images of black samurai are now being spread as if they were historical facts. This is a very serious offense.

— We cannot accept the blurring of lines between fiction and reality.

While Japanese people are very tolerant of creative works, we cannot simply ignore the fact that our country's history is being distorted or grossly misunderstood by so-called historians who are careless about the truth. It is clear that Yasuke was not a samurai but rather a retainer of Nobunaga Oda.

Please understand.

— Oh my god! That shitty white woman in the UBi game was so condescending when she said, "They used to behead people all the time in Japan back then! (So barbaric!)" I rewatched it so many times. If they're going to portray Japan like that, they should at least release the original version in Japan, too!

— They told us that beheading was a daily occurrence in Japan, and now they’re telling us we can't do it in the Japanese version? I distinctly remember players were able to slice through enemies in Tsushima. So, changing "legendary samurai" to "fearless warrior" is the extent of your "modifications"? That’s just double-speak.

— Not content with just one fabricated theory, now they say that beheading is worse than gore? There are no records of a black "samurai" outside of that one fabricated paper. It's annoying how other countries take Assassin's Creed seriously, even though it's supposed to be historically accurate, especially with this Z rating and all the changes. It's different from the previous game. I don't have a problem with the concept, but the changes are in the wrong places.

— You're just trying to add fuel to the fire.

— Okay, I get it. So Ubisoft is trying to divide Japan and the rest of the world, huh? You want us Japanese to just sit back and let Westerners rewrite our history? Ubisoft is a terrible company.

— Of course, the overseas version is probably going to romanticize Yasuke as a 'legendary samurai,' aren't they?

— The product description on Amazon is severely lacking. I have already reported this issue, but please ensure that you address it properly. If you fail to do so, I will report this matter to the Consumer Affairs Agency, the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry, and other relevant authorities.

— I've been a long-time fan of the Assassin's Creed series and have purchased all previous titles. However, I've decided to wait and see before purchasing Shadows. While I was excited for a Japanese setting, the recent controversies have made it difficult for me to fully enjoy the game. It's disappointing.

— We wanted the Japanese version to be equal in terms of diversity.

Here's a Japanese man who talked many times about this game and everytime they took his video down because he was telling the truth about his own history. Click here to watch the video. He was also called racist by Americans/westerns just because he was telling his own history. As if you guys know our own history better than ourselves. Like I hate it when western trying to tell me my own history which I grow up reading about. I'm not Japanese but I'm Persian and western tried many time to tell me my own history and rewrite it.

Also @nightmaregiver is an Asian and they agree with me.

Also there's a rumors that they're going to delete Yasuke from the game because of the backlash and the fact that it's not historical accurate.

Ubisoft is a horrible company and they did the same with the prince of Persia. Another game that faces backlash and flop. And I'm so happy that they're closing.

STOP SPREADING MISINFORMATIONS. YOU JUST MAKE YOURSELF LOOK STUPID. Because the only place that a black samurai or black Cleopatra hold an argument is in the west (and not even there most of the time if people are actually educated). And it's because of White Saviors and Afrocentrics. Who lie because of their feelings. And I'm sorry if I sound harsh but it's true.

West need to fucking stop doing this shit!

This is not a samurai. This is not a Persian.

And this is clearly not Cleopatra.

How about y'all actually make something about actual black people? How about y'all make something about Muhammad Ali? Or someone else. We have enough black legends. You don't have to take other people's culture and history. Stop doing this shit. You made Persians mad, you made Egyptians mad and now you're pissing off Japanese.

[cherubcameron]

Love Espresso

Chapter 8: Wildflower

MASTERLIST

Synopsis: after her breakup with Rafe and him kicking her out. Her best friend offers her a new job and a place to stay. But when Rafe comes back from Morocco. He realizes he’d made a grave mistake. Will Sofia go back to him? Or will she decide that her new life means more to her than him?

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Sofia blinked away her surprise; he was right in front of her. She couldn’t help the way her heart swelled at the sight of him. Her Rafe.

He looked just as stunned to see her. His footsteps faltering as he got closer to the front door. In his hands, were his grocery bags.

“S-Sofia?” He repeated, almost as if he’d hope he wasn’t imagining her.

“Rafe.”

Sarah came out the car soon after. Her hand on her belly. Her eyes darting from Sofia, to John B and then to Rafe. The tension in the air is palpable.

“You guys came back early…” John B says, breaking the tension like a knife. Sarah smiles, grabbing a bag from Rafes hands.

“We just needed some milk. But you know how I need my pregnancy snacks.” Sarah says. She made her way towards John B, handing him the bag. He took it from her.

“Uh… we’re going to leave, you two alone to talk.” Sarah says, grabbing John B’s hand. They leave towards a different part of the house. Sofia crosses her arms; unsure on what to do with herself.

She hadn’t realized how awkward this would be. Her momentum completely disappeared. Rafe scratched the back of his head. His other hand still holding the groceries, Sarah hadn’t taken.

Sofia couldn’t help but stare at his arms. Her mind wandering; his cheeks turned pink. She was the only one who ever managed to make him blush. He’d missed the way she would look at him. He’d missed her, so much.

“Sofia.” He said again, this time a little more hoarsely. “Why’re are you here?” It came out harsher than he intended.

Sofia eyes darted to the ground. Her cheeks heating up. “I thought it was time you and I finally talked.”

Sofia’s hand caressed Rafe’s cheek. Her eyes boring into his. Her eyes shone like stars as she stared at him. Rafe felt his own cheeks flush.

“Stop staring at me like that. It’s going to make me kiss you.”

Sofia can’t help but giggle as he says this. Her body moving closer to his so she can steal a kiss. Her hands now on his chest, her body molting against his. His hands move to her waist, holding her close to him.

She slowly pulled away, “Que Lindo tu ves.” Her hand continuing to caress his cheek. He blushes further. His hand reaching up to play with her hair.

“Is that right?” Rafe smiles up at her, his eyes staring into hers. Today it’s decided to lean towards looking more green.

“Oh? You know what that means?” She teased, giggling as he grinned at her.

“Had to learn my girls language.” He pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Though, don’t ask me to speak it yet. I sound terrible.” He laughs. She laughs along with him.

“Hey at least, you’re trying.” She kisses his nose. “Let me hear it.” Rafe crosses his arms and lets out another chuckle.

“You’re going to cringe at how terrible my Spanish sounds.” He says, his eyes roaming her face.

“Practice, makes perfect. No?”

Sofia played with the hem of her skirt; as she sat next to Rafe on his couch. The cup of water he’d gotten her, sat abandoned on the coffee table.

“This doesn’t have to be awkward.” Rafe says. His head ducked low as he doesn’t stare at her. “We’re here to talk.”

Sofia nodded, “Then can you please look at me?” Her voice comes out a bit hoarse. Like she’d hadn’t spoken in ages. But really, her throat was dry. She reaches for the cup of water. But then lets her arm fall.

Rafe slowly looks up; he looks like a little kid almost. Reduced to a vulnerable state. He’d always been like that with her. Always stripped of any facade he tried to create.

“Why did you do it? Was that your scheme all along? Pretending to be in love with me or some shit?” He ripped the bandit right off. He didn’t want to keep tiptoeing around the issue anymore. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity. He finally got her here to talk. And he was just going to get he answer he wanted; straight. The anger he thought he was done with; resurfacing.

She’d appreciated him for it. She knew she would haven’t been able to be so straight forward. She’d been too afraid to be.

Sofia breath in a breath and let it out. “My dad had told me about this deal. Hollis had tried to ask him to involve me in getting you to agree on investing in Goat Island. It sounded scammy to me. And at the time, I couldn’t imagine doing something like that to you. And then when—”

Her eyes finally turned away from him. Remembering that awful day.

“I had went looking for you. To tell you what my dad had said. I found you at the club. I overheard you talking to Ruthie and Topper. She’d said that, since you live with a pogue. You might not be up for whatever it was Topper was planning to do. I’m assuming it’s the rezoning. And then… I heard you.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. His heart sinking. She wasn’t meant to hear that.

“You said that just because we hooked up. Didn’t make me your girlfriend.” Her hands were tightly intertwined together. Her eyes no longer even looking at him. Now it was her turn to duck her head. “How you weren’t living with a Pogue. That you had standards.”

Rafe in took a sharp breath of air. Letting it puff out. “Shit.” He said. He rubs at his head; now staring at her.

Sofia only ducks her head down. Tears began to brim her eyes. It was laid out bare in front of them. The start of the doom of their relationship.

“Sofia, please look at me.” He says hoarsely. “I didn’t mean those things. I promise, I just didn’t like how— you know how Ruthie is like.”

Sofia scoffed, looking away from him. “But you still said those things, Rafe. What was I supposed to do?”

“Talk to me! Not fucking betray me!” He finally snapped. Sofia flinches as he yelled at her. He’d never done that before. Never once raised his voice at her. She wasn’t used to it.

She’d seen him, yell at others. But never her. Being on that side of it. It feels wrong, like as if she woken up at the wrong side of the bed.

He instantly deflates the moment; he notices her flinch. “I’m-I’m not trying to argue with you.”

Rafe remembered, how he felt the moment he found out. He felt his whole body go numb. There was no way. Not Sofia. Anyone but Sofia. She would never do that to him. His angel of a girlfriend. Fiancée. No, no, no.

He loves her, he would never do anything to hurt her. So why did she hurt him? After the phone call, he felt his tears brimming his eyes. He felt his heart feel like it was on fire. He couldn’t believe it. His Sofia had betrayed him.

Rafe wiped away at his eyes. No longer able to contain his tears. His hands shook.

“I love you Sofia. I love you, okay. I didn’t mean to fuck this up. I shouldn’t have said those things. But you could have talked to me. We could have… we wouldn’t be here. And I’m not trying to completely fault you in that.” His voice came out broken. Like he couldn’t speak properly.

He looked at her, his Sofia. Her beautiful eyes brimmed with tears. He wanted to reach over and wipe them away from her eyes. Wanted to fix everything that hurt her.

“I’m sorry, I know it won’t fix anything. But I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean for you to lose—” Her eyes casted down away from him.

The silence engulfed them. Now it felt like it would be like pulling teeth. He didn’t want this to be the end of them. He waited for her to continue with batted breath.

“I didn’t mean for you to lose everything.” She whispered. Rafe felt his heart clenched.

For a long time, he thought he cared about the money. But now… all he cared about was having her back. He remembered the conversations he’d have with Kiara. He never thought he’d ever become close to her. And he still wouldn’t consider her to be. But he’d told her about Sofia.

He realized even when he wasn’t around Sofia. He managed to make room for her in the conversation. He wished he could take back the things he said about her. He didn’t mean them. Now here was the consequence to those words being uttered.

“I love you Rafe. I was upset and I did the first thing I could to hurt you. And I regretted it the moment I did. I regretted the moment I realized you were serious about us. I wish I could have just spoken to you. I tried to make you back out. But it’s been too late. I’m not here to ask you to forgive me. You don’t have to forgive me.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. The distance between them, he couldn’t recall being close to her. He sank onto his knees and practically crawled to her. He gripped her hands in his. He was a starved man. The time away from her was unbearable. Felt like a shot in the heart.

“I remember I told you that I didn’t care what you did. The day I proposed to you. And now… now that you’re here in front of me—”

He placed his head into her hands. His tears slipping down his face. “I don’t want to lose you Sofia.” He sobbed.

Sofia felt her tears fall down her own face. Before she knew it, they were embracing each other. She didn’t know if this meant they’ll be together. But in this moment, they were two souls who had found what they were searching for.

Sofia is listening to:

Rafe is listening to:

[sweetenerobert]

make you mine

8.1k | sister’s ex boyfriend tommy miller x male reader

summary: the intense feelings you've swallowed down for your sister's boyfriend are shown when he's wanted

warnings: MDNI 18+, mentions of abuse, pet names (bunny, baby, sweetheart, etc.), friends to lovers tommy, no mention of age besides your sister is older, and so is tommy, no description of reader, but tommy lifts you (2), rimming, oral (m!giving/m!giving) yearning for each other, spit as lube, unprotected p in a, spanking, cocky!tommy, tommy's dick is fucking HUGE AF

a/n: I'M BAAAAAACK!! UGH GOD, i missed this app so much, after countless attempts of writing, i finally have an idea im sooooo excited to share with you. i promise i wont leave again (hopefully), i have a lot of ideas i've written and i need to finally find the time to write so you guys can finally read soon, but for now, i hope you enjoy 'make you mine'!

a/n 2: also a huge thanks to @sofmoth, @king-simp, @pedgito, @perotovar, and @strang3lov3 for beta reading, love uuuuuu sooooo much.

a/n 3: just wanted to say @king-simp for putting up with me for like months and hearing my ideas days after days, and hearing me out so many times on ideas, and making them soooo much better than what I thought. Love you girlllll 🤍🤍

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Oh shit, It’s so inappropriate how bad I’ve wanted to do this to you, bunny.”

You were shocked by Tommy’s sudden confession; you raised your head at the man fingering you with beads of sweat on your forehead. “What?” You whimper. Rays of sunlight kept dancing through your eyes as you were washing the dishes, home alone, and making sure your parents didn't have something to complain about, and your sister couldn’t find the special dish she took to work. It caused that feeling of chills crawling down your spine thinking about it. Your family wasn’t intense; they just worked a lot and were under a lot of stress at times; you wish you could say the same about your sister; the times you’ve quietly excited a room from her intensity, you wouldn’t be able to count them on one hand.

Speaking of family, you heard your doorbell go off as you hung the last dish on the dish strainer, turning off the water, thinking your sister or one of your parents was coming home early and forgot their keys, you shook your hands in the sink, noticing how pruney your hands looked, grabbing a paper towel nearby, and wiping your hands, quickly throwing away the wet paper towel into the nearby garbage can. The doorbell went off again as you began walking towards the door. “I’m coming, jeez,” You start as you grab the doorknob and turn it. “Forgot your keys again?” You pull the door towards you as you expect your sister to be on the other side to answer your question.

But you had been met with a familiar sight of shoulder-length hair, a mustache that could make a grown man cry, a denim button-up shirt hanging on broad shoulders, and you swore your sister loathed the material of his shirt. Tommy Miller was on the other side of your front door. Your sister and Tommy had dated for about a year and five months. He and your sister weren’t the on-and-off type, but there were times when you could hear them arguing, and you felt terrible for Tommy for having to face your sister’s wrath. “Oh, hey, Tommy.”

“Oh, hey, bunny,” Tommy’s southern accent felt rich, and a light chuckle escaped his mouth. You chuckle as you rest your fingers against your forehead. “You know I hate that nickname,” You commented. Tommy chuckles again before he opens his mouth to speak. “It’s not my fault you're obsessed with that one character with long ears who looks like a bunny.” Tommy crossed his arms, angling his eyes towards you. “He’s a puppy,” You commented, staring at him

“I’m still calling you bunny.”

You and Tommy chuckle together as you enjoy each other’s company; a thought passes. Your sister didn’t say anything about Tommy dropping by. Now that you think of it, no one has mentioned Tommy’s name since you returned from your trip. You replicated the same action as Tommy and leaned yourself against the door. “Not to burst your bubble, my sister isn’t here,” You shrugged.

Tommy nodded, glanced at the floor, and then back at you. “Yeah, I know,” he started. “Oh,” You were shocked, to say the least. Then why was he here? “Are you guys moving in together or something?” You shrugged. “She and my parents haven’t said anything since I got back,” You added. “Your trip, that’s right,” Tommy spoke, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How was that?”

You and your best friend had decided to stay in New York for a week, the vacation the both of you desperately needed and craved. When you came back, in your eyes, it was as if nothing changed. “Fun needed a break from life,” You joked. “Felt that,” Tommy huffed a chuckle.

You smiled and nodded. “But, did something happen?” You shrugged, confused. “It’s like your name is a curse or something.”

“Ah, bunny,” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, squinting his eyes towards you. It’s complicated; maybe you should ask your sister.” You could tell Tommy wasn’t trying to add more fire to whatever drama occurred when you were gone. Being the nonconfrontational type, you appreciated Tommy for keeping whatever secret to himself, but you already knew asking your family would be a bust. He would be the next best thing. “Can I come in?”

“Not unless you tell me what’s happening,” You shrugged. Tommy huffed a breath, not in a moment of frustration or loss of patience; it was a breath and finding the words to come up with ways to come clean about something he’s been terrified of you finding out differently. “We broke up,” Tommy announced. You blinked your eyes into a shocked look; of all the things you were trying to mentally prepare yourself to hear, him and your sister breaking up wasn’t something that you wouldn’t think would happen.

Yes, the duo wasn’t perfect together, but you always thought they would make it work. Without a thought, you moved yourself away from the door to give Tommy enough space to walk in. As he walked in, Tommy nodded and smirked at you; you felt a breeze hit your legs as he moved past you. Glancing down at your legs, you noticed you opened the door in your underwear. “Fuck me,” You muttered to yourself; you closed the front door, locking it as a habit, and walked towards where you knew Tommy was going.

You pushed your sister’s bedroom door open and spotted Tommy in your sister’s closet, getting his clothes from their hangers and placing them on her bed. “Wait, you guys broke up?” You questioned, closing her bedroom door behind you. “Yep,” Tommy nodded, looking into the closet.

“What, why, what happened?”

Tommy glanced towards you as he saw your face riddled with confusion. He drew his lips in a thin line, exhaled through his nose, and made his way towards to stand in front of you, crossing his arms, huffing his chest towards you, the material of his denim shirt bending around his biceps. “Do you know why I would often ask you to go out and drink, and I labeled you as my “drinkin’ buddy”?” Tommy questioned.

“I just thought it was you being nice, you know, making sure your girlfriend’s brother didn’t feel left out,” You shrugged.

“Not entirely,” Tommy started, sitting on the edge of his ex-girlfriend's bed. “Your sister ain’t the best type to drink with, unlike you. She can tend to overdrink, which we’ve argued about multiple times. There have been a couple of times where she’s tried to get physical with me, trying to limit her drinking habit.”

The thought of your sister being physical sent a shiver down your spine, hearing someone else say the words. You swallowed harshly and nodded your head for Tommy to continue. “A week ago, when you were out and so were your folks, I told her that we aren’t good together, and she flipped out on me, cursing at me, screaming at me, she even clawed at me.”

Shocked wouldn’t be the word expressed on your face; bewilderment would be. “What? Where?” You questioned, you asked, sitting on the left of him. Tommy used his left hand to pull his collar down to show you three scarred-up claw marks on where his left collarbone rested. “Oh, my god, Tommy. I’m sorry.’

“It ain't your fault, bunny. You ain’t do nothing,” Tommy waved off as he let go of his collar. “Exactly, I didn’t say anything, I should’ve–”

“There was nothin’ you could’ve done,” Tommy placed a hand on your back. “You’re a good person already; that’s all I wanted.” You sighed in defeat while Tommy continued to soothe you, rubbing your back. “It’s going to be weird not seeing you here.”

“Ah,” Tommy waved off, removing his hand from your back and slapping it against his jeans. “You still have my number? You can always crash at my place if you ever want to escape this house of horrors.” You chuckled at Tommy’s invitation and shook your head, contemplating the option. “I’ll hold you to that,” you pointed at the man beside you. He laughed, and you joined him. It seemed like something that fate had landed on your lap.

You felt the mattress shift lightly as Tommy leaned towards you. “You know you’re in your underwear, right, bunny?”

“Yeah, I know,” You hide your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “It’s fine,” Tommy slapped his hand on your bare thigh and then laced his hand with his own. For the split second, Tommy’s hand was on your thigh; his hand felt warm against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity toward your spine. “You’ve seen me in mine, so we’re even.” Tommy acknowledged, and you nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately or fortunately, I have.”

“What do you mean, unfortunately?” Tommy playfully shoves you. You laugh as you regain your balance next to him. “I mean, not to make you uncomfortable, but you do have an amazing body,” Your chuckles slip out from time to time.

“Amazin’ body, huh?” Tommy teased, leaning his head towards yours. “With your sister’s scratches, It’ll take a while before I’m back to “amazing body” status.”

“Hey, scratches or not, you still look good,” You commented.

“Oh, really?” Tommy questioned, playfully pushing his shoulder with yours. “Yeah,” You nodded.

“You ain’t so bad yourself,” Tommy spoke, placing his hand on your thigh again, but this time, he didn’t let go; the warmth of his hand had been caked onto your skin. You balled your hand into a fist behind Tommy. The feeling felt nice, but it felt different from the cold breeze that kept rubbing against your other leg. “Is this alright?” Tommy asked. Looking up towards the southern man, you nodded your head, and Tommy’s hand rose.

You shuddered lightly as Tommy’s hand got closer to your cock, his thumb pressing onto the tip of your cock, making your toes curl. “You like that?” Tommy softly spoke into your ear. “Mhm, yeah,” You nodded. “How about this?” Tommy slipped his hand further as he began cupping the bulge in your underwear. You inhaled deeply, puffing your chest, and your hands gripped the sheets of your sister’s bed. Pushing out an exhale, Tommy chuckled as he saw your cock throbbing underneath his hand. “Look at you, bunny, twitchin’ under my hand,”

“We–.” You swallowed sharply. “We– we shouldn’t–”

“We shouldn’t be doin’ this?” Tommy questioned; his hand started to come off your cock before you began to speak. “We shouldn’t be doing this in my sister’s room,” You nodded, looking at him. Tommy huffed a smile as he took you and made you straddle his lap; you laughed as you placed your hand on the side of his neck, his forehead rested against yours; you could see the smile radiating off him, something you seemed to have only seen when he’s around you.

Tommy’s hands rested on your waist before he slipped them onto your ass and then rested under your thighs. “Is it inappropriate to say that I’ve probably dreamt of this moment before?”

You smile before you answer. “That you wanted be close to your sister’s brother?”

Tommy huffs a smile before pressing his nose lightly against yours. “That I would be happy with someone like you.” Your hands trail up against his cheeks, your thumbs trailing his cheeks as he smiles at you. “You have such cute freckles.”

Tommy laughs at your compliment. “No, seriously, they suit you a little too well,” You smile as Tommy dips his head below, his lips centimeters away from yours. Almost as if he were playing with you, backing his head up ever so slightly just to put them back centimeters away. “You are such a cat,” You announce.

“Oh, you love it.” Tommy stood up, and your legs stopped bending into the mattress and just rested against the sides of his hips while his hands rested in the bends of your knees; you smiled and rested your arms onto his shoulders; it wasn’t until Tommy collided your back with your sister’s bedroom door was when he connected his lips against yours. Tommy didn’t hold back when he kissed you, his hands digging into the skin of your thighs as one of your hands rested on the nape of his neck. You felt his tongue connected with yours, making the kiss feel more passionate. His lips felt soft while his mustache on your upper lip felt coarse, the opposite sensations putting your body into overdrive. You knew in this very moment that this is something you’ve wanted to happen for so long, the number of drunk thoughts you would have about Tommy turning sexually, that you wanted something to happen with your drunk friend like it had been a scene from your favorite fanfiction or something, but you knew it was wrong because of your sister.

But you didn’t care about how she felt then; you wanted Tommy, you have Tommy, now you don’t want him to go away. “Fuck, you taste good, bunny,” Tommy breathed as he grinded his pelvis into yours; you moaned into Tommy’s mouth, while he grunted into yours. “I can’t get enough of you,” Tommy grunted. One of his hands slipped from the bend of your knee, reaching for the doorknob, backing your body away from the door, opening it, and walking towards your bedroom. Still kissing each other, Tommy readjusted his hand back and continued to walk towards your room.

Pushing the door open with your back, Tommy rushed into your room and placed you on the edge of your dresser. You gasped when one of Tommy’s hands slipped onto your waist, and the other slipped under your shirt. His soft but calloused hand was warm against your stomach as he latched his lips onto yours. Your hands reached to cup his face as you leaned down to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Tommy felt like the sensation of finding gold for the first time, exciting. A sensation you didn’t want to let go of when your hands slipped into his hair, and you lightly gripped his hair. You understood that Tommy felt the same way when the grip on your waist and your bare stomach grew tighter. With each smooch, Tommy breathed heavily against your lips, feeling the texture of your soft lips against his; he never felt more present in the moment.

Slipping your hands onto his broad shoulders, you were eager to feel more of Tommy. You slip your hands down even more and feel down his chest; his pec feels like a handful against your hand. Tommy chuckles and smiles against your lips. “Eager, ain’t we?” The southern questions. “Shut up,” You smiled as you raised your hands on the buttons of his shirt.

You or he didn't break the kiss with each button you popped off Tommy’s shirt, not even when Tommy tossed the denim shirt aside. He just wanted to keep on tasting you.

It took a lot to be the one to break the kiss after what felt like minutes of your lips dancing around each other. Tommy’s hand moved from your stomach to the sides of your thighs. “Somethin’ wrong, bunny?”

“No, I’ve just wanted this moment for so long, is that fucked up?”

Tommy shook his head and rested your forehead against his as you bent your head down and took your hands in his. “A little,” Tommy started. You groaned into your hands, and then Tommy caused you to look at him while he took your hand in his. “But, that’s what I like about you,”

“You're funny, spontaneous as hell, and sweet, geez, I couldn’t have met someone better than you, bunny,” Tommy reached for your cheek, cupping your face into his palm, rubbing your cheek. You smile as you go for Tommy’s hand, rubbing your thumb against his knuckle. “Do you think we could move to the bed?” You questioned. A raised eyebrow came from Tommy Miller's face; he chuckled before licking his lips. “Eager, are we, bunny?”

“Yes, but my butt is getting so sore, sitting on the edge of this thing,” You winced and laughed before Tommy took his hands and put them back on your waist. “But I haven’t even done anythin’, baby.” You give a look, Tommy, and the man chuckled while you wrapped your legs around his waist again, and he rested your back against your mattress, kissing you once again while crawling in between your thighs.

You felt Tommy grind his hips into yours, feeling his bulge underneath the denim against your cloth-covered cock. Tommy’s lips trailed down from your lips down to your jaw. With every time Tommy grinded into you, a moan escaped your lips, and you could feel a smile from Tommy against the tender skin of your neck.

Sliding your shirt up and planting kisses trailing from your chest to your navel. Tommy’s thick fingers grab the waistband of your underwear as he slides them down. “Lift your hips, bunny.” You do as Tommy orders; he slides your underwear off your thighs and disregards them aside, looking down between your bodies and chuckling at the sight he was seeing your hard cock twitch against the bulge in his jeans. Tommy wanted to see something, so he slowly grinded your bare cock, and you lightly squirmed at the sensation. Hearing you shudder, Tommy smirks at you and lightly picks up the pace.

“Fuck, baby, you like that?”

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Fuck yeah, I love it when you squirm for me.”

As Tommy begins to stand up, you breathe in relief as if any more times he were to grind against your cock, you would’ve exploded. Tommy pulls you towards the edge of the mattress, and you are surprised at the sudden action. “Look a’that, y’hard f’me already, baby?” You huff a chuckle at Tommy; you gasp as you feel his lips press the tip of your hard-covered cock. With each kiss brought against the tip and the shaft of your cock, it feels like heaven to you, bringing you absolute bliss against your skin. You get your foot against Tommy’s bare shoulder as your other one hangs off the edge of the bed, arching your back in pleasure as Tommy’s mouth moves down your thigh.

“God, you’re s’fuckin’ perfect, baby.” Standing up from his position, Tommy softly presses his lips against yours, bringing his hand into the bend of your knee, his other hand holding the side of your face. Tommy's tongue licked your bottom lip, awaiting your mouth to open. Tommy slips his tongue into your mouth, slightly parting your lips, causing you to smile at Tommy’s eagerness.

“How do you feel?” Tommy questions against your lips.

“Good, so good.” You breathed. “How about I make you feel even fuckin’ great.” Tommy’s question came out as a statement, causing you to question his meaning. Without warning, Tommy backs up from your face and laps his tongue on the all too sensitive head of your cock, making a moan escape from your mouth, your toes curl, and your eyes roll in the back of your head, sliding his tongue against the slit of your cock, moans escaping your mouth. “F-fuck, Tommy,” You breathe.

“Y’like that, baby?”

You breathe out an answer as Tommy starts to slowly stroke your cock as he rests himself on one knee on the ground next to the bed frame. “Yes, so fucking much.” You arch your back as the pleasure sets in. You never knew this level of intensity until Tommy; he knew what would make you tick without even having any sexual experience with you in the past, everything you imagined about what the southern would do to you if things had gone a complete 180 after your hangouts, but now the reality is kicking your imagination out of the park.

Wrapping his mouth slowly around the tip of your cock, Tommy slowly goes down the shaft of your length, causing you to moan and white knuckle your sheets as you throw your head back — arching your back and snapping your eyes shut in pleasure. “OH, fuck!” You exclaim in pleasure. His pace was slow but patient. Tommy wanted to make you feel something you rarely experienced — something once in a blue moon. Wrapping his hands around the shaft of your cock, his fingers would let go for a moment before wrapping.

Dragging your fingers into Tommy’s curls, you slowly push his head down, hoping he could speed up. “Fuck, Tommy. This feels amazing,” You breathed.

“Can you go faster, please?” Your question sounded like a plea.

“Oh, sweetheart. I can show ya one better.”

As Tommy’s mouth felt warm around your cock, he started to go faster as you gasped in pleasure, you gripping the material of your sheets; you felt Tommy’s hand slide from your thigh as he slowly began to tease your hole. The skin of your taint felt sensitive with each stroke of Tommy’s finger teasing you; each swipe, each light poke, and prodding made your body shiver in anticipation. You had been put into overdrive because of your older sister’s ex-boyfriend. Tommy was slowly rising you towards your peak. Your cock twitches in Tommy’s mouth showing the throbbing pain that was threatening to shoot out. Slowly and teasing, Tommy slides his mouth off your cock, swallowing the spit that had collected in his mouth; Tommy wipes the reminder off his lips with the back of his hand, glances at you, and chuckles as he strokes your cock. “Y’close, baby?”

“Yes,” You whimper. “So fuckin’ close. It hurts so much. Can I cum yet, Tommy?”

A sly smirk appeared as he started to chuckle – staring at you. Tommy stops pumping your cock — landing on your stomach, precum leaking from the slit. “Not yet, bunny. We ain’t done yet.”

Lifting your legs, Tommy slides his head down deeper in between your thighs. He laps his tongue against your aching hole; you bite your lip, causing a shaky moan to escape your lips as you hold your legs up so Tommy can get better access to your hole. His hands are planted on your inner thighs as he keeps his tongue against your taint. Tommy’s tongue felt like magic against you, showing you things you’ve never felt before — things you’ve only imagined happening. His tongue sliding up and down, in and out of your hole, made you want to cum by how much Tommy has been treating you.

The sensation of soft lips and a coarse mustache planting kisses against your taint made your toes curl — the bones threatening to pop out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs, your moans escaping from you with each movement of the mix of feelings from Tommy’s lips and tongue was giving you pleasure.

A new feeling appeared when you felt something being pushed inside you, causing a moan to rush out of you as you let go of one of your thighs, started gripping the sheets below you, and threatened to rip them up. You look down at Tommy, plump cheeks looking up at you with a smirk on his face; you notice what is being pushed inside you; Tommy’s thick middle finger has taken a turn to please you.

“Y’like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck, yeah, I do,” You whimper, throwing your head back, closing your eyes, and moaning with each pump of Tommy’s finger.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Tommy spoke as he slid another finger into you. You exclaimed in pleasure. “You make me happy, bunny. You always have been the one to make me.” The man huffed a smile towards you, and you reciprocated a smile back towards Tommy before you rested your head on the mattress. “Fuck, my sister is so fucking stupid for letting you go,” You breathed as you withered in pleasure. Tommy chuckled at your statement. “Good thing I finally have the better sibling,” Tommy grunted. You laughed, and then the laugh turned into a moan.

Sliding a third finger in, Tommy’s pace had gone faster. You knew he was trying to test your limits; it would be an adventure for both of you to find it. “Look at how your hole wraps around m’fingers; it keeps sucking me in no matter how hard I try to pull out, baby.”

The sudden movements from your hips as you kept raising your hips and bringing them back down. Gritting your teeth, and tiny whimpers leaking through your teeth. Pleasure flowed throughout your body — something you yearned for Tommy to reach with you.

Tommy would admit this if you asked, and close to you sent him over the moon. He’s probably thought about this once or twice, but he loves that he can finally get this close to you.

“Tommy?” You breathed.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I suck your cock?”

Tommy had never heard that question from your sister; she always wanted things her way, so Tommy hasn’t been pleased in that regard. So, hearing your question surprised him a little bit. Slipping his fingers outside your hole, aching for how you would feel around his cock, Tommy smirks at you, stands up, and opens his mouth to speak. “Yes, you can, bunny.” As you sit up and sit on the edge of your mattress, you notice the length that resided in his jeans. You blinked as you saw the bulge filling his jeans.

Noticing the look in your eyes as he was cupping the growing length in his jeans as he smirked and smiled at you, Tommy looked at you. “I gotta ask, sweetheart, how long have you been wantin'’’ to suck my cock?” You swallowed before you provided an answer. “For so long,” You glanced at Tommy.

Tommy's sly smirk appeared before he bent his head down to get closer to your ear. “Then I best not keep you waitin’.” His whisper sends chills down your spine. Sliding your back against the mattress, you slid so your knees hit the wood below you. Watching the eagerness flood Tommy’s eyes made you feel butterflies in your stomach. Tommy slipped his belt off, throwing it on the ground next to him, releasing the button of his jeans popped above you, and hearing the zipper going down, you watched as Tommy’s cock popped out from its restraints.

You stared in awe at the sheer size of Tommy’s dick. Tommy’s throbbing cock bounced in front of you, precum leaking from the slit of his cock. This was better than you can ever imagine. Veins traveled up the shaft of his cock, stopping at the mushroom tip of his cock. The happy trail from Tommy’s tummy showed up his pubic hair that rested above the shaft of his cock. Your mouth went dry in anticipation. It was the first time you had ever seen a dick this big and thick before and so close to your face.

“Fuck, bunny. I need to feel you,” Tommy groaned.

“Well, best not keep you waitin’ now, can we?” You quoted, dragging Tommy’s jeans down as your knuckles brushed up against the hair on his legs, gravity stopping Tommy’s jeans when they stopped at his ankles, your hand wraps the shaft of his cock. You slowly wrap your lips around the tip of Tommy’s cock, and you hear him exhale in pleasure – a sound you yearned to hear in the past.

Slowly pushing your head down the shaft of Tommy’s cock, lips wrapped tight – spit dripping down your chin; you feel the veins trace the skin of your lips as the head of Tommy’s cock presses into the back of your throat. A groan of pleasure escapes Tommy’s lips as you back your head up. You push your head forward and back leisurely, and you can tell the pace makes Tommy not see straight. His member in your mouth kept throbbing against the roof of your mouth. Suddenly, your pace went a little faster; you looked up and noticed Tommy was bearing his teeth, his hands gripping the back of your head, his hips having a mind of their own as he was obsessed with your mouth around his cock. The warmth of your mouth sent him into his version of heaven, and with each pump into your mouth, he couldn’t get enough of you.

The taste of salt fell upon your tongue as you backed your head up from Tommy’s cock. A line of spit mixed with precum connecting from your mouth to the tip of Tommy’s cock was made apparent as well as the tip of his cock reddened; eventually, the line of spit dropped onto the ground below you as you wrapped your hand around Tommy’s cock and started pumping his shaft, as the man dropped his hands to his sides. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, baby,” Tommy released shaky breaths as he apologized.

You quickly swallowed the spit in your mouth. “It’s okay,” You breathed.

The moans escaping Tommy's lips had been a symphony to you. As your moans were to Tommy. “Fuck, baby. Y’so good at that. I’m so glad it's you doin’ this to me.” His southern drawl causes somersaults in your stomach. Sliding your mouth back onto Tommy’s cock, a deep guttural growl escaped his lips as your lips were at a quick pace, your hands planted on Tommy’s thighs, the hair on his thighs pressed up against your hand as the tip of Tommy’s cock kept hitting the back of your throat. Moans, grunts, whines, and whimpers were all escaping from Tommy’s lips, his hands holding onto your head as his hips humped into your head, his cock pressing deeper – causing you to gag a couple of times. Your nose kept poking into where Tommy’s pubic hair rested; the scent was intoxicating, causing your cock to leak with precum below you.

Suddenly, Tommy held your head – bearing his teeth in pleasure; your throat grasping around his cock, causing you to gag more. Slobber escaping your mouth as with each inhale through your nose – resting on Tommy’s hairy patch made it impossible to exhale without gagging. Your palms were getting sweaty against Tommy’s thighs, the hair on his legs feeling nonexistent against your slippery hands.

His hands slide your head back; lines of spit connect from his cock to your top and bottom lips. Deep inhales and exhales leave your body as you watch Tommy slightly shudder. His cock glistened in your spit, throbbing and visibly reddened. Sweat littered Tommy's shaven chest and forehead; you swallowed the spit in the back of your throat from your excessive breathing. Tommy bent down, grabbed your chin, and kissed you passionately. Your forehead felt heavy with sweat as Tommy backed up from you; he slid his hand up, pushing the strands of hair that littered his forehead. “Fuck, sorry, baby. Y’mouth is so fuckin’ addictin’.”

Tommy, We’re just getting started,” You spoke, disregarding his apology. Quickly eager to show him what you meant, you pick up his cock and slide your tongue on the underside of Tommy’s shaft. Lapping your tongue against his veins, you could hear Tommy’s praise from above. “I wish I had met you first,” Tommy groaned as he slipped his fingers through his hair.

Bringing your tongue slowly down to make Tommy squirm, you feel his body a little bit as you are still holding his cock in your hand; you place your mouth around his ball sack and lightly suck on one of them. “OH, SHIT!” Tommy groaned. Tommy’s body shook, almost falling like a sandcastle; Tommy hadn’t felt this level of pleasure before, from anyone in his past, before meeting you. “You like that, Tommy?” You asked. “Yes,” Tommy gritted his teeth. “Fuck, I love it s’much.” Backing your mouth up, you stroke Tommy’s cock and watch him hold his head back, and moans escape his lips. Bending down, Tommy places his hands between the fold of your armpits and picks you up from your knees.

Planting his lips against yours, the kiss you shared between the two of you felt hungry, Lips mashing against each other, teeth clashing against each other. Tommy’s arms hold you tightly against his torso. Tommy was fucking yearning for you as his lips were latching against your cheeks, jawline, against the skin of your neck. That feeling of Tommy’s teeth against your neck made you know Tommy was marking you as his. Your nails drag against Tommy’s lengthy hair as you enjoy Tommy’s mouth, bringing his head back against your lips. Sweat forming on Tommy’s bare chest was seeping through your shirt. You wanted to take it off to feel Tommy’s skin against yours. Backing your head away from Tommy’s, his head following suit as he watches you attempt to take your shirt off.

Tommy couldn’t wait to get the shirt off and over your head. Wrapping your arms around Tommy’s neck, he wraps his arms against your lower back. The warmth of each other’s bodies radiated against each other. Your cocks rubbed against each other; the warmth you both shared was hot enough to blow the roof off your bedroom. This experience felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Backing his head away from your lips, you notice a look of wanting in Tommy’s eyes, which start to darken as he opens his mouth to speak. “Fuck, I gotta have you now, bunny,” Tommy admitted.

“Get on that fuckin’ bed,” Tommy nodded toward the mattress. You listened to Tommy, letting your arms go from around his neck; you crawled on the bed, right where your pillow was rested, on your chin; as you rested on your stomach, you heard Tommy crawling behind you, readjusting you to have you on your knees – spread apart and your back arched. A line of spit leaves Tommy’s mouth and connects to the tip of his cock, rubbing the spit to lube up his cock. Slowly leaning behind you, Tommy moves his hand from the tip to his shaft as he starts to tease you – making you shudder in anticipation.

Moving his cock to poke your hole makes you yearn for him every slight push into you. Tommy begins to question you. “How bad you want my cock, baby?”

“Badly,” You admit.

Tommy leans up behind you, and you can feel his breath against your ear; as you feel the shaft of his cock fit into the curves of your ass, his hips begin to slightly shift up and down, teasing you, causing your hole to ache. “Just how badly?” Tommy questioned. “So fuckin’ bad, I need you, Tommy.” You hear him chuckle against your ear as he whispers in your ear. “Well then, best not keep you waiting.” Tommy backed up from your ear, and with one of his hands, he angled his cock to press against your hole.

Tommy slowly pushes in; you feel the tip stretch you out and his hands on your hips. You stifle your moans into the pillow below. “Does it hurt, baby?” You shake your head, denying Tommy’s question. His shaft is halfway in before he pulls out fast, his grip let loose on your waist. You gasp before breathing heavily. “Oh shit. Sorry, baby, gimmie a minute,” Tommy commented. Once again, Tommy slides his cock into you, hands back onto your waist, making your moans have no level of intensity as prior lovers. Halfway in, Tommy rocks his hips back and forth slowly into you, hoping you can adjust to his size. Your eyes snapped shut intensely, straining your eyelids. The pain was starting to feel good, too good.

“Is this okay, baby?” Opening your eyes, you crane your neck to notice the concern in Tommy’s eyes. He looked so careful, protective, and sweet; you’ve always liked this side of him. “Yes, Tommy. It’s okay,” You smile. Leaning down to kiss you, Tommy’s hips still rocking into your hole, moans exiting your mouth and entering Tommy’s. Feeling him slowly stretch you out felt indescribable; it felt good, but you did want Tommy to go faster. “Tommy,” You moan against Tommy's mouth. “Yes, baby?”

Tommy backs up to hear you properly. But before Tommy could say anything, it was as if a switch went off inside his head, as his hands were molding into your waist. His pace was faster and rougher. Claps rang throughout the room with each thrust as you angled your hands to reach behind and reach for Tommy’s bicep while Tommy was drilling his cock inside you. His bicep felt huge compared to your hand. It felt like Tommy could read your mind, knowing that you wanted more and that he would give it to you. “Fuck, I could do this all day, bunny. This feels so amazing,” Tommy breathed; the man looked at you and moved closer to you so the curve of your back could fit together with his tummy, his hands placed on either side of your head while his lips latched onto yours as his cock continued to pump inside you. With each pump, you moaned against Tommy’s mouth, and he smiled against your lips.

“Y’wanna know how bad I’ve wanted to do this?” Tommy breathed.

“How much?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“Every time we went drinking,” Tommy grunted. “Every single time we got too close to each other, whenever you would rest your head on my shoulder.”

“God, I must’ve asked for this countless times, goddamn prayed for it,” Tommy gritted while holding your chin, causing you to look at him again as he slowly started pumping his cock; he was slowly humping in and just staring at you in your eyes. “Now I finally got what I want, you,” Tommy announced as he slid his cock out of you and laid down next to you; his cock was still hard, but Tommy wanted more of you. You adjusted yourself on your side, and Tommy started holding the bend of your knee; Tommy adjusted his cock to press against the hole of your taint, causing you to shudder and chuckle when you craned your head over your shoulder and saw Tommy’s cheeky grin. You feel Tommy’s cock slide inside your hole; as you placed your head on the pillow, you felt his stomach against your back again; that feeling of closeness with someone you never thought you could have made your cock throb.

Tommy’s arm had wrapped around your head. As you picked it up and rested on his forearm, you could hear the grunts and groans leaving Tommy’s lips and feel his breath on your ear.

“Y’wanted this, didn’t ya?” Tommy grunted.

“Fuck, yeah, Tommy,” You writhing in pleasure, “Wanted this for so long.”

“I’can say the same about this boy pussy of yours, grippin’ onto me so tight, it doesn’t want to let go, and I don’t think I want it to.” You bring your hands to Tommy’s head and plant your lips against his. An exhale leaves Tommy’s mouth against yours. This may sound like a diss to your sister, but seeing this side of Tommy made you wonder if she ever made Tommy this pleased. “I gotta ask,” You breathed. “My sister never made you this happy, right?”

“Your sister,” Tommy grunted. “Never wanted to do the things you asked for; always wanted things her way.” Tommy’s cock kept hitting your G-spot; you moaned in pleasure as your hand craned onto the back of his head. “And with you, I know what we both like,” Tommy pumped his cock forcefully, causing you to meet him at the base of his cock. “So I’m gonna fuck you so hard till we both get what we want.” Tommy’s cock pumped inside your forcefully again, and you felt your walls slowly adjust to the size of his cock.

Tommy’s length was stretching you out as his cock kept pumping into you, causing moans to escape through your mouth. The sun's rays glistened on both your skin and Tommy’s as sweat littered on the both of you. Tommy bore his teeth and started to fuck you senselessly. Wrapping his forearm in the front of your neck and his other arm deeper in the bend of your knee, – his hands interlocking with each other. You moan in pleasure as you hear low growls escape Tommy Miller – feeling his breath against your ear causes shivers to crawl down your spine. “Fuck, you feel my cock stretchin’ you out, baby?”

“Mhmm,” You nodded, shutting your eyes, avoiding his glare.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice made you snap your eyes open to look at him. “I need a clear answer,” His teeth gritted. “No more of that ‘Mhmm’ shit.” His pace began to slow down a bit.

You couldn’t tell if you were turned on or scared by his dominance, but you could feel your cock throb once again, so you had your answer. “Yes, I feel your cock.”

The man behind you grins, “Well, you better get used to it. This boy pussy is mine; nobody elses; I don’t give a shit what your sister says or your folks. You’re mine now, understand?”

You were about to nod your head until you answered. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“Envision this,” Tommy’s hold was still the same, with his hands still interlocked, but his gaze wasn’t on you anymore. It had been at the door he carried you in moments prior. “Your folks walk in, and they see this; your sis sees us together, but I don’t give a rat's ass, and I just keep going,” One deep thrust caused you to groan. “I just keep filling your hole with my cock, because I don’t care anymore because you – deep thrust – are – deep thrust – mine!” In the last thrust, Tommy released his hold on you, and you moaned into your pillow.

As your face was in your pillow, you felt Tommy’s hand smack your ass. “C’mon, bunny. We ain’t done. You chuckled as you picked your face up from your pillow; you saw Tommy adjust himself in the middle of your bed – his head is where your feet should be, and his cock was throbbing and leaking with pre-cum. “What do ya say, bunny?” Tommy patted his thigh. “You gonna take this stallion for a ride?”

Playfully biting your lip at Tommy’s question, you playfully crawl towards him and straddle his lap. You feel the tip of his cock on your ass cheek, so you maneuver the shaft of his cock to sit in the curve of your ass; you begin to grind your ass back as if you were trying to tease Tommy. “I kinda just had a funny thought.”

You hear a light chuckle from the man under you – his hands on your waist – moving you back and forth against the shaft of his cock – your hands on his chest, “What is it?” Tommy smirks. “I can always tell my mom I’m going to be at a friend's house when in reality,” You bow your head closer to his. “I’m actually having the time of my life at Tommy Miller’s place. Do you like that idea?’

“Oh, I love that idea,” Tommy growled, his hands slapping your ass. “Oh really, you do?”

“I’m fucking obsessed with it, baby.” Tommy’s lips latched onto yours, you placed your hands on each side of his face, and you started grinding your hips against the shaft of his cock again. “Oh, fuck, baby,” Tommy’s southern drawl was moaned against your mouth, “You’re gettin’ me all hot and bothered, making me feel things I never thought I would ever feel.”

“Huh, really?” You asked cocky.

“Mhm.” Tommy smooched against your lips.

“How about I give you another one,” You say as you adjust the tip of Tommy’s cock to press up against your hole. Sliding yourself down onto his cock, the both of you groan into pleasure as you place your hand back onto his chest. You started to breathe heavily as you tried to readjust to Tommy’s length. “Hey, hey, you got this. Deep breaths,” He reassured.

When you met the base of his cock, a howl escaped Tommy’s lips. “Would ya’ look at that? Fits just like a glove, huh?” His hands spank your ass again. “What was that you said about feelin’ another feeling?” You watched as Tommy bore his teeth and started to fuck you senselessly. Wrapping his hand tight on your waist. You ball your hands into fists on Tommy’s pecs – your knuckles begin to get sweaty. “You like this, don’t ya, baby?”

“Fuck, yeah,” You nodded.

“You want my cum to swim inside you – gettin’ you pregnant?”

“Fuck, Tommy, I need you now.”

His hands went up the small of your back – your face leaning feet away from his. “Imma give you what you, baby. Don’t you worry,” Tommy reassured.

That feeling of being stretched out came back as you rested your forehead on Tommy’s. His hands are on your upper back, holding you in position; each push of his length made your moans push out of you more. It was like your body was in heat — Tommy’s warmth.

He was so different from the respectable man you met; he had become someone different because of you, and you loved every minute. “I’m so close to cummin’ inside you, baby. Fuck, you feel my cock throbbin’ inside you?”

If you were lying, the feeling of each throb that was coming from Tommy’s cock, caused you to feel like you were about to cum. “Tommy, I’m so close. Keep going,” You begged.

“Fuck,” Tommy growled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.” His pace was going faster, and it felt the tip of your cock felt like it was going to explode with your cum. “Fuck, Tommy. I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck, bunny. Me too.’

“Here it comes,” Tommy gritted his teeth.

With one final push, you see your cum shoot out onto Tommy’s chest, and you also feel Tommy’s cum swim inside you – you see the man slightly shudder as strings of cum shoot inside you. Light breaths are escaping both of you as you lightly pat Tommy’s chest. You slowly start to slide off his cock; you feel his warm cum slide out from your hole. A sigh of relief exits your mouth, and you rest your body next to Tommy’s – your head on his shoulder. The both of you breathing heavily as you were both exhausted, the adrenaline wearing off, his soft cock against his stomach as you see his chest dip and rise from the breaths he’s taking.

“On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate–” You start, but then you get cut off by Tommy.

“A fuckin’ twelve – shit, an a million.”

You chuckle against Tommy’s shoulder and place your hand on his chest, right over his heart – you feel it racing. “An a million?” You smile.

“A million,” Tommy repeated, looking at you and placing his hand over yours. Both of you smile as you look into each other’s eyes; you slightly shake your head and lick your lips, which Tommy notices. “What?’

“My sister is so fucking stupid; the fact that she couldn’t treat you right means she’s fuckin’ brain dead.” Tommy couldn’t help but chuckle as he heard what you said about your sister. “I”m serious, your caring, sweet, protective, and you know how to fuck, like a beast.”

“Oh, I know how to fuck, huh?”

“What would you call what we just did? Dancing?” You joke. Tommy always did love your nonchalant attitude. “That was makin’ love, baby. Pure and sweet love makin’ with the guy I love most.” Tommy smiled and planted his lips on your forehead, backing up and looking into your eyes again.

“Now, I don’t want to be a party pooper–”

“Then don’t, baby,” Tommy moved the arm you were resting on and held you tighter in a cuddle. “Let’s just enjoy our moment together.”

“You need to get the rest of your things out of my sister’s room, and I need to shower; quite frankly, we need a shower.”

“Why is that, bunny?”

You adjust to rest your head on his chest, his arm still holding you. “So I can tell my mom, dad, and sister that I’ll be at a friend’s house when, in reality, I’m at your place,” you smile.

Tommy’s face went into a frown as he was thinking. “Well, in that case, I’ll meet you in the shower?”

“I will try to meet you in the shower; my legs are killing me.”

“Okay,” Tommy quickly let you go and got out of your bed faster than he would if he were in lava. You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw him leave your bedroom and move towards the bathroom. You smiled and exhaled when you realized you finally got what you wanted.

[myfairkatiecat]

The Katielife Soap Opera™️

Here's the drama that's going on, all in the past 24 hours! I kid you not. 24. I almost said 48 but then did the math and realized it really was 24. This day will never end

Part 1: The Roommate Saga

Making this one short bc I've told you all about it, but long story short: my roommate in the first semester was seeing this ugly ass guy and she was on and off with him in this awful situationship. He ended up giving her mono (which he knew he had) and she still went back to him. Eventually she ended them for good--until she was drunk at a party last weekend! Okay but seriously they're done for good now.

Don't believe her? Yeah, neither did I. You can read all about it in my past roommate saga posts, which have been made. But now there's ANOTHER guy! I found out bc last night he slid a note under our door telling her to send him a cute pic! She spilled the tea and it turns out he's a player but he's cute so she's going for it anyway! Technically he's Christian, so she's like, "he doesn't break The Rule!" But... he's... he's a fuckboy... I am floored by her poor decision making.

Part 2: The Mr. Friendtoallwomen Saga

Mr. Friendtoallwomen has been making friends with a lot of women at this college. He's a genuinely nice guy and even made friends with me and my best friend. But here's the thing... he always has a crush on a new one of those women. He's always asking girls out. He hangs out with all these girls one on one. He's just desperate.

Desperate, but genuinely nice, so my friend doesn't want to STOP being friends with him.

Then it became increasingly obvious that he liked her.

And she began to catch feelings for him, but we all warned her it was a bad idea and she agreed. She eventually, after an agonizing week, managed to lose feelings for him.

He was being super touchy feely with her the other night, but then abruptly switched on the same night to being touchy with another of our friends. Afterwards, he told my best friend that he liked the other friend. (The other friend already had been asked out by him and rejected him.) My best friend cried about it before remembering that she didn't like him or want to date him.

Mr. Friendtoallwomen got stood up by the other girl, and is now back to liking my best friend. But my best friend has bigger problems now...

Part 3: The Urgent Care Saga

For you see, then my best friend got very very sick. Incredibly sick. Her roomate and I were incredibly worried about her (even her roomate, who is an overall terrible person and always mean to her, which is how you KNOW something is wrong). (Oh I should do a tea spill session on why we hate her roommate on another date.) So I went to get my car to take her to urgent care but found out my key was broken. Awesomesauce.

I have an old car with a manual key insert though, so it was ok and I was able to get my car working.

I take her to urgent care. We sit in the waiting room for 40 minutes while she's about to puke, trash talking the people working there in Spanish because they weren't doing their jobs? Like they just sat there gossipping while they had her id and insurance card.

She eventually gets in, sees a male doctor, the male doctor figures out she's on her period and dismisses her entire illness as symptoms of Being A Woman. When she pointed out that she had a fever, he considered that it could be an STD. She said no, it's not that, I'm not sexually active. He considers pregnancy. She again is like did you not just hear me. By the way, if you're wondering what her symptoms were and why he was assuming THAT had to be the cause? WHO KNOWS?! major nausea, involuntary shaking, fever, hot cold flashes, inability to move, fuzzy vision, wheezing, coughing up green chunks, and being unable to think definitely seem like your average womanhood symptoms.

He gave her some nausea meds, referred her to a gyn (????????) and sent her home. (???????????????????)

Part 4: The First Breakup Saga

Today, I get a text from a friend from home who said he broke up with his boyfriend. This was major news. The two of them have been dating for two years. Even worse, all of their friends are the same people.

Now, I knew their relationship wasn't going to work out. The guy I was friends with first just has some quirks about him that meant he and this other guy, who I also liked a lot and is a great person, were never going to be able to work out long term. It's complicated and I don't want to get into it, but I just knew.

I still felt awful for him, though. So when he needed someone to talk to, I was there for him and let him explain the story. Apparently the guy did it in a few text messages out of nowhere after a week of silence. A+ communication, folks. My friend said he's not even angry, he's just sad and still loves him. I jokingly told him to put on SOUR.

Basically, my friend was broken up with (for the exact reason I figured would happen) and I texted my family (who was close with these friends and who also were worried their relationship wouldn't work out) and told them it happened. I needed somewhere I could say "I'm glad they broke up sooner rather than later" without seeming insensitive, and that couldn't be my friend group. But I really did feel for my friends.

While I'm on this call, I get a text from my brother saying he wants advice on how to break up with his girlfriend.

Part 5: The Second Breakup Saga

I leave the call with my friend to talk to my brother. He's fifteen, he's in a great, healthy relationship with a girl he was close friends with, and I'm like, HELLO??? They were a fantastic relationship. They were good friends, grew closer and closer until they were obviously going to date, and then they started dating and everything was great.

And then my brother texts and basically says the same thing my friend's boyfriend said about their relationship. I was like, this cannot be happening.

I grilled my brother for reasons, making him articulate his feelings (he's a 15 year old boy. he's scared of emotions. I get it.) He basically says the vibes feel weird and he wants the friendship back. My heart is breaking for his girlfriend because they're so cute and sweet and she loves him so much, but I agree he shouldn't string her along, no matter how sad it is. So I tell him to not do it over text, and he agrees.

He wants to do it in person, but it isn't going to be an option, so we resolved he would do it over facetime and I coached him slightly on how to talk to her about it gently. I mention the breakup between my friend and his boyfriend.

My brother goes oh yeah, about that....

Part 6: The Accidentally Starting a Rumor Saga

Turns out, remember how I texted my family? Here I'll copy and paste that part: I texted my family (who was close with these friends and who also were worried their relationship wouldn't work out) and told them it happened. I needed somewhere I could say "I'm glad they broke up sooner rather than later" without seeming insensitive, and that couldn't be my friend group. Yeah so remember how that happened?

Turned out, my brother opened that message sequence while a mutual friend of us and the boyfriends who broke up was looking over his shoulder. That friend took the phone and read over the whole dang exchange, seeing me say that I was secretly glad it happened. It looked really really really bad.

He went into basically shock, because no one thought this couple was gonna break up (EXCEPT ME!!! BECAUSE I KNEW MY FRIEND REALLY REALLY WELL!!!!!) and he was really attatched to them both. He found out simultaneously that the two of them were officially over AND that I never believed in them in the first place! And now he's probably going to spread that around! Which is great!

I texted my friend to let him know that this happened and told him I was so sorry. Well... I told him about the "this guy found out by looking at my brother's texts" thing. I didn't tell him the whole "I never thought this relationship was going to work" thing, and I am PRAYING that doesn't get spread around. But this guy is in high school, and high schools are breeding grounds for atrocious rumors.

THIS WAS ALL IN 24 HOURS

THIS DAY WILL NEVER END

[sunny374940]

WIP... Thursday :D

@spinfins, @lavender-tea-fling, @mercars-musings, @starfleetteddybear, @redheadsramblings, @sorrowsfallallaround

Hi guys, sorry to summon you onto a post that's not fanfic, but I would really value your opinion. I have been GRIPPED by the beginnings of writing an original story and am wondering whether there's any merit in pursuing the thing further. So I'd be grateful for your thoughts, but no hard feelings if you don't want to look at this <3 (also consider yourself tagged if you wanna share any of your wips)

The story is shaping up to be a modern fantasy romance / adventure / something and it's v. gay. It's about a half-elf researcher who is assigned a bodyguard (he doesn't want a bodyguard and definitely doesn't need one, thankyouverymuch) and there will be much pining and peril and feelings from the look of it.

So if anyone wants to look at the thing, it's down here (this is the first page and a little, working title is Damn Sky Whales).

The doorbell rang, startling Fern out of his research. Was it the time already? Surely not, he'd been at this only for - he checked his phone - four hours now. Damn. It was the time.

He threw on whatever clothes he could manage to locate in the mess that was his bed, grateful to Past Fern for the great idea of taking a shower before settling down to more work, and ran to the front door. He opened it in a rush and found himself eye to chest with a stranger. The chest was quite wide, he couldn’t help noticing, bordered by well muscled arms. He took a step back to look the man in the face, which was some way up. Fern wasn’t that short, surely?

“You are not my driver.”

The man was giving him a curious look and Fern could feel his mismatched socks staring accusingly from his shoes. His hair was probably a terrible mess too.

“I’m your bodyguard, sir,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“I don't have a bodyguard.”

“Well, now you do. But I can drive, if that helps.” 

Fern could tell from the amused glint in his eyes that he definitely noticed his ogling, as well as his socks. And he was human. Of course. No self-respecting elf would take the job of safeguarding a half-breed like him. 

“I am certain I don’t need a bodyguard.”

He was being a bit childish, arguing like that, but the way he couldn’t dissuade him was getting annoying. 

“Your mom made the arrangements on your behalf.”

Ah. His dear elven mother. She did enjoy taking over his life. But for all her faults, her support put him through university, when it wasn’t easy for a half-elf to even be admitted to study. Though his academic success was entirely his own, she wouldn’t take the credit there.

It seemed that there was no point in arguing with the bodyguard. His bodyguard. Why would he need one, anyway? Yet another of mother’s idle fancies, most likely. He wouldn’t be able to protect him if anything went wrong today, but she probably felt better for doing this.

“Ugh. Alright. What’s your name?”

“Gareth, sir. So, where we going?”

“We will be inspecting a dragon's lair today. Their numbers have been dwindling over the past few years and I will get to the bottom of this. They are thaumivores and the background magic-”

The bodyguard was watching him with a stony expression.

“You don’t care about the dragons, do you?” he sighed. Why did he even bother?

“Sorry, never given much thought to the sky whales, sir.”

That damn comparison! Just because they floated calmly through the skies and allowed the magic to pass through them, everyone considered them to be useless annoyances that meddled with air traffic. He was being unfair to actual whales right now, but that was besides the point. He could feel the beginnings of a rant coming on.

“They are much more complex than that! They are not mere krill-feeders, the thaumic ecosystem itself is dependent on their presence. They harmonize the magical frequencies, do you know how many wild magic storms there would be without them?”

The corners of the bodyguard's mouth were quirked up just the slightest bit. He was trying to get a rise out of him! Fern deflated. He hadn’t really slept last night, he’d been too caught up in poring over maps of thaumic interference to notice that it was getting late and only nodded off for a few hours amongst the papers spread out on his bed.

“Let’s just go, it’s a long drive.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Could you dispense with the ‘sirs’? I’ve had enough for the whole week already. I’m Fern.”

He didn’t argue, to Fern’s surprise.

“Alright. And why do you need a driver? Your hands too soft for the steering wheel?”

“I don’t like to drive, simple as that. So this is the one thing my mother’s wealth allows me that I take advantage of.”

He didn’t have to tell him that his mother actually insisted on him having a driver after the last time he made a brilliant breakthrough in his research while driving to work and nearly killed himself by slamming the car into a lamp post when he got lost in thought.

[ihni]

Billy Hargrove's 20th birthday

(Also on AO3)

Billy is having the worst day.

Actually, no. He’s had many days that were worse (most of them including his dad on a rampage), but he’s currently standing on the side of the road with his thumb out, trying to catch a ride back to Hawkins, in the end of March, in the rain, so excuse him for being a little dramatic.

Also it’s his birthday, so. Every inconvenience gets automatically amplified, for some reason.

But fine, it’s not the worst day he’s ever had, but it sure as hell isn’t good, either.

Billy’s turning twenty today, and he’s still stuck in Hawkins. Working two jobs to get by while trying to save up for the move back to California – because it will happen, it was just maybe a bit naïve of him to think that he’d be able to go right after graduation. But he’s out from under his dad’s roof, at least – moved out first thing after getting his diploma – and even if the small space he’s renting over Mrs. Richardson’s garage is seventy degrees of crappy, it’s his and his dad can’t touch him anymore, which makes it the best home Billy has ever had.

But best home or not, it gets terribly depressing to look at the same four walls all the time, at least when he’s not working or sleeping. (It’s not like he has much of a social life anymore, what with him working all the time and having been somewhat of an asshole back in school and also being entirely uninterested in maintaining his ladies’ man reputation now when he’s free of his dad’s fury.) So a couple of months ago, Billy decided that for his 20th birthday, he’d drive up to Indianapolis and have the best night of his life. He had done his research and found two venues that had bands playing that night that he wouldn’t mind listening to, so he would drive to the city, go to a concert, eat some good goddamn food and drink some good goddamn alcohol and maybe get goddamned laid, and he would treat himself to a night at a motel or cheap hotel and he’d have goddamn milkshake for breakfast because he was an adult and no one could stop him from doing that if he wanted to, and he would have the night of his goddamned life.

(It would also get him out of his tiny little apartment, because if he wasn’t home, then it wouldn’t be so noticeable that no one came to see him on his birthday. Perhaps no one would knock on his door to wish him a happy birthday, or perhaps someone would, but he wouldn’t know or care because he wouldn’t be home. Schrödinger’s birthday wishes.)

He’d been saving up for his little outing for almost four months, and looked forward to it for even longer.

He hadn’t even made it halfway. Thirty miles into his trip, the Camaro’s engine spluttered and started smoking, and that was that. After hitching a ride to the nearest house, a phone call to a nearby garage, and two hours of waiting by his broken-down Camaro for a tow, he finally got his baby to an open garage. There, a big guy with an even bigger belly rooted around in her engine for a while and declared her unfit for the road. Getting her working again would cost Billy everything he’d managed to save for this trip and more, and would take at least a week.

Hence why Billy was currently standing on the side of the road with his thumb out, trying to catch a ride back to Hawkins, in the end of March, in the rain.

On his goddamned birthday.

At this point, Billy has gone through the first four stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining (the mechanic just raised an unimpressed eyebrow when he tried to haggle) and depression – and had now landed in acceptance. The day was a bust. His plans had fell through. He’d wanted a good thing, and instead as usual, he’d ended up worse than when he started. With the rain beating down on him and the cars splashing him when they passed, he was soaked through. Soaked through and cold and hungry and poor and one hundred percent over this whole day. He just wanted to get home to his crappy four walls and crawl into his lumpy bed and forget this whole failure of a pipe dream, because God forbid Billy Hargrove gets to have a good day!

Yes, he might still be a little dramatic. Sue him. (Actually don’t, he doesn’t have any money left.)

But it’s been a long day. He started early to get a head start on what he was hoping would be a night to remember, but most of the day has passed and it’s getting dark. Soon, no one will be able to see him here at the side of the road, and with the rain the risk of being hit by a car is just too big. He briefly considers knocking on the door of the first house he sees and ask to stay the night, but immediately discards the idea. No one would open the door for him anyway, the way he looks.

He has just resigned himself to the thought of walking all the way back to Hawkins – it’ll take all night and he’ll probably die of pneumonia in the near future, but at least he’ll be able to crash into bed at the end of it – when a pair of approaching headlights flash at him and he hears a car switching gears to slow down. He also hears music – good music – that is abruptly shut off when the car rolls to a stop next to him.

Three things dawn on him, one after the other:

The car is a van.

The van is not just any van, but the one belonging to local drug dealer Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson is indeed the driver, turning on the little overhead light and motioning at Billy to get in.

It’s not like Billy dislikes Munson. He never bullied him when they went to school together, unlike so many others, because Billy knows the value of good weed and when he first showed up in Hawkins he correctly deduced that Munson would not sell the good weed to his bullies. He knows that Munson at least has a good taste in music, if a flair for the dramatics.

That doesn’t mean that Billy likes Munson. The guy was at the bottom of the totem pole back in school, and hanging out with him then would have been social suicide. Because Billy cared about those things back then.

Now? Now he just wants to get home. Fuck today.

“Need a ride, handsome?”

And it’s a jab somehow, Billy knows it. And if he wasn’t soaked to the bone and shivering, he would have answered something like ‘fuck you’ or ‘didn’t know you swing that way’ or even a sarcastic ‘no, I’m standing out here in the rain because my shower is broken, what’s it to you?’. But he’s weary and doesn’t have the energy for whatever would follow, so he just gives a tired nod.

A wrinkle appears between Munson’s eyebrows, like maybe Billy’s lack of answer is the worrying part.

“Well get in. You look like a drenched rat.”

Another thing that Billy on any other given day would have snapped out a reply to. Today, he just takes it. It’s probably true, anyway.

Climbing into the passenger seat of the van, he waits for Munson to comment on his drenched and haggard appearance or warn him to not get the seat wet (an impossibility, at this point), but instead the worried wrinkle on Munson’s forehead deepens.

“You okay, Hargrove?”

And what does Billy say to that? It’s not so bad, in comparison. Hell, it’s not even the worst birthday he’s ever had (birthdays in the Hargrove household were never a hit when Neil was home). He’s not nursing a cracked rib or a split lip or two broken fingers, his face is not bruised or tear-stained, and he doesn’t have to go to bed without dinner (although, the leftover takeout in his fridge was bordering on inedibility yesterday, and the only other thing he’s got in there are eggs and barbeque sauce, so what that dinner will be is anyone’s guess. He’s got bread. He can make an egg and barbeque sandwich). So in that sense,

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Peachy.”

“Right,” Munson says doubtfully and doesn’t drive. Doesn’t drive for a long time, until Billy tips his head to the side to look at him. Then he blurts out, “You’re not gonna die in my passenger seat, right? Because half the town already thinks I’m, like, killing babies in my free time.”

There’s so many things Billy could say to that. What slips out is, “I’m no baby.”

Munson’s eyes flick down to his broad chest where Billy’s wet jean jacket – which is way too cold for the end of March, what was he thinking? – covers his tight light grey Henley, and clears his throat. “Um,” he says. “Clearly.” And then he seems to shake it off and looks back up at Billy’s face, eyes wide. “I mean, you really don’t look too good, man. You sick or something? Or drunk? Here, let me turn up the heat –“

“I’m fine,” Billy says, just a hint of an edge to his voice, but he doesn’t say anything when Munson’s hand reaches out to turn up the heat. Instead he sinks back in the seat and closes his eyes as he gives a full-body shiver.

“Shit,” Munson says and still doesn’t drive away. Billy hears him turn in his seat and rummage around somewhere behind them. A few seconds later, something soft is tossed in Billy’s face. He opens his eyes and sees that a ratty towel has fallen into his lap, and when he looks up he sees Munson next to him, holding a soft-looking blanket. What?

“What?” Billy says, confused.

“Off with those wet clothes,” Munson demands, “you’ll catch your death.”

“What are you, a grandma?” Billy mutters, slowly regaining his ability to snark as the warm air is being blasted in his face. He puts the towel over his face and wipes it off, and then starts drying his hair with it. It’s not like he’s gonna make it look worse. “Why do you even have this?”

“We use them to pack up our instruments when we go to gigs,” Munson explains, motioning to the back of the van. Billy doesn’t turn around, too busy drying off. “We were in Indy last night, for a gig. I have the instruments in the back. The others drove back this morning.” A pause, then, “Um, I’m in a band.”

Billy knows that. He’s even seen them play once or twice, although he didn’t make himself known. They’re not half bad, actually, not that Billy plans to say it out loud. Instead he makes a noncommittal hum and reaches out for the blanket, glaring when Munson pulls it out of his reach.

“Hey, no,” Munson says, “Off with those wet clothes first.”

“First you’re picking me up from the side of the road and now you want me to strip,” Billy murmurs, but does what he’s told. Even if he’s still sitting in his wet jeans – and soaked-through denim is not fun – it’s a relief to at last get out of his wet jacket and shirt. He discards them in the footwell and puts the blanket – that Munson wordlessly hands him – around his shoulders, pulling it closed in the front. It’s a bit itchy and smells like mold and it probably makes him look like a homeless person, but at least it’s warm. He shivers again and looks pointedly between Munson (who is busy staring) and the windshield and the road ahead.

“Oh, right!” Munson says, snapping to life again. He turns off the overhead light and finally pulls off the side of the road, back into traffic.

Billy has had his license since he was sixteen, and he’s been driving for even longer than that, and before that he simply walked or skated or caught a ride with friends when he wanted to go somewhere. But he has vague childhood memories of riding in the backseat, his parents in the front, at night, during the rain. Of leaning his forehead against the cold glass, feeling the car’s vibrations around him, and looking out in the dark – the only light coming from houses they passed and the other cars’ headlights and their reflections on the wet asphalt. It’s calming, and strangely familiar, and he can feel his eyes flutter shut.

Of course, it doesn’t last.

“So, um,” comes Munson’s voice from beside him, breaking the relative silence. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“Car broke down,” Billy says, keeping it short. Not having the energy to go into his plans for the day and the way they fell through.

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

A beat, then, “Were you coming down from Indy too, or …?” Seems like Munson doesn’t like the silence. Billy doesn’t get why he doesn’t just put the music back on. Can’t he see that Billy isn’t exactly in a chatty mood?

“Nope. I was heading there but …”

“But your car broke down?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

And Billy thinks that’s gonna be the end of it. He leans his head on the window and closes his eyes. Listens to the rattling rumble of the engine (Billy’s no mechanic, but he thinks that the van may be heading in the direction of the Camaro, too), and tries not to think.

It doesn’t work. Munson is quiet for maybe a minute before he starts, “So what were you gonna do in Ind–?”

And Billy snaps.

“Listen, man, I’ve had a really bad day. I get that you’re just trying to make conversation but I’m cold and wet and I’m not getting to Indianapolis tonight, so I’ll miss the concert and my car is broken down in a garage thirty miles from home and she’ll be there for a week, and I’m pretty sure they ripped me off when they said how much it’s gonna cost to fix her up.” He takes a breath, trying to keep calm. “I’m grateful to you for driving me back, but like, I’m not exactly the best of company right now.”

To his credit, Munson just nods, eyes wide and ringed fingers gripping the wheel harder. “Got it. Sorry.”

And that’s not … That’s not what Billy wanted. Munson has nothing to apologize for, Billy’s just in a shitty mood. But before he can figure out a way to voice this, Munson has reached out and turned the music back on, quickly turning the volume down to something more resembling background noise.

Billy relaxes back in the seat and pulls the blanket closer around him. Looks out through the windshield, watching the wipers push off the rain and more water cover the glass between every swipe, looking out at the road ahead and the red lights of the nearest car, still far in front of them.

Without really knowing why, he says,

“I’m turning twenty today.”

He doesn’t say it very loudly and he regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Half-hopes that Munson wouldn’t have heard him. But of course he did.

“Really?” comes Munson’s voice, a hint of excitement. “Happy bir–“

“Don’t,” Billy says, and it comes too fast and sounds too hard. It’s not Munson’s fault. He drags a hand down his face and says, “Please” (to soften the blow), “don’t.” He swallows. Closes his eyes against the way they are burning, suddenly. “Just drive me home.”

No more words comes from Munson, and they drive on into the night.

~~~

Billy flinches awake a little while later, not even realizing that he’d fallen asleep. He rubs at his eyes and that’s when he realizes that he’s only wearing an itchy blanket on his upper body, which is when he remembers where he is and why.

He groans.

“We’re not back yet,” Munson says, voice subdued, and that’s when Billy realizes that they’ve stopped and that the music has been switched off. “I just gotta fill her up, and maybe get a few things. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Billy’s face burns; that makes it sounds as if he’s a toddler who needs his sleep (never mind that his plans when he got home had been to just faceplant into his bed and preferably sleep for a week). To show that he will do no such thing, he sits up straighter and looks around.

They’ve stopped at a gas station. It’s brightly lit up in the dark of the night, artificial lights making Billy’s headache worsen when he squints out through the window. He knows he should go out there and offer to pay for at least some of the gas – that’s what a decent person would do – but Billy’s shirtless under the blanket. His jeans and shoes are damp and uncomfortable; he doesn’t really want to move right now. Besides, he’ll need every cent he has to pay the mechanic so he can get his baby back.

Still, he feels bad. And then he gets angry for feeling bad, because he has so much other shit to feel bad about right now and the last thing he needs is a guilt trip. Even if he’s guilt-tripping himself.

He groans again, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the dashboard to hide from the gas station lights and listening to Munson fiddling with the pump outside the car.

It’s a couple of minutes before the door to the driver’s side opens, and Munson climbs in. The door closes behind him, but Billy doesn’t look up, even as he hears Munson rip open something that crinkles. He waits for the sound of chewing, or for the car to start, but there’s nothing. Nothing for a long time.

Eventually, he turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. And there, right in front of his face is …

A muffin.

He sits up. Blinks.

In Munson’s lap is a four-pack of cheap chocolate chip muffins that he obviously just bought inside the gas station. The packaging has been torn open, and he’s holding one of them out to Billy.

“Happy birthday, man,” he says.

The muffin has a candle in it.

Or no, not a candle. It’s a blunt.

Billy barks out a laugh, and Eddie – whose face has been carefully open and neutral until now – visibly tries tampering down on a smile. He gives the muffin a little shake and raises his eyebrows until Billy’s hand sneaks out from under the blanket and takes it.

“Cute,” he says, voice low, as he gently picks out the blunt. He doesn’t have a pocket that isn’t wet, so he puts it down in his lap, on top of the blanket.

Munson starts the car without acknowledging the gift, but he grabs his own muffin as he starts the car and drives back out on the road, biting off the top of it while he drives one-handed.

The music turned back on when the car did, so they’re back to driving through the darkness to the sound of heavy metal. Billy picks at his muffin, and looks down to the little gift in his lap. The white of the rolled-up paper is visible against the dark brown of the blanket, even in the low light of the night. He thinks about the events of the day, and the plans that fell through, and about his car. He thinks about his place in Hawkins, and how no one has probably knocked on his door today even though they know where he lives. He thinks about his previous birthday, and how much they sucked.

Perhaps he should have known better than having such high expectations for today. Just because it’s his first birthday on his own doesn’t mean that everything will suddenly be perfect. It’s him, after all. He should have known to scale it down a bit.

A gas station cupcake, a blunt, and a friendly face. A warm car, a blanket and ‘happy birthday’.

A friend.

Billy’s eyes burn again, and he blinks and blinks and is grateful that the overhead lamp is off while they continue to drive without speaking. As they get back to Hawkins and Billy sees the hated ‘Welcome to Hawkins’s sign lit up by the van’s headlights, he clears his throat.

“Thank you.”