#this started out as a vent and turned into whatever this is

[chleem]

this is an kinda-part2, part1 here; enemies, rafe x reader/yn

Summary: to claim his share of the cameron inheritance, rafe must marry. somehow, you happen to be the person he thought of. not ideal, but at least it works- or does it?

Genre: fake marriage trope, enemies, angst

⋆.˚ explicit languages and scenes

♡⸝⸝ more rafe | elevator

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Stay in my sight- alright?” 

Rafe warns, pulling his car into the driveway crowded with luxury vehicles. The music and flashing lights pour out from the house of some Kook on Figure Eight, the classic kind of party where rich kids pour their hearts out on getting wasted.

You already spot a few kids in bathing suits, lounging lazily on the lawn, more spilling out from inside.

“Yes, Rafey,” you say with the kind of annoyed tone you always reserve just for him. You bat your eyelashes deliberately, knowing it drives him crazy.

Rafe shakes his head slowly, clearly unimpressed, before turning off the engine and stepping out.

You watch him stride confidently toward the party- until he stops after five steps and realizes you’re still sitting there.

His back stiffens as he sighs.

When he turns back around, you flash him that smile- the one where he knows, that you want him to do whatever you want, like you own him.

After a beat, Rafe’s shoulders slump, as he walks back and opens your door.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly. You tap his chest lightly, face tilted up toward his, “was that so hard?”

“For you?” he mutters, shutting the door hard enough to make the whole car jolt, “yes.”

You don’t flinch. You just smile like you won something.

Without another word, you start toward the glowing house, heels clicking against the stone driveway. You can feel his stare burning into your back, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder.

As soon as you step inside, the music hits like a punch- loud, pulsing, messy. The air’s thick with heat, alcohol, and the unmistakable haze of someone smoking weed too close to the AC vent.

Bodies press in from every direction- dancing, shouting, stumbling.

It’s hard to move without brushing against someone. You push past a guy in a wet tank top and nearly step on a girl passed out half on the couch, half on someone’s lap.

A warm hand settles on the small of your back.

You turn your face, and there he is, Rafe, standing too close for comfort, eyes already scanning the room.

“Hey,” you say, “you’re crushing me.”

He isn’t. Not even close. But you say it anyway, just to get under his skin.

The corner of Rafe’s lips lift up, and he leans in, breath brushing your ear, “c’mon, Top’s over there.”

You follow his gaze.

Topper’s sprawled on the couch, shirtless, with a red solo cup dangling from his fingers. Kelce sits next to him, mid-laugh about something that probably isn’t funny, and some other Kooks that orbit them hoping to join the friend group. A few girls in bikinis crowd the armrests like decoration. One of them is drawing on Top’s arm with a sharpie.

You wrinkle your nose at the sight, “lovely.”

Rafe’s hand slips from your lower back and laces through your fingers instead. You don’t fight it; instead, holding on tight- just like he warned you to.

As you approach, Topper notices. “Look who finally showed,” he calls, raising his cup. “Mr. and Mrs. Country Club.”

You’re surprised he’s even able to stay awake from all that coke he’s had. 

Kelce throws his head back in laughter, even though nothing about that statement is funny, “thought you two were skipping out for something more... private.”

“Wouldn’t you like that,” Rafe replies smoothly, tugging you closer. His voice is calm, easy- but you can feel the tension humming through his grip.

You plaster on a smile. 

If you thought Rafe was insufferable with his rich kid attitude, his friends were somehow worse- louder, messier, and too high on their own last names to notice how ridiculous they all looked. The worst part? They thought they were charming.

One of the Kooks peels themselves off the couch, making room, for Rafe, of course. He doesn’t even have to say anything; just his presence is enough to clear a space. That’s the thing about Rafe Cameron: he commands the room without doing much at all.

He tugs you toward the now-vacant seat.

Except it’s not your seat.

It’s his.

And he doesn’t move to make another one.

“Sit,” Rafe says under his breath, low enough only you can hear.

You pause, just for a second, giving him a look that says seriously? But he just raises a brow like what did you expect?

So, you play along. Well, not like you have a choice. 

You settle onto his lap, slow at first, placing your hands just so on his shoulders. Then, he groans in your ear; one that almost says: you’re heavy, and inconveniencing him.

Your tongue presses against the inside of your cheek, slightly pissed at his minor reaction. So, you shift deliberately, sliding deeper into his lap until you’re fully nestled against him, your full weight pressed down. Every angle of it intentional.

“Comfortable?” you murmur sweetly, just for him.

His arm wraps around your waist, casual to everyone else, but you can feel the firm grip beneath it, the control, “very.”

“Yo, Rafe!” Topper suddenly shouts over the music. “Got some of the good shit tonight!”

You don’t have time to react before a small bag of white powder arcs through the air, landing with a soft thud on the glass table in front of you. Your fingers tighten around Rafe’s shoulders almost instinctively.

“Nah,” Rafe says coolly, not even glancing at the bag. “I’m good.”

Topper grins, already keyed up, nose probably half-numb. “What? The missus keeping you on a leash now?”

This time, it’s Rafe’s hands that tighten even more on your waist- 

“Get me a drink, huh, baby?” 

…but you just sat down.

You turn your head toward him slowly, eyes meeting his. There’s something so frustratingly performative about the look he gives you, wide-eyed and sweet. And you? You're supposed to go fetch him a drink while he leans back and basks in the laughter of his idiot friends.

So you do.

You force the corners of your lips up, molding them into something resembling warmth. There’s no choice, really. Not with the way he’s holding you. Not with the eyes already watching.

You begin to rise from his lap, slow and smooth, your hands brushing briefly against his chest as you go, 

Then you feel it.

A sharp slap to your ass, loud enough to draw a few whistles, laughter. 

Your body stiffens instantly.

Your fingers twitch- to turn back around, and slap him right across the face, that smug expression he almost always wears. But you know better of that. 

You stand up straighter, eyes fixed ahead, forcing your breath even. Then you walk away, not even looking back.

Motherfucker. He’s gonna pay for this. 

You move through the wave of bodies like you’re underwater, dodging limbs and stumbling conversations, the bass of the music rattling through your chest. It takes effort not to shove people out of your way, but somehow, you make it to the kitchen- if you can even call it that. More like a tiled corner stuffed with empty bottles, sticky countertops, and a fridge someone gave up trying to close.

You reach for a red cup from the edge of the sink. It might already be used- probably is- but you don’t care. 

One by one, you start pouring. Vodka, tequila, something orange and suspicious. A splash of beer for no reason. You don’t even read labels. Just tiny portions of everything you can find, watching the liquid swirl into something poison-like. 

You’re halfway done when suddenly, fingertips graze lightly against your waist, just above your hip. 

Then a voice, low and close, “didn’t peg you for the mixologist type.”

You turn your head slowly, eyes meeting his; you don’t recognize him. 

But he must be just another Kook with the same smug, glassy-eyed charm, otherwise, what would he be doing here?

Designer shirt open halfway down his chest, shorts hanging low, drink in one hand, the other still resting too comfortably against your body.

You don’t move yet; close enough to smell his scent- like cheap weed and entitlement.

He grins, clearly taking your silence as encouragement, “what’s in it?”

You glance down at the nightmare cocktail in your hand. “Hatred,” you reply, a soft smile on your lips.

Shit, you just realized as you glanced down at your finger; that you’ve forgotten your ring at home. No wonder he’s touching you.

He laughs like you’re flirting. 

His hand drifts slightly lower, and that’s when you shift- turning sharply so his hand slips off your hip. 

Now, you lift the cup in his direction as a division, “want some?”

He hesitates, “No, I’m- I’m good.”

“You’re missing out,” you joke, but it comes out dry. 

You start walking toward the fridge, that isn’t even closed all the way, cracked open just enough that the cold leaks out in a faint breath. You crouch slightly, balancing the cursed cocktail in one hand as you reach in and grab a bottle of Coke.

You turn around to check the cluttered counter for a bottle opener, eyes scanning the mess.

Then, of course- “Here,” he says, and suddenly he’s beside you again, already reaching past to snag an opener from the far end of the counter.

He takes the bottle from you, your fingers touching, before cracking the bottle open with a clean pop.

He offers it to you, and you take it without saying thanks.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in as the bass rattles the cabinets. “What’s your name?”

You shout it back, short and clipped, “y/n.”

Then, just as you lift the Coke to your mouth, you add- “Cameron.”

You don’t like people who throw around last names like they mean something- but tonight, in this crowd, you want him to get it. You want him to back off. You want him to realize whose lap you were just sitting in ten minutes ago and rethink this entire conversation.

But he just smiles wider, oblivious. “Oh. I’m Roy.”

“I just moved here,” he adds, looking around like he’s proud of it. “Actually, this is my party.”

Oh.

“Right,” you say, taking another sip, “nice place.”

“Thanks.”

And then- his hand is on your hip again.

You step away instantly.

You let out a breathless, dry laugh,“you’re… you’re very touchy,” you say, trying not to show the edge in your voice. But it’s there, in the way your brow lifts, in the distance that settles back onto your face.

“Sorry,” he says with a small chuckle, “I’m a bit drunk.”

“Well, stop touching me, okay?” you shout directly into his face.

He laughs it off, due to the loud party and how drunk he is. 

“C’mon,” he slurs, “It’s just a little touchy touch…”

And then- his hand slips lower.

Just as your fingers twitch with the instinct to shove him off- 

Rafe appears.

Rafe shoves him, just so that the guy stumbles back hard, nearly crashing into the countertop, drink sloshing all over his shoes. 

Great. He always has to make a scene, doesn’t he?

The music keeps playing, but it all feels distant now, like the center of the room just shifted around you two.

“Hey- hands off my wife,” Rafe yells, furious in the kind of way that turns heads even in a room this loud.

He steps forward again, and you just know that temper.

You know that you need to stop him, otherwise, well, this drama queen is gonna ruin the party. 

“Rafe-” you say quickly, dropping your drink onto the counter, liquid sloshing over the rim. Your hand flies to his shoulder, fingers curling around the muscle beneath his shirt. 

You lean in, your voice lower now, meant just for him. “Hey. I’m fine. I’m fine,” you say, firm but soft, keeping your palm pressed to his shoulder like an anchor. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t answer.

Roy’s pushing himself upright, brushing off his shirt like he’s ready to fight back. 

Your hand grips tighter, tugging Rafe just slightly back, and this time your voice drops into something more pointed.

“Rafe,” you hiss, “everyone’s watching. Stop it.”

It’s not exactly true. A few heads are turned, sure. But most of the room is too drunk, too high, too wrapped up in their own mess to notice anything outside their bubble. Still, the words work like a spell.

Because finally- finally- he looks at you.

Those ice-blue eyes, still blazing with anger, land on your face. Squinting, furrowed, unreadable for a second… and then, like something uncoils in his chest, they soften; just for a moment.

You exhale slowly, your grip loosening just a bit.

But he turns back to Roy anyway, just once more.

“I better not catch you- ”

“Rafe.”

His jaw ticks, and he nods once, “stay away from her. Got it?”

And then, without hesitation, you reach down and gently undo the fist he still has clenched at his side, taking his hand in yours, folding your fingers around his.

Then, you pull him- away from the wreckage, away from the confrontation.

You don’t say a word as you lead him through the crowd, hand still wrapped around his. You lead him to the stairwell, tucked just behind the speakers, leading down to a dim landing.

It’s not private exactly, but fewer people. 

You stop at the bottom of the stairs and lean back against the wall. Rafe’s still tense beside you, chest rising too fast, jaw clenched. 

“Do you always go off like that?” you murmur, “over something so small?”

“You call that small?”

Before you can respond, two girls walk by, barely slowing as their eyes sweep over the two of you. One whispers something to the other behind a smirk. 

…And that’s all it takes for you to step in closer, closer into Rafe’s space. 

Your expression softens, less fury, more fondness. You angle your chin up like you’re sharing something intimate, not scolding him for nearly starting a fight.

“I had it under control,” you whisper.

Rafe laughs- short, bitter. “Under control? He was all over you- ”

“Rafe.”

“- disrespecting you. Did you even tell him who you- ”

“Rafe.”

Then, doing what you swore you wouldn’t do voluntarily- you touch him. 

Slowly, you reach up and cup his cheek, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. Your fingers smooth the tension in his brows, and you watch his whole face flicker-startled, confused.

Another hand presses to his chest, feather-light. 

You tilt your head, fluttering your lashes like the cute, loyal partner. 

And the way Rafe’s mouth drops open says it all- like he’s never seen something more disgusting than this version of you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low and horrified.

“I should be asking you that,” you murmur, before adding, “put your hand on me.”

“What?”

Your hand slides up the slope of his shoulder to give it a squeeze.

Yet, he obeys, palms sliding around your waist, resting just above your ass. 

You see the moment it registers on his face; that flicker of realization. That yes, people are watching. Even here, even now.

Just as Rafe starts to get too comfortable, his palm dips a little lower- 

“Don’t,” you say flatly. Still, you close the space between your bodies until your fronts are pressed together, seamless. 

And to your surprise, he listens.

You feel the tension bleed out of his shoulders. His expression softens, something slower working its way into the set of his mouth. Then comes the smirk- lazy, familiar. His blue eyes don’t leave yours as he tilts his head.

“…Where’s your ring?”

“Sold it.”

He doesn’t say anything.

So you sigh.

“Fine,” you admit, rolling your eyes. “Took a shower. Forgot to put it back on.”

“Never go anywhere without it, alright?”

“Yes, Rafey,” you reply in a higher-pitched voice, sing-song and mocking.

You even laugh a little under your breath.

But Rafe doesn’t find it funny.

One of his hands leaves your waist, sliding up with slow, terrifying precision until it finds the back of your neck. His palm is warm, and it wraps around the base of your neck. 

You tense instantly.

His gaze sharpens, that cool, stormy blue turning into something darker, something familiar.

You’ve seen this before. The pressure. The weight of him when he decides to remind you who he is, what you’ve signed up for.

“Y’know the stakes here,” he warns, “I told you before. Don’t- ”

“Don’t mess this up?” you cut in, even though your heart’s in your throat.

His eyes narrow further, and the corner of his lips twitch.

“Yes. So put that fucking ring on,” he says, “and don’t ever take it off again. Got it?”

You don’t respond.

His fingers press harder against your neck, thumb grazing the spot just under your jaw.

“Got it?”

You gasp softly, nodding fast. “Yeah. Got it.”

Only then does he release you, his fingers loosening as he pulls back, licking his lips.

You inhale deeply, steadying yourself. Although you hate Rafe with all your heart, with his cocky demeanor and entitled attitude, a part of you is still afraid of him. Of what he could do, and what he’s capable of. Of how uncontrollable he is. 

And tonight, the way he handled that guy, reminded you of that part of him. 

You exhale slowly, then push off of him, ignoring the way your shoulder grazes his chest as you move.

“C’mon,” you say, forcing lightness into your tone, “your friends are waiting for you.”

He tilts his head, smirking, “Our friends.”

Rafe knows you hate his friends. 

“No.”

“What’s mine, is yours.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, already turning away.

You push into the crowd of bodies, disappearing into the mess of music and lights. 

But you know. You know he’s following.

Because somehow, he always does.

-------------------------------

word count: 2.9k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: thought of this last night, got my brain working again so here you go! enjoy! also saw a lot of ppl asking for a part two, so maybe this is a part two? idk,

more rafe | elevator

[slvbum]

ᤢ ♥︎ 07⠀ ⸻ shades of cool / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: Bodyguard!Rafe (28) × Model!Reader (21), mentions of military, mentions of drugs, paparazzi being vultures, venting, past trauma.

The drive from the hospital to Y/N’s penthouse was the kind that pressed against Rafe’s chest like a lead weight. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, her small frame hunched, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She wore a hospital-issued sweatshirt and pants, her hair limp and tangled, her face pale and scrubbed clean of makeup, making her look more fragile than ever. Her eyes, usually so bright, stared blankly at the dashboard, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Rafe gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw tight as he navigated the streets. He wanted to say something, to fill the void, but every word felt wrong, heavy with the weight of last night; her limp body in his arms, her eyes white and unseeing, the blood on his fists from the men he’d left broken on the pavement.

The press was waiting outside her building, a swarm of vultures with cameras and microphones, shouting her name before the SUV even stopped.

“Y/N! What happened last night?”

“Are you okay?”

��Is it true you were attacked?”

Rafe’s blood boiled as he parked and rounded the car to her side. He opened her door and he positioned himself like a shield, one arm hovering protectively near her back, not touching but close enough to catch her if she stumbled. She stepped out, and forced a smile.

The cameras flashed, a relentless assault, and Rafe’s voice was a low growl as he barked, “Back off, now.”

His blue eyes blazed, daring anyone to step closer, and the crowd parted, cowed by the raw menace in his stance. He guided Y/N through, his body a wall between her and the chaos, until they were inside the building’s sleek lobby, the glass doors sealing the noise behind them.

The penthouse was too quiet...

Y/N sank onto the massive couch, her legs tucked beneath her, her hands clutching the hem of the sweatshirt like it could anchor her. She stared at the wall, her eyes unfocused, her face a mask of exhaustion and something deeper, shame, maybe, or fear. Rafe stood by the door, his boots rooted to the floor, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and helplessness. He wanted to pace, to punch something, but he stayed still, watching her, waiting.

He’d failed her once; he wouldn’t again.

“Hey,” he started, but she shook her head, a tiny movement, and he stopped.

She was somewhere else, lost in whatever storm was raging behind those wide, haunted eyes.

He busied himself instead, checking the locks, the windows, anything to keep his hands occupied, to keep from reaching for her.

But then she spoke, her voice small, cracking like thin ice. “Rafe.”

He turned, his heart lurching at the sound of his name on her lips. She was looking at him now, her eyes wide and glistening, tears pooling but not falling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I… I don’t know why I did it. I just… it was my birthday, you know? I turned 21, and I was so mad at you, after… after the gym, and I didn’t tell you because I just wanted to feel normal for one night.” A sob caught in her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “I went to that bar, and I thought… I thought I could handle it, just have a drink, dance, enjoy my day. But I was so stupid.”

Rafe’s facade—the hard, stoic mask he’d worn since his military days—crumbled. Her words hit like shrapnel, each one tearing through him. He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to a crouch in front of her, his hands hovering over hers but not touching.

“No,” he said, “stop. It’s not your fault.” His blue eyes locked onto hers, searching, pleading. “You hear me? None of this is on you.”

She shook her head, tears spilling now, streaking down her cheeks.

“I took a drink from him,” her voice barely audible, choked with shame. “This guy, he was… charming, said he was a fan, and I thought, ‘What’s one drink?’ I should’ve known better. I’ve been through this before and I still…” She broke off, her hands covering her face, her sobs muffled but gut-wrenching. “I’m so stupid, Rafe. I let my guard down, and they… they drugged me, and if you hadn’t come…”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He sat beside her, close but careful, his hands finally settling on her wrists, gently pulling them away from her face. Her skin was cold, her fingers trembling, and he held them, his calloused palms rough against her softness.

“Kid, look at me,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest. “You’re not stupid. You’re human. You wanted one night to breathe, and those bastards took advantage of that. That’s on them, not you.” His jaw tightened as he thought of the men he’d left bleeding, the ones who’d touched her, who’d tried to take her. “I should’ve been there,” he added, his voice dropping, thick with guilt. “I should’ve noticed you were gone. That’s on me.”

She shook her head, her eyes meeting his.

“You couldn’t have known,” she whispered. “I didn’t tell you. I pushed you away because… because I was embarrassed, after the gym, after I almost…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing, and he knew she was thinking of the near-kiss, the moment that had shifted everything between them. “I didn’t want to need you, but I do, Rafe. I’m so scared all the time…”

He squeezed her hands, his heart pounding, a fierce protectiveness surging through him.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he said, his voice low, unyielding, a vow carved in stone. “I’m not leaving you alone. You’re not dealing with this shit on your own. I’m here, and I’m gonna make sure no one touches you again.”

His words were a promise, a soldier’s oath, and he meant every syllable.

He saw her fear, her shame.

And hell, he’d burn the world down before he let anyone hurt her again.

She nodded, a single tear slipping free, and for the first time that morning, her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her hands still in his.

The weight of her trust settled over him, and he felt something shift inside again. He wanted to pull her close, to hold her until the fear left her eyes, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to contain that fire building inside him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun — written with love.

[fuzzyfoe]

I saw a post talking about how OCD can affect your sense of gender and how gender identity and transness can become an obsession that OCD latches onto and now I really wanna talk about it because I think this is something that affects me significantly.

I've pretty much been in the "questioning" phase in regards to my gender for nearly ten fucking years because of gender OCD, maybe even longer.

This post is gonna be mostly me talking about my own experiences and my own journey with gender expression and it's gonna be kind of vent-y, but I don't mind if other people wanna add on their experiences with gender OCD as well or turn this post into a discussion. Feel free to offer advice too if you wanna.

I'm gonna put this under a read-more since it ended up being quite long.

So here's the post that I saw that sparked me to make this post.

I first started having feelings of "I wanna be a boy" when I was around 11-12 years old.

I've heard that it makes sense for people to start feeling dysphoria around this age because this is the age in which people begin to enter puberty, but I've also heard things about how kids who feel this way initially may grow out of these feelings as they get older. There's a possibility that the latter that I've kept hearing could just be shit that was made up or blown out of proportion due to all the Abigail Shrier irreversible damage shit/ROGD narrative, but regardless it would seem kind of obvious with the fact that I'm now talking about this at the age of 25 that I did not "grow out of it".

Well, I didn't grow out of having OCD, at least. I feel like it's not possible for me to remember exactly the kind of person I was at that age, and I can't really load a mental snapshot of what my thoughts and feelings were during that time into my brain now as if it's a computer. Even now when I have feelings and emotions that I've felt as recent as an hour ago I have trouble remembering what the emotion felt like and I wonder if any feeling I've ever had has ever been "real".

I just remember reading about the concept of being transgender from the internet during that time, but being afraid of talking about it with my parents because I didn't know if it would make them feel sad if I told them that I didn't want to be a girl. I also kinda had the feeling that I was bisexual at the time, but I felt like I had to condition myself into only liking girls because liking girls is a "boy thing" that would make me a "real" trans boy and only cis men could be gay and still be undeniably men. And during the year that my parents told me we would be going to Disney World that summer, I felt like I had to somehow transition before that trip so that I could get to experience this trip that I might never get another chance to experience as a boy.

Something that happened during this time that I know for sure actually happened that my parents can attest to were my attempts to pee while standing up. I was using the "two-finger method" that I had read about online that involved lifting and spreading your inner labia apart. Most of the piss would end up in the toilet which would give me a great feeling of pride and euphoria, but also a bunch of it would end up behind the toilet seat, which I either didn't notice or just ignored. My mom kept thinking it was my brother who was doing this until she eventually caught on and realized it was me, and while she wasn't really angry when she confronted me about it it still felt terrifying. She asked me "Are you trying to pee like a boy?" with an expression as if it was kind of amusing, but at the time I was thinking "oh fuck she knows, i'm gonna have to come out to her now i'm gonna have to tell her that i want to transition". I ended up making up some kind of bullshit excuse and then stopped doing it, but part of me wishes that I did just tell her so that I maybe could've transitioned early in life and have had some hope of passing instead of having to deal with whatever kind of bullshit my brain is making me deal with now.

I was diagnosed with OCD at the age of ten, in the same appointment that I was diagnosed with ASD (which was Asperger's Syndrome at the time). My diagnosis actually occurred before I started having "dysphoria" and an obsession with identity was not one of the initial obsessions I had that lead to me getting diagnosed. My symptoms at the time were more stereotypical symptoms having to do with the alignment of objects, closing and opening doors, washing my hands, and wasting tons of toilet paper trying to leave the roll having been broken off evenly. It got to the point where I was often late for school because of it and it would even cause me to injure myself or damage other people's belongings, which prompted my parents to seek a therapist for me which lead to my diagnosis.

After pretty much ignoring those feelings of "dysphoria" until then, I first started playing with the idea of using pronouns other than the standard she/her again when I was 17. I was drawing a reference for a new sparkledog fursona, as this was when I had finally begun to internalize the idea that it's okay to have "embarrassing" or "cringe" interests and that I should just do what makes me happy regardless of knowing that I'm gonna get bullied or harassed for it. I was gonna put the pronouns in the ref as it had become common to start putting a character's pronouns in their ref, when I had the idea of trying out she/they instead of she/her. In the first draft of the ref that I posted I did have she/they listed as my fursona's pronouns, but soon after I decided to revise it and make it just be she/her because I was afraid of the idea that "real trans people" would see that as me trying to group myself in with them while not having the same experiences as them and take offense to that. This was during a time when a lot of the transmed shit was in full swing on this website.

I didn't agree with transmedicalism when it was applied to anybody other than myself and I would reblog posts disagreeing with transmedicalism, but I was afraid that if I tried to experiment with something as small as another set of pronouns I would just be doing that to seem "cool" while "real trans people" used those pronouns because they had to because of their dysphoria and they get mocked for it. I was aware of the concept that pronouns did not equal gender and of he/him lesbians and that demigender identities existed, but at the time my hair was still being cut to shoulder length and I wasn't doing anything else to alter the way that I presented, so I thought I wasn't allowed to change my pronouns until I at least made some kind of effort to look like I might be transitioning. I thought that maybe all demiboys were transmasc and all demigirls were transfem, and maybe it was frowned upon for a demigirl to be transmasc. I didn't know for certain, but I wasn't about to go around asking demiboys and demigirls what their agab was because that would've been a shitty thing to do and everybody would've assumed I was doing it for a bigoted reason. I didn't want to cut my hair at the time out of fear that it would look bad and then I'd be bullied for it, but "real transmascs" cut their hair out of their intense dysphoria that overshadows their fear of getting bullied so I must be faking it and only going by different pronouns for attention. I remembered how "dysphoric" I felt when I was 12 years old, the story of how I would try to piss standing up and how that's not really a very cis thing to do, but that all must've not been real, right? If it was real there would've been no way I was able to ignore it for this long, right? .....Right?

Fast forward to 2020, I am now 20 years old and no longer in high school. It's my last chance to get a normal haircut before covid lockdowns begin, and I decide to bite the bullet and ask for the shortest haircut I had ever gotten until that point. Everything will be locked down, if it ends up looking bad it's not like anybody is gonna see me anyway.

The result ended up being distressing to me at first, due to a combination of the shape of my face still being noticeably round and the fact that what I had been given was a "pixie cut", which I would learn is not actually a word for a "men's haircut on a woman" but is something that in fact has quite a few differences from a standard men's cut in order to make it appear more feminine.

As it grew out a little though it began to grow on me more and more, and I have always gotten a cut of a similar length every time I've gotten a haircut since. I've also been able to slowly tailor the way my hair has been cut away from the "pixie" style and towards a more masculine style by repeatedly asking the hairstylist to "keep the sideburns" and by taking pictures of my head from every angle each time I had gotten a cut that was closer to what I wanted so that I could show them to the next hairstylist.

While I still kind of wish that my face was less round, I like my hair now. I am never going back to having my hair the way it was before I turned 20.

Whenever I feel like my hair is getting too long now, even if it's not remotely close to the length that I originally grew it out and even if I had just taken a shower, it starts feeling all gross and like it's unsanitary and I want it cut immediately. Despite this though, I don't really look forward to the next time my hair is going to be cut because if it's an unfamiliar hairdresser they might see that I have boobs and decide to give me a pixie cut or cut off my sideburns or even just refuse to cut the length that I want cut off. I wish I felt like I had a better method of getting what I want across to them that didn't involve looking like an asshole customer, outing myself, or just flat out saying "I want you to make me look like a dyke". I also hate the fact that at the place where I normally get my hair cut, a men's cut is only $10 and a women's cut is a few dollars extra, and even though I'm basically asking for a men's cut guess what they charge me for it. I've thought before about no longer going out to any place to get a haircut anymore and instead just giving myself a buzzcut at home from now on, but I do like the layered look on the back of my head that a hairdresser is able to give me, which is something I can't really do at home. I wish there was some big butch lesbian covered in piercings and tattoos who I could go to who could cut my hair and just innately understand.

Something that's kind of funny now is that occasionally, when I have nightmares, in addition to the disturbing events that typically occur within nightmares I also sometimes have shoulder-length hair again within the nightmare. That's like a thing now that wasn't before.

In June of that year, I decided to come out as nonbinary and started going exclusively by they/them pronouns.

Months later I started having some more self-doubts/spiraling over whether my feelings and my dysphoria was truly "real", and it lead to me making this comic.

Afterwards, I went from using the "nonbinary" label to using the "genderfluid" label.

A couple years later, while I was spiraling pretty hard about how "genderfluid" sounds fake and how it sounds like someone tried to come up with an even more "special" version of being nonbinary and how I'm a total trender/theyfab, I decided to just drop all gender labels entirely. If going by any label was only going to cause spiraling and anxiety, I could simply forego labels all together and maybe then finally my brain would be quiet and I could have some fun, get some sleep, and get some work done. I just had "any pronouns" written on all of my online profiles during this time, and I didn't describe myself as genderfluid or nonbinary, but I didn't describe myself as cis either.

Basically I took the approach that was described in the bottom half of these tags, which I coincidentally found on the post that I saw that sparked me to make this post:

Just recently, right before I saw the post that sparked me to make this post, I decided to go back to exclusively going by they/them online.

I've started thinking more about whether or not I want to be a man, and months ago I had finally settled on the name that I would have if I ever decided to transition; Melvin. It sounds normal enough while not being too common at the same time, it would allow me to keep the same initials, and I would be naming myself after a relative. It's perfect.

I even made a new version of my fursona for if I were to take that name, just in case. And if the feeling went away again, I would always have him so I could draw and use him again if the feeling were to return again.

I had been seeing a lot of "if you've thought about taking HRT, just do it" posts, and with them I've been thinking about that time I decided to finally cut my hair. I live in New York, so I could just go to the nearest health center run by Planned Parenthood, sign an informed consent form, and just have T. I could just try T and see how it makes me feel. Then I could finally have the answer to if this is The Vitamin that I've needed for my entire adult and adolescent life.

But what if I try taking T and it doesn't cause me to feel any different? Or what if taking T causes some pandora's box of compartmentalized dysphoria to open somewhere in my brain, making me agonize over the fact that I waited too long to ever be able to pass and bringing me to kill myself?

That's until I saw that post.

I feel a sense of relief in that I am likely nowhere near being alone in my feelings and my experiences, I finally feel like I have the language to make people understand, and that I could use that language to craft a brand new label for myself that finally makes me feel like I'm real. But at the same time, I feel a sense of distress in that I don't know where exactly this places me within the queer community or whether I have any authority to speak on trans issues. Can I call myself transmasculine? Am I affected by transphobia? Am I affected by exorsexism? Does this mean medical transition is off the table for me entirely? Does this mean I should be treated as cis?

Every new political action that strips away protections for transgender people that makes the news is a trigger for this. Every post I see regarding intracommunity trans issues and the discourse surrounding it is a trigger for this.

I know that OCD is able to create this kind of obsession and uncertainty about sexuality as well, but that doesn't sound as truly being cursed to me as to have it affect one's sense of gender. If you think you might be gay but are unsure, you could always just try having gay sex and then not do it again if you didn't enjoy it. With gender, you can only do this with social transition as medical transition is irreversible, and social transition can only get you so far. There is no way to try on a different body like it's a pair of shoes. You must either take the plunge or die wondering.

Transmasculinity when you have OCD is like a Saw trap. "This could be ROGD." "This could just be internalized misogyny." "How can you tell if it's really dysphoria?" "You just want to feel special." "You are only transitioning to gain privilege." "There's at least a chance people might take your experiences with misogyny seriously if you don't transition." "You will never pass." "You will be ugly." "You're making a mockery of people who have real problems." "People like you are the ones who are most likely to regret it." "You would be mutilating yourself." "But what if one day you could look in a mirror and finally feel normal?" "Do you want to risk feeling this way for the rest of your life?"

While these questions very well may continue to haunt me for the rest of my life, some of the seemingly smaller decisions I've made while on my never-ending gender journey have genuinely improved my quality of life significantly, and will be things I will continue to do no matter if I'm trans or cis.

Buying all my clothes from the men's section is a big one; None of my shirts feel restrictively tight in the sleeves anymore, and the loose-fittedness makes them a lot more manageable sensory-wise. I no longer have to worry about whether the pants I'm looking at have pockets, and now I can count on being able to fit both my phone and my wallet in the same pocket.

Not only do I like the way I look with my shorter hair, but it makes maintaining personal hygiene so much faster and easier and now it no longer tangles or gets knotted. I take pride in my body hair and I don't waste time anymore trying to remove it in order to appease someone who would never respect me anyway who would shame me for it or tell me it's "unsanitary". My swim trunks I wear when I go swimming now look cool as hell and go well with my body hair and doesn't force me to put any focus on how it might look with my pubes sticking out like with other swimwear. The men's deodorant that I'm using now feels like it's stronger and works better than the women's deodorant that I used to use.

It doesn't bother me when my friends and immediate family members refer to me using they/them pronouns, in fact I think I still like it and will continue to let them use them. I have multiple fursonas now that I use in different contexts and connect to in different ways, and this has been great for me not only because I'm no longer forcing myself to have a more rigid sense of self but also because they can be used as an excellent mechanism to visualize my thoughts and feelings and the cognitive dissonance I may be having by depicting them interacting. I can even give them all different genders and use whatever one I feel more connected to in the moment, and I never have to think about it being something that's set in stone because I have all these other sonas.

Another issue I had that possibly could've been related to the "dysphoria" that I was experiencing other than my OCD (or possible actual gender dysphoria) is the fact that I may have some kind of medical condition or abnormality involving my reproductive organs, and it wasn't until I was 21 that I started finally being treated for it. It's most likely endometriosis since that seems the most consistent with the symptoms I was having and it's the most common one with 1 in 10 women being estimated to have it, but I don't have an official diagnosis since it requires surgery in order to diagnose and there are other differential diagnoses it could possibly be. I am now prescribed three packs of hormonal birth control in a row before taking any placebos, and this causes me to menstruate only four times a year and now I no longer experience anemia or paleness in my skin or debilitating pains that leave me unable to move when I menstruate. While I still wish I didn't menstruate at all, this has done wonders for my quality of life, needless to say. This doesn't necessarily fit into the category of decisions I've made regarding my gender presentation, but it is something that has improved my life for the better and it is somewhat relevant.

I'm aware that by making this post I'm sort of inviting transmeds, radfems, and other bad actors to say shitty things about me and try and take advantage of my psychological issues, but I've already mentally prepared myself for that while writing this post. I feel like I've developed a much healthier mindset than I used to have just a couple years ago, and that manipulation tactics that would've worked on me much more easily before aren't gonna work on me now. I don't care what anyone says about me. I just care that I've finally managed to put all of my feelings about all of this into words, that I don't have to keep all of this bottled inside me anymore, and that this may help anyone with any experiences or psychological issues remotely similar to mine feel seen.

[kalied0skull]

AAAAAUWGHH I HATE BEING SICK ALL THE TIME >:(

[megumi-fm]

.

[snailthimbles]

.

[mortellanarts]

2023 go bye bye

[bigender-cowboy]

Dude im thinking about my mom rn and it’s actually crazy. I broke a whole ass glass bowl and she laughed it off but my sister made brownies (I was watching her + I called mom for permission because she wasn’t home) that tasted good and I got hit????? Like?????? Wth is the logic??????

[bigfrogsblog]

sorry this kinda turned into a vent

my hot take is that i hate the concept of coming out. i don't owe anyone an explaination for who/what i am. how many times do you want me to gut myself in front of loved ones and let them poke around? it doesn't make a difference anyway, I'll still always be a daughter in my father's eyes. he doesn't care what i think or feel. people who i thought cared about me have outted me multiple times to people they know are biggots. nobody cares about queer people's safety, they only care about dissecting us and inspecting our entire lives under a microscope. I'm not allowed any moment of normalcy in my life around my family anymore. i either have to be deadnamed for hours or answer someone's every question about me, and if i don't then im the weird one. I'm still myself but to them I'm something completely new. like someone took my place. that's how my family treats me now. they don't even know how vulnerable i have been. it's just another Monday to them but for me it's the nth time I've been outed. no agency in my life, more control taken away from me. I'm sitting in the driver's seat and everyone keeps trying to yank the steering wheel and crash the car. i keep asking them to stop but they won't listen. they don't care.

[cynicalmusings]

‘the most crucial skill that a good drinksmith needs is listening… drinksmithing is all about having conversations with your guests’

tea house owner!reader energy for real

[sophiethewitch1]

music from 2018 you are my mental health

[butwilltherebealcohol]

idk who needs to hear this but if you notice somebody has hand tremors whether it's a neurological chronic condition (me) or a result of caffeine/alcohol/lack of sleep (also me) one great way some of their symptoms are eased is if you Don't Fucking Bring It Up While They Are Trying To Work :)))

[et3rnal-dr3am3r]

the constant up and down cycle of this whole thing is exhausting

[candybunnieholic]

It’s freaking 9am in the morning and my little brother is either watching news or listening to some podcast while I’m trying to sleep which is hard to do because our room are close to each other so I can hear everything since it’s not the first time but at least it wasn’t loud music.

[kissingmilfs]

ʚɞ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ʚɞ

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞.

𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 & 𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒏𝒊

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

an incessant blaring sound interrupts your nighttime routine. at first, you assume its from the apartment building next to yours. but then the smell of smoke slowly infiltrates any crevice and vent it can seep through. the noises of people frantically exiting the building doesn’t quell the alarm. you feel horrible for thinking what a major inconvenience this is. half of your hair is set with curlers. you grab your purse, keys and phone and follow the crowd down the stairs safely.

once you’re in the night air, you thank whatever gods may exist, it wasn’t your building effected. firefighters flutter in and out of the apartment units sharing an alley with yours. the flames appear somewhat tamed. neighbors mindlessly chatter—speculating what could have caused the fire. EMTs already set up a barricade but it doesn’t stop human curiosity. folks pressing tightly on the wooden barricades and incessantly pestering cops, firefighters or EMTs for any update.

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

thirty minutes later, the flames have succumbed to the efforts of the firefighters. a lingering smell of smoke sits in the air. mud and water mix with the black ash on the building. you see familiar faces crying and holding each other. the firefighters did their best but half of the building got hit the hardest. guilt washes over you. here you felt inconvenienced by the alarm but people have lost most of their belongings and most likely have to start from scratch.

unexpectedly the crowd erupts with a thunderous clap and cheering. it takes no time to realize everyone is commending the firefighters for their hard work. you witness the civil servants peeling off their helmets one by one. it’s clear all of them are exhausted. then some women start dog whistling. with an arched eyebrow, you locate the firefighter causing all the chaos.

the woman stands over 6 feet. she already removed the top layer of the suit which dangles off one shoulder. the moonlight and street lights reflect off her brown skin glistening with sweat. you can hear the gulp of women, straight and queer, as the firefighter curls her fingers underneath her fitted and soaked white t-shirt. she brings the hem of her shirt to her face—wiping off sweat and lingering ash. the entirety of her abs are on display. without even straining you see a drop of sweat rolling down her stomach.

a few women start fanning themselves. you even witness one pushing her cleavage up for prominent display. you hear through the chaos someone announcing residents in your building are allowed to enter again. sighing your relief, you start following the crowd. someone grabs your elbow—trying to get your attention.

swiftly turning around, you’re met face to face with the firefighter causing the lustful gazes and audible desires. with the distance closed—you’re able to see the faded scars on her face and the beginning wrinkles on the corners of her eyes. something about her, her face, those intense grey eyes stirs familiarity in your core. she presents you with a crooked smile.

“don’t recognize me, stranger?” her voice emerges as if from the squashed flames themselves.

you narrow your eyes and let them inspect those features. her fluffy and long eyelashes. her silken black hair that frames her face. the richness of her skin tone provoking you to kiss every inch.

you gasp with recognition. “sevika?”

sevika lets out the tiniest chuckle and nods. her hand on your elbow remains. it sends warmth and comfort throughout your arm. now that you’ve placed the face—you cannot believe you did not connect the dots sooner. yes, she’s aged but she’s still sevika. maybe not your sevika but still the sevika you grew up with.

the same sevika who fiercely protected you and let you crawl into her bottom bunk. the same sevika who beat up the boys for touching you the wrong way. then wiping your tears away moments later. especially the same sevika that took you to the overlook and shared your first kiss with. your guardian angel you never stopped thinking about or hoping turned out okay.

“you’re a firefighter now?”

“well i’ve been one for ten years but yeah.” sevika hold on your elbow shifts, you almost cry, but she only moves her hand underneath it.

your eyes continue searching sevika’s. “i thought you might’ve moved away or…”

sevika knowingly crooks a smile. “or jail?” you cringe but sevika laughs. “yeah, well i came too close a few times. but must’ve had my own guardian angel or something because the last time i got arrested—the judge told me enough was enough. she sent me to some reform program. i ended up liking the firefighter gig so…permanently fighting fires.”

“i’m so proud of you, sev. really.”

“thanks, kid.” sevika takes one step back then inconspicuously checks you out. “maybe not a kid anymore. you’ve filled out well.” she reaches out with her free hand and lifts some hair away from your ears. “and you’ve grown into your ears.”

an instantaneous blush spreads on your cheeks and you swat sevika’s hand away. your fingers reach to situate your hair but sevika catches them. you watch as sevika brings your hand to her lips, pressing a tender kiss on your knuckles. the feel of those full lips sends signals all over your skin. it’s almost the same effect she unwillingly provoked on all those women. refraining from retracting your hand, you keep your eyes locked on sevika.

she only smiles. her lips spreading across your knuckles. dammit. sevika fully knows the effect she’s having on you. she drinks it in eagerly despite your limited reactions.

“you hurt or anything? you didn’t live in that building, right?”

you shake your head in response to both questions. sevika smiles again. “oh, good. not a damsel in distress anymore. i get off in an hour. you’ll still be up?”

blinking away your visible confusion, you think over her question. “um, probably, yeah? why?”

a laugh rumbles in sevika’s chest but it never escapes her lips. “because i wanna come over, pretty girl. it’s been so long. can you blame me for wanting to make up for lost time?”

“oh. no, i mean, yes.” you groan—feeling like that helpless teenager that always needed sevika around. “yes, you can come over. i’ll be up. im apartment 8C—ring the buzzer and i’ll come get you.”

sevika hums her acknowledgment then releases her hold from your hand and elbow. yet her touch doesn’t cease and she reaches for a few strands of hair. “it’s kinda unfair, ya know?”

“what’s unfair?”

“you’re outside in a robe and hair half done but still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

placing a kettle on the stove, you reach for two mugs and a container of all your special teas. sevika won’t know, but you never offer anyone your good teas. tonight feels special though. you can feel those grey eyes boring into your back. in the hour and a half window sevika allotted you—you showered, finished with the curlers in your hair, and found a pair of your cutest pajamas. the ruffles on the hem of the shorts barely grazed the crease meeting your butt and thighs. maybe overly ambitious?

when you had greeted sevika at the front door—you could tell her eyes didn’t know what to take in first. in sevika’s mind you were the picture of femininity. pink cotton pajamas hugging your curves sinfully. the cute little bow on the camisole teasing her eyes. she hadn’t expected her heart to momentarily stop at witnessing a fray strand you missed in your curler set. and the way you smelled? a mixture of strawberries and coconut with the faintest dash of something earthy.

sevika’s always found hyperfemininity attractive in the women she dated and slept with. but it was something about you…you wore it effortlessly and without second thought. it was apart of you.

she took in your apartment but eventually found herself staring at you as you prepared the tea.

“need any help, pretty girl?”

the words linger in the air before settling into your skin. when did she get so comfortable with petnames? the kettle whistles pulling you away from the lustful thoughts. “i’m good, thanks. do you still take a heap of sugar and milk in your tea?”

sevika barks out a laughter and you cannot help looking over your shoulder to witness the melodic sound. “i guess some things don’t change. yeah, you know what i like.”

squashing your nerves, you carefully pack some tea herbs into a tiny meshed infuser. once they’re packed—you steadily pour water over them in the mugs. normally you’d watch the tea steep, darkening the water, but instead you carry the mugs over to sevika. placing them down carefully on the thrifted mahogany coffee table, you rush back into the kitchen grabbing a pint of milk, brown sugar and some shortbread cookies.

there’s a sudden warmth that appears behind you. before you can properly investigate a calloused yet familiar hand gently rests on your waist.

“you sure you don’t need help with that…sugar?”

you’re hopeless against the drawl of sevika’s words. the end of her sentence hitting with a double entendres. you cannot place a time sevika’s petnamed you, sugar. she awakens another level of curiosity and arousal within you. if only you could see the look on sevika’s face. the knowing smirk of her affect on you. her pupils dilating and darkening in a way you’ve never been privy to.

you cannot help the racing of your heart. or closing your eyes. you don’t even notice you’re leaning back into sevika’s comfortable warmth until her hand shifts towards the front of your hip. as if she’s catching you and relaying the same message: i miss you.

“yes, you can carry the sugar, sev.” the words somehow manage to crawl out after the long pause between question.

sevika barely grunts her response before reaching underneath your arm. she purposely leans forward. her hips now pressed against your butt. you feel the encompassing safety of her broad shoulders brushing on your neck. you find yourself holding your breath until she pulls away. her prosthetic arm, this one different than the one from the fire earlier, smoothly retrieves the sugar jar.

then she steps back, as if, nothing happened and walks nonchalantly back to the couch. she might as well have whistled with the cockiness oozing off of her. you shakily inhale, one, two, three, then exhale, four five six. jitters remain nonetheless.

you find sevika on the love seat and taking up space at that. yes, you technically have room to sit. but you’d be forced to sit directly underneath her. despite the presence of another sofa, you are both aware that is not how this dance flows.

as sevika already suspected, you delicately lower yourself in the couch cushion next to her. your thighs have no space besides pressed tightly against hers. you cannot tell if you’re hallucinating or can actually feel the warmth through her jeans. not wanting to address the obvious silence you begin prepping the teas. a crap ton of sugar and then enough milk the color turns almost a sandy color.

sevika intently watches your actions. your fingers moving with remembered fluidity. she likes the color you polished your nails. finding herself wondering how they’d juxtapose against the pinkness of your spread pussy. sevika cannot deny the intense arousal building within her. it came the second she spotted your face. it dwelled and grew with her longing to hold you and whisper how much she missed you.

every second spent in your presence reminded sevika why she never lasted long in previous relationships. it took her some therapy and time alone to realize she unintentionally looked for you in every kiss, every hug, every fuck. no one ever came close to the calming water you poured on her raging fire. she could not leave the apartment without, at least, holding your face and kissing you tenderly then passionately.

“i learned to make chai. authentic chai.” your carefully plucked words barely relieves the tension.

sevika tips her head a little. “you did? why?”

you blush and hand sevika her tea. the answer feels rather obvious. “you said whenever we got outta there—you’d make me your amma’s chai.” you stop there. you cannot bring yourself to finish. but you know sevika can deduce and fill in the rest.

“did it help?”

“help with what?”

“help you feel closer to me.”

the words linger between the two of you. sevika’s expertly laid her intentions out with a few words. the bait flops in your hands—far too easy to deny or resist.

you turn your head—finally meeting sevika’s gaze for the first time since she entered the apartment. you expected another cocky smirk. instead you’re met with rounded eyes of vulnerability. they almost pool sevika’s desperation. even if you had planned on lying, on denying the obvious, everything vanished. reflected back at you was the same fifteen year old girl you fell in love with.

“no. no, it didn’t. nothing did.” you whisper out the words. almost believing if you speak the truth you’ll awaken from a beautiful dream.

sevika rests her mug on the coffee table. mindful of the coaster present. you focus on the action but within seconds her hand, no longer on the mug, cups your face. it emanates the lingering warmth from her mug. even without thinking, you reach for her prosthetic arm rested on her lap. you settle it on your other cheek. the balance of cold metal and warm flesh somehow feels symbolic. or maybe you’re searching for too much meaning in reuniting with an old friend…lover?

the magnetic pull draws you both closer until your lips are slotted together. moving in synchronization as if 15 years haven’t passed. as if you didn’t only share one kiss. all the longing and aching over pours into the kiss. your heart somehow thumps rapidly yet feels calm and steady within its cavity. when sevika tenderly swipes her tongue against your plump bottom lip—you know in that instance you’d do anything she wanted.

you graciously part your lips with a whimper. you feel sevika hesitate before she parts your lips by an inch.

“you always sound like that, pretty girl?” sevika barely murmurs the question on your lips.

too impatient to answer or decipher what sevika means, you take the inch of space back and unite your lips once again. sevika laughs into the kiss and indulges the neediness. she is just as desperate, maybe even more. her hands ever so slightly tighten their hold on your face. a tiny whimper escapes once again as sevika tangles her tongue with yours. she responds with a eager grumble of her own.

sevika, testing the waters, pretends to pull away. your lips, without hesitation, chase after hers. you both do this dance until sevika manages to guide you into her lap. any hesitancy dissolves. you are reunited with an old flame and you’re desperate to kindle it and let it burn and consume you. straddling sevika’s hips, panting into the kiss, sevika presses one hand on your lower back—keeping you firmly in place.

letting your body make the decisions, not wrapped in the cloud of lingering doubt, you nip on sevika’s lower lip. sucking flesh between your lips as your tongue strokes the inner softness of her lip. you relish the feeing of sevika’s hand gripping your back. the little groan she emits. her shifting underneath—as if you’re already getting her hot and bothered (you are).

her grip still firm on your lower back—sevika tips her head back on the couch. her eyes remain closed as she processes the weight of her actions and of you in her lap. your own lips tingle as you analyze sevika’s face. a smile stretches on yours as you notice her thoroughly kissed and swollen lips. you’re already itching for another kiss. instead, patient as ever, your fingers work to remove the curlers from your hair. it’s no point in pretending you and sevika are not having sex tonight. curlers and sex don’t necessarily pair.

sevika eyes barely manage open as she feels the shift in her lap. she watches in intense fascination as you free your hair. there are varying curl patterns since some curlers where in place longer than others. your fingers delicate despite the slight panting on your chest. your nipples already pert in attention. you do not catch sevika’s gaze until you’re almost done.

she smiles without hesitation the second your eyes meet. her hands begin wandering up your sides. in the wake your camisole rides up with the action. goosebumps populate your skin. your fingers almost tremble pulling the last bobby pin. sevika drags you closer the second the final curl falls. your hair creates a curtain of privacy.

sevika rakes her eyes over the exposed skin and how your camisole rests underneath your breasts. “can i take this off, pretty girl?”

an immediate nod comes from you. “please, yes.”

sevika moans. she moans at your eagerness and how willing you are to trust her. the surprise only lasts momentarily as sevika’s peeling off the tiny fabric. you watch her lips fall apart with a flux of emotions on her face. once the shirt is freed from your hair—sevika opens her mouth to ask for permission.

your hand cradles the back of sevika’s neck and draw her closer to one nipple. “you don’t have to ask permission, sev. i want what you want.”

sevika moans again with the permission. you effortlessly taking control of what you want—turns sevika on more than she’s ready to admit. nonetheless her lips circle around your nipple. her tongue darts around the bud. it earns her the response of you bucking your hips and pushing her closer to your breast. she gladly obliges.

her lips suction your nipple with a little more pressure. a hand comes to cup the neglected breast. palming and kneading with expertise. her large hand encompasses in a way you don’t think any lover has before. her teeth carefully experiment with nibbling on your nipple. you whine in response.

your hips move on their own accord. the combined sensation of teeth, tongue, lips and her hands leaves you desperate and wanting. you relish in the feeling of her jean crotch providing the perfect friction to your needy grinding. sevika groans into your nipple once she connects the dots.

her lips move from your nipple. a string of saliva leaving a connection. she lifts her eyes to yours. a sound traps in your throat seeing the pure need in sevika’s eyes.

hushed and rushed words tumble from sevika’s lips. “i need to make you feel good, baby. please. please can i taste you?”

you are positive sevika’s never had such desperation in her words. because you know no one in their right mind could deny her. but with you…she’s uncertain. the years of yearning bubbling over into this precise moment. you capture her lips in response. trying to say; yes take everything, all you need and want, drink and fill yourself.

with grace of a ballerina—sevika turns the tides and she’s standing with you in her arms, bridal style. you don’t even have the opportunity to be thrown off guard. she moves around your apartment as if she’s walked in this space numerous times. sevika locates your room without instruction.

she lowers you on the bed like a delicate flower. you’re tempted to protest but you give her the grace. you both deserve a tender reunion. sevika hastily steps out of her jeans. she stands before you in her navy boxers and a black shirt. your breathing matches hers with built up tension and anticipation. sevika moves closer to the bed and you begin crawling backwards.

she catches your ankle, shaking her head. “not yet, baby.”

sevika kneels at the edge of the bed on the floor. understanding without her saying much, you position yourself where she placed you before. sevika nuzzles her cheek against the inside of your knee. your fingers find solace in her strands. your nails softly scratching at her scalp. with your soothing yet tingling touch sevika begins her journey of kisses up your thighs. interchangeably switching sides until her lips meet the hem of your shorts.

sevika’s eyes travel the length of your body and her lips spread into a smile as you lift your hips. chuckling lowly, sevika parts with enough space to remove your shorts and underwear in one swift motion. she loses her breathing at the sight of you bare before her. the tussles of hair on your mound travel down to your lips. sevika gently widens your thighs. her action reveals how drenched you are. she can hear the slick separating between your folds. her mouth salivates at the sight and sound.

her hands massage at your thighs eliciting a trembling moan from you. you whimper, looping one leg on sevika’s shoulder. digging the heel of your foot into her shoulder blade to draw her near.

“don’t make me beg, sev. come on…”

sevika groans and circles her arms around your thighs, tugging you closer off the edge of the bed. “i’m sorry, princess. i don’t mean to make you wait. let me fix that.”

she presses a chaste kiss on your clit. you’re about to admonish her for teasing but your words are caught in your throat. sevika roughly drags her tongue up the length of your cunt. she moans deeply as your taste floods her mouth. now paired with your scent, sevika knows she will never get enough. her fingers firmly grip into your thighs and she feasts.

her tongue expertly explores every single inch it can reach. she starts with the languid yet pressured licks. each lick causes you to buck into her mouth. too unaware you could potentially bust her upper lip. not that sevika cares either. she switches her methods and uses the tip of her tongue to tease circles on your clit. she basks in the heavy moan you release as she focuses on your clit. your hips move in faint circles meeting each stroke of her tongue. one hand remains in sevika’s hair—softly caressing her hair or on occasion tugging on the silk-like strands.

sevika whimpers into your cunt as you play with her hair. her whimpers vibrate on your clit in such a sensual way. it produces a high pitched whine that you’ve never heard from yourself. even sevika briefly paused to fully appreciate the noise that graced her ears. nonetheless she returns to worshiping your clit. as she sucks it between her pursed lips, her own hand snakes down into her boxers.

not at all surprised with the pool of her own arousal. her calloused fingers rub an immediate circle around her clit. she’s so wet and sensitive she can barely feel the roughness embedded on her fingertips. but that’s not the stimulation she’s seeking. the second sevika’s tongue dips inside your cunt—her two fingers push past her entrance. you and sevika simultaneously groan. sevika allows you the opportunity to arch off the bed and grind down on her tongue. the warm and wet muscle teasing that special, squishy spot inside of you. her own fingers knuckles deep inside herself.

sevika almost cries into your pussy with the overwhelming sensations. riding her own fingers while you ride her tongue. through the haze in her eyes sevika witnesses the beauty of you chasing your desires. she wants you to topple over on her tongue continuously. if she could, she’d put brush to canvas and honor this moment forever. it only instills in sevika she must never depart from your life again.

your fingers tug sevika’s hair. sevika replies with a whimper and somehow understands the frantic look in your eyes. her lips return to your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. she witnesses your eyes rolling towards the back of your head. her own hips speeding up in hopes of climaxing with you. sevika’s tongue dashes across your clit occasionally intent on seeing you lose control with the added stimulation.

“seeeev!” your back arches off the bed and your thighs squeeze her head in place.

those manicured nails sevika adores so much scrape over her scalp. she moans with the stinging sensation. her fingers make squelching noises as she works them rapidly. you’re too lost in the heights of your climax. unable to register sevika is fucking herself as her mouth sends black spots over your vision.

sevika, relentlessly, obliges after hearing a pleading whimper. her lips leave a departing kiss on your clit before pulling away. but sevika continues grinding on her fingers. she bites into your thigh as she chases her own release. it takes everything in you to prop up on your elbows. your eyes watch in widened excitement.

she catches your gaze and you forget how to breathe. the unadulterated need and yearning in those grey eyes set you off for another round. sevika seems to read your thoughts before they even form. she carefully retracts her fingers then climbs on the bed. sevika helps guide you towards the center of the mattress.

“you flexible, pretty girl?” sevika questions. her soaked fingers teasingly run through your folds.

“depends. why?”

sevika smiles too wide for it being such a loaded question. she spreads your legs wider then hovers a little above you. you instinctively press your hand into the shell of her lower back. urging the woman to apply more of her weight. sevika happily follows the non-verbal instruction. she sighs at the feeling of your body.

her intentions soon become clear as sevika presses her swollen and perturbed clit on your mound. you let out a shaky gasp at the sensation. sevika reaches underneath your knee and lifts your leg on her shoulder. a guttural moan escapes you from the unexpected stretch.

“fuck, i’m sorry, baby. too much? i can stop.” sevika is already attempting to lower the leg.

without hesitation you grab sevika’s wrist and shake your head. “no, please. i need to see you come. please…use me.”

sevika bucks her hips with the unexpected words you bestow on her. she leaves the leg on her shoulder. her works to find the perfect rhythm and fluidity to grind her clit down. she eventually settles on moving her hips up and down. it allows both your clits to feel stimulated when she drags down. her prosthetic fingers dig into your thighs as her hips work in momentum. once you’ve grown accustomed to sevika’s pacing—you lift your hips to meet her halfway.

you almost drool at the sight of sevika’s head thrown back in ecstasy. the rhythmic bumping of your clits. the sensitivity it invokes—one you’re bound to chase for the rest of your life. sevika lets out the tiniest mewl. it sounds so unlike her, you almost question, if it came from you. yet her eyes are half hooded and eyebrows scrunched as if in concentration. a thin layer of sweat shines on her face. she’s majestic.

sevika attempts to focus her gaze on you. a pleading tone laced into her words. “baby…baby…gonna…pl-please…”

you refrain from the shit eating grin wanting to overtake your face. “asking me to come, sevi-baby?”

biting her lip, sevika nods shamelessly, needing the permission. craving the permission from her most special girl. “please…”

“you’re perfect, sevika. i’ve missed you. go ahead, beautiful. come for me. let me see you…”

sevika turns her head into the propped leg on her shoulder and messily kisses the tender flesh. you continue meeting her hips despite sevika forgoing any sort of rhythmic pacing. she whispers incoherent love rambles and gratitude. a moan trapped in sevika’s throat gives away her platitude. she slams her hips into you, as if, coming inside of you.

her body tenses above you right before moans bubble from her lips. eventually her tension alleviates to waves of trembling. you remove your leg from her shoulder and instantly sevika collapses atop of you. her legs slotted with yours. you feel just how wet this ordeal made her.

sevika nuzzles her nose into neck. your fingers trace nonsensical shapes over her back. overtime your hearts sync as you listen to each others breathing.

“my pretty girl…it’ll be until death do us part before we are separated again.” sevika whispers the promise into your neck.

an exhausted yet satiated smile tickles your cheeks. “is that a marriage proposal, sevika?”

sevika cheekily nips the sensitive skin of your neck. “and a promise, sugar.”

[sweetiechenle]

would you film my s*x tape? ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ haechan

pairing: non-idol!collegestudent!haechan x collegestudent!afab!reader

summary: you and your best friend haechan are strapped for cash and desperate to make some... quick. thank god he has the best idea ever to make a sex tape!

warnings: mdni 18+ only, smut, masturbation, swearing, marking, porn with plot, face fucking, possessiveness, unprotected sex (don't do this), dirty talk, oral (receiving and giving) fingering, manhandling, praise, creampie, pet names, fluff, crack/humor, this is so unserious, you are all freaks in this

you thought the line was crossed after the internet bill cost more than an arm and a leg or when the water was shut off because of an overdue bill, but this was probably the worst thing that could’ve happened. all you wanted to do was take a nice long hot shower, you stripped off your pajamas and climbed into the tub. turning on the water you jumped back and let out a small scream, scrambling to turn off the water, you let out small cries as the ice-cold water continued to pelt your back. finally shutting off the shower, you shivered, stepping out and wrapping a towel around your body, holding it close.

leaving the bathroom, you march down the hallway, finding your best friend and roommate, haechan, on the couch. he looked up from his phone when you stopped in front of him with your arms crossed.

he smirked, ‘not sure what i did to deserve this’

rolling your eyes and huffing, ‘did you pay the gas bill? The water was freezing!!’

haechan quickly stood up, ‘i thought you did!’

‘no it was your turn this month!’ you cried.

he fell back on the couch, letting his body slump in the cushions, ‘fuck’

you sighed, moving to sit down next to him. ‘im so fucking tired of being broke, dude’

‘yeah, you’re preaching to the choir’ you replied with a lifeless laugh.

‘our jobs fucking suck, our pay fucking sucks, these prices fucking suck. we have tried everything and now what else is there to do? ask chenle for money!? yeah fucking right, i’m not owing that little shit anything’ he vented.

you sighed standing up, ‘i don’t really know what else to do either, we are too busy to take on a second job, we tried delivering food and driving others around, but it’s never enough’ you agreed with him.

he grabbed your hand when you stood up, you looked down, ‘don’t worry, i’ll think of something’ you nodded, seeing the sincerity swirl in his chocolate brown eyes you nodded.

later that evening haechan, and you sat down for dinner in front of the tv watching whatever you could pay attention to, pushing your money problems to the back of your mind. you placed your empty bowl on the small table in front of you, ‘i’m not doing the dishes with the water being this cold’ you smiled. haechan laughed and grabbed your bowl, taking it to the sink to do the dishes himself, you followed him into the small kitchen. you stood and stared at his back, his shoulders now much broader than the boy you first met ten years ago, his slender fingers moving around the bowl as he scrubbed the food off, he turned back at you and it was so hard not to notice his plush, pink lips that moved into a small smile every time he saw you, and it always made your heartbeat skip. it was so hard to decide if you wanted to be him or be with him.

‘i thought of an idea’ he said nonchalantly, glancing back at you to see your reaction.

‘oh god’ you laughed, nervously you asked, ‘should i be scared?’

‘probably?’ haechan answered, finishing up the two dishes and facing you in the kitchen now.

he ran his hand through his chestnut-colored hair, his hands flying everywhere as he started to explain his thought process behind this ‘genius idea’.

‘we should…’ he paused, and you quirked your eyebrow up, ‘make a sex tape!’

you snorted and double up laughing, ‘you’re fucking insane’ to continue the theatrics you pretended to whip non-existent tears.

‘no, okay, listen… it’s a crazy idea, but think of all the money we could make’ he sighed, now growing embarrassed due to the idea he was so confident in before. his cheeks grew red, scratching the back of his neck, ‘as we said earlier, we tried everything, but not this’

‘fuck’ you breathed, he was serious, mind going a million miles a second trying to come up with anything better, ‘they make so much money on only fans and stuff i fear you might be right’ it’s not like you didn't want to have sex with your best friend and roommate, you always thought he was attractive and had a body you dreamed to have in your bed. of course you would never tell him that to his face, his ego would get too big you'd have to move out. being best friends since middle school had its perks, each other's first kiss, each other's first small sexual experience at the end of high school, something you both agreed to never speak of after it had happened. so, you figured with something like this it would be something similar, you would make a couple of sex tapes, post them, and then rake in the cash and never speak of it ever again. however you didn't want something this extreme to change any aspect of your relationship with haechan, yes you were attracted to him and he was your favorite person but you liked where your relationship was at right now.

he pumped his fists up in the air, whooping as you finally agreed that one of his plans was feasible. ‘i know! i think it's probably one of the best ideas i’ve ever had’ he said proudly. ‘i can borrow one of jaemins nice cameras to film, we have to research what could make us the most money too’ he noted.

you nodded, ‘we should lay down some ground rules too, i don’t want to just jump into this and both do something we regret’

he turned to you, acting genuinely confused, ‘what would we regret?’ you inhaled his cologne as he moved in closer to you.

you looked up at him as he caged you between him and the kitchen table, you shuddered as your lower back made contact with the cold surface. you looked down now too nervous to look into his eyes that stared down at you, ‘i-i don’t know haechan, i just don’t want anything between us to change’ you said now feeling small even though your heart was jumping for joy.

‘you don’t? that’s a shame’ he clicked his tongue in disappointment, his voice low. not knowing what to say, you gulped waiting for him to continue, ‘when it comes to you, i don’t think there’s anything i could regret sweetheart’

oh, damn him, if you weren't supported by the table your knees would've already given out and you would've sucked his dick right then and there. what he said lit your body on fire but the subtle pet name went right to your core, shamefully feeling your panties growing wetter. he always played these games when he wanted something, using cute pet names and pleading in a cute way where anyone would say yes, but this time seemed different. hearing the sincerity in his voice made the situation feel all too real, you couldn't believe this was real.

‘wha-’ you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, ready to ask for further explanation but he stopped you, placing his finger over your open mouth.

‘do you trust me?’ he whispered.

all you could do was nod at him, while your best friend was playful and mischievous, you knew he could also be serious and forthright. it makes you think back to the time when mark wouldn't let haechan drive his car ever, saying he would never in a million years trust him. on the other hand when there was ever tension between his friend group he would be the one to go out of his way and get everyone all together again and diffuse any tensity. there were some things most people wouldn't trust haechan on but if he said you two could climb mount everest, you'd meet him at the spot.

‘good’ he replied, ‘get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow’ he smirked and stalked away from you, hearing his bedroom door shut you let out a long breath. the air around you seemed too thin and you took that as your cue to also head to your room. you got ready for bed, climbed into your sheet and turned off your lamp, falling back into the mattress you stared up at the ceiling mind blanking and trying to process everything that happened an hour ago. you turned and grabbed your phone, wincing as the light burned your eyes. opening up the search engine you turned on incognito because there was no way this was ever going into your search history. typing in ‘popular porn categories’ you nervously waited as the page loaded. ‘seriously?’ you said to yourself as you read the words ‘milf’ and ‘lesbian’, so those were off the table. continuing to scroll you made mental notes of everything that could get you clicks, words like ‘creampie’ and ‘anal’, some things you weren't against, but stuff that seemed pretty straightforward.

you put down your phone and sighed, bored and unable to sleep. so, doing what most girls do when they are bored and in bed: masturbate. you slide your hand down your body, stopping just above the waistband of your pink sleep shorts. automatically thinking of haechan and imagining it was his hands sliding into your panties. soon, you reminded yourself. you finally reached the sweet spot, you tried your best to suppress your moans as your fingers worked in circles around your clit, occasionally taking your fingers down to dip in between your folds and pump them in and out, closing your eyes and making up a picture of haechan in your head on him above you, wishing it was his cock being driven inside of you. biting down on your bottom lip as your hips lurched forward due to the friction, you let out a small cry as you came all over your fingers, ending it by rubbing the stickiness over your worn-out pussy.

you cursed silently, getting up and going to the bathroom to clean yourself. after you gave yourself a well-deserved whores bath you got a clean pair of undies and slipped back into bed, now tired enough to go to sleep.

you wake up to a sunny saturday morning, stretching your limbs out you get out of bed and grab your phone, heading to the kitchen for what little breakfast you can have. you and haechan were never big money makers, at least not yet. you had a job doing entry graphic design for a yearbook company, paid like shit, but at least you were working towards something while going to school. haechan was majoring in software engineering but couldn't find any companies willing to hire someone without a degree, he seemed to always miss the chance to apply for internships so he was stuck at his job of being a mystery shopper, which also didn't pay that well. so, you both lived paycheck to paycheck and scraped what little you could to do things with friends and go out, haechan always telling you to go bat your eyes and act cute with every man in clubs so you both could get free drinks.

you opened the pantry and opted for the generic-branded cereal, hoping to every god in existence there was some milk in the fridge, you slowly opened it and silently cheered when there was a bit left. having all the ingredients you made up your bowl of cereal, sat down in the creaky kitchen chair and dug in. looking around you noticed haechan wasn't home, his shoes were gone along with his house keys, he never mentioned going anywhere so you opened your phone and checked on ‘find my friends’. you zoomed in on his little contact picture that was set years ago and obviously the perfectly, most embarrassing picture. he was at jaemins, for some reason unbeknownst to you. you continued to eat and scroll through whatever social media app could hold your attention. after breakfast, you cleaned your bowl (despite the cold water) and sat on the couch to pass the time until haechan came home.

you heard the door swing open, immediately standing up you walked without even thinking up to haechan. he gave you an inquisitive look as to why you came upon him so suddenly. then you noticed the camcorder in his hand… jaemins camcorder, oh.

‘i didn't know you left this morning’ you explained.

‘i was at jaemins’ i know you wanted to say, ‘i was getting this.’ he gestured to the video camera in his hand, taking off his shoes and throwing his keys onto the table.

you were rooted in place as you watched him move around the apartment nonchalantly, ‘did you tell him what it was for?’ you asked restlessly. scared that he confided in jaemin of your little plan to make more money, if he did, you could probably never look into the poor man's eyes ever again.

‘oh god no, i told him it was for a project you were working on but couldn't come to get it yourself’ haechan answered and that consoled your worried mind. ‘he expects it back by thursday’ he winked at you, and closed the door to his room, leaving you a loss for words at the front door.

you went back to your room, confused as to why haechan didn't bring up anything about the sex tape(scapades), like he knew nothing about it while it was his idea in the first place. he was probably nervous and getting ready, didn't want to ruin the mood or overthink any decisions that were already put into place from last night. you decided to lay in bed and watch videos and play on your phone to pass the time. after a while of shifting around in bed and switching between the same ten apps, you didn't realize the time when haechan softly knocked on your door, saying that dinner was ready.

you got up and opened your door, surprised by the setup he put together, there was a white sheet over the coffee table in front of the tv with multiple candles lit (needed them for when your electricity got shut off), there were wine glasses included a plate of food that looked absolutely delicious. ‘wow, haechan you really outdone yourself’ haechan was romantic when he wanted to be, asking gift and flower suggestions for whatever girl he decided to get involved with during that time. it always stung a bit, but you could never turn him away as a best friend.

‘anything for my favorite girl’ he smiled, and led you to the couch, taking your hand as you sat down. you blushed at his comment, almost feeling like this was a real date at a real fancy restaurant. but of course reality is that you are eating spaghetti on a couch in pajamas before getting absolutely railed by your best friend. you almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. he poured some wine into your glass, and turned towards the tv to put on your favorite movie. it was all really sweet and made your heart swell with adoration for the boy next to you. even with the cards he was dealt in the situation he exceeded expectations and went out of his way to make everything special for you. you dug into your food and took a sip of wine, ‘ugh’ you gagged, ‘this is the cheap shit’ you both laughed at the reaction and he gave you a of course it is look.

‘don’t worry, when we are raking in the cash, i’ll get you the good stuff, and take you on a real, proper first date’ he smiled sheepishly, not confident in his words, worried you'd object to his obvious advances.

it was almost impossible to keep your heart from jumping out of your throat at his words, not believing what you just heard. you coughed, thinking of a way to get back at him, ‘i will be looking forward to that’. he beamed, giving you a toothy smile, your insides twisted, he was too cute for his own good, taking everything in you not to devour him whole right there. you swallowed your spit and turned back towards your food, finishing it off within a couple of bites.

haechan got up and took your plate to the sink, not bothering to clean them. he walked up to you and took your hands in his, looking down at the connection. wondering if he could feel how hot you were, haechan was always a touchy person and cuddled with you more times than you could count. but those times didn't make you feel this way, you knew tonight was different. ‘go get ready,’ he walked you to your bedroom door, dropping your hands he went to his door, ‘the video camera is all charged up’ he went inside and with that you scrambled around your room, thinking of what ‘get ready’ could mean. it was his job to prep you right? pacing around the room reality sunk in and you knew what to do. now going through your small closet, trying to find the only piece of lingerie you had. a gift from a past boyfriend, probably worth more than what you wanted to know.

‘ah-ha!’ you pulled it out of the pile of clothes that remained on the floor, it was somewhat misshapen from being at the bottom of the wreckage but salvageable. it was a red teddy with lace and a thong that hugged your curves perfectly. it was comfortable and sexy while also leaving some stuff up to the imagination, you knew haechan would love it. mentally thanking yourself for shaving everything before the gas got turned off, you slipped it on and checked yourself in the mirror, twisting and turning admiring the way it snatched your waist perfectly. you moved to your small vanity and put on light makeup, with plenty of mascara, knowing it would be picture-perfect to let the camera witness as it flows down your cheeks knowing you'd probably end up crying in pleasure soon. you threw on your robe and peeked outside of the door, haechan was nowhere to be seen but you were ready, hyping yourself up there was no backing out now.

you moved towards his door, softly knocking and waiting for him, clit quivering in anticipation. you pictured all the ways he'd have you tonight, silently hoping this would take off and you'd have no choice but to make more videos to appease the viewers that didn't even exist yet. haechan opened the door, he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. ‘you look beautiful, doll’ he breathed, like he was a tiger, and you were the prey, he took his time taking in your appearance.

you blushed, ‘you look gorgeous too’ he was in a tight-fitted black shirt along with those famous gray sweatpants, and you could barely control yourself. he looked like a god, his brown hair now dark, the light only coming from his room. his features were highlighted under the warm glow, his eyes growing dark in hunger, his nose perfectly sculpted and you were ready to beg him to let you sit on his face, needless to say, he was absolutely divine.

he opened his door wider, ‘shall we start?’ his eyebrow up in question. you nodded walking into his room, entrapped in his space and musk, you could get lost in the space forever. he grabbed your hands like before, ‘do you trust me?’ he was sincere, and you nodded, ‘because everything is about to change’

you nodded, whispering, ‘i can't wait’ you looked up at him, silently pleading for him to do anything at all. he leaned into you, noticing how his eyes kept moving from your eyes to your mouth, bracing yourself and closing your eyes, his breath was on your cheek.

‘the camera is rolling baby’ and with that he graced his lips with yours, moving to a rhythm you both fell into immediately. you could feel the sparks fly as your heart soared, his lips fitting perfectly into yours, soft but also rugged with the way he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. your body now flush with his, shrugged off your robe you let it fall to the ground, haechan stopped his movements and took a step back. breathing hard and looking over your body in a very new way, staring at him feeling like daniel being thrown into the lion's den, chest heaving up and down you whined due to the surprising lack of contact. ‘fuck, you are so fucking hot baby’ he moaned, going back to the position you were both in. you gave him a coy smile, ‘did you wear this just for me? do you know how crazy i get when you walk around the apartment looking like a total slut? now here you are, in something that barely covers anything’ he grabbed the strap over your shoulder, pulled it back with his finger, and let it slap back on your skin. you sucked in a breath, feeling the slick pool into the thread, on your thighs. ‘not sure what i did to deserve this baby’ he ghosted his hands over your body, grabbing onto your lace-covered tit. you moaned at the contact, his lips now on yours again, moving much rougher and more hungry and teeth clashed together and tongues dancing in dominance. haechan picked you up, lips never leaving yours until he threw you on the bed, landing with a thump, going limp you grabbed the sheets in anticipation, watching as he threw off his shirt and pants. your mouth dropped, ready to take him right now if he wanted. his defined body shone with sweat, abs glistening, eyes finding his happy trail and erection confined in his briefs your mouth watered at the sight. you figured he was blessed with a good length, but now you were wondering if it would even fit.

taking the situation into your own hands, getting on all fours you crawl to him at the end of the bed. ‘haechan, please let me suck your cock’ you begged, yearning for nothing else but to feel his fat and heavy member choke you. he said nothing, acting unimpressed like your pleads didn't meet his expectations. whimpering in desperation, ‘i can show you what you deserve my pretty boy, please use my mouth’ he groaned at the pet name, stroking his length. he took a step in front of you, face now in front of his thick cock.

‘lay on your back’ he ordered, obliging immediately, he grabbed you and brought you towards him, head now hanging slightly off the bed. you watched him upside down stripping himself of his briefs and letting his member free, it slapped against his toned stomach, never taking his eyes off of you as he spit in his palm and pumped his erection. he had such a pretty cock, and your core burned at the beautiful sight in front of you. thighs instinctively rubbing together to create some friction. ‘open up’ mouth falling open he teased the tip on your lips. he pushed his length into your mouth, trying to adjust quickly, haechan started trusting at a small pace, letting you get used to the feeling. haechan shudders at the hot feeling, groaning as you gag on his cock. drool piled up and spilled out of your mouth and all over heachan, he trusted faster losing his mind over the noises you continued to make. you grabbed the sheets under you until your knuckles went white, mind spinning from the position as your best friend fucked your mouth with full force. he grabbed your boob under the lingerie and pinched your nipple making you shiver and cry around his length. he pulled out and you coughed and whipped the spit from your face. moving back into an upright position, collecting yourself, and watching as haechan went to grab the camcorder that sat on his desk. he brought it to your face, ‘did you enjoy sucking my dick?’ he asked.

‘yes’ you breathed, ‘your cock is so pretty and big’ staring into the camera lens, haechan watched you through the screen, his dick jumped in excitement at the lewd scene in front of him. his hand reached behind your head, you accepted it melting into his touch. grabbing your hand he pushed your lips back to his pulsing member, head red with anger and ready to let go. instinctively opening, he pushes it back into your mouth, raggedly pushing the back of your head down his length until your nose touches his pelvis. gagging and slurping up your spit as best as you could, it dribbles down your chin as you moan around him, making him groan at the vibration. as glassy eyes stared into the camera, the camcorder picked up the whimpered sounds as hot, wet tears glided down your cheeks. after a couple of last thrusts haechan lets go of your hair, pushing you off of him, and moves back, ‘give me a show baby, take it off’ you oblige and start with the straps, trying to make it as sexy as possible for the camera. you smile innocently, as you free your tits, moving your hand to play with it, before lifting your lower body to strip yourself naked.

haechan moans, as you toss the garment to the floor, staring up at him he cages you in, climbing on top of you and kissing your neck, violently sucking on the skin and lightly biting, ‘im going to leave so many bruises, so everyone knows you're mine’ he whispered against your sensitive skin. you mewled at his words, the thought of being his. ‘please,’ you gasped through rugged breaths, ‘make me yours’ he placed his knees between your thighs, feeling your wetness as it pooled onto the sheets and him. your hips buckled forward, trying to get some sort of pressure onto your sopping cunt. he continued moving downward, the camcording moving with him, letting it see what he did. he kissed over your boobs, giving them little kitten licks as you moaned at the contact.

finally reaching your entrance, he motioned for you to take the camera and film him, which you did with shaking hands. now pointed at him, he stared into the lens, as you watched him through the screen he delved in, giving your lips small licks which turned into harsh lapping sounds as he abused your clit. he never looked away from the camera, the eye contact making you moan as it felt so intimate, yet so dirty. this really was the best idea he ever had. you hissed as his finger slid into your entrance, so hot and warm, you distinctively moved your hips towards his hand, wanting more. he added another finger, stretching you in preparation, ‘fuck, you are so tight’ he observed, pumping his fingers in and out of you. the coil in your stomach tightened and the air around you felt so heavy, you knew the band was about to snap. shuddering, your eyes and head rolling back ‘i think i’m gonna cum chan’ you whimpered. but, he stopped and his fingers exited your hole with a squelching sound, crying at the loss of contact your head moved back towards his, shooting daggers.

‘i want you to cum on my cock beautiful. watch you fall apart as i fuck you stupid’ he confessed, grabbing the camera from you. now turned back towards you, you gulped, body buzzing and hot at his nasty words. he grabbed your ankles, forcing you closer to him. haechan pushed your legs against your chest, giving him perfect access to your swollen lips. he casts the camcorder downward, ready for the money shot. lining up his tip with your entrance, he pushes in, causing you both to gasp and sigh at the contact. finally bottoming out, his hips reach your thighs, giving you a minute to adjust he started to thrust lightly, making you keen at the feeling of being so full, that, and the wet sounds of your bodies, almost made haechan cum right there on the spot. ‘fuck, you feel so tight baby, you don't know how long i’ve waited for this’ he whimpered, trying to keep himself composed. moaning at his confession you grabbed his arm and brought him down suddenly to kiss you. now in a missionary-esque position, haechan sat the camcorder down on the bed to face you both, sloppy kisses were exchanged, and you both gasped into each other mouths when haechan went deep and hit your sweet spot. moving up to his knees, and grabbing the camcorder, he pulls his hips down harder, drilling into your weeping cunt. you grunted growing incoherent as you babbled about how his dick was so big and for him to keep going, ‘you take me so well pretty girl’ he groaned, zooming in on your fucked out expression, ‘it’s like you were made for me, you're mine baby, all mine’ he breathed, his rhyme becoming sloppy and harder, faster.

you could feel fire start to poll in your lower abdomen, sinking your nails into haechans forearm as he moved circles in your burning clit with his free hand. ‘cum with me baby please’ he begged, ready to release inside of your warm pussy. you tensed feeling the lightning strike as you felt the earth stutter on its axis. groaning loudly, you finally let go, waves of pleasure coarse over your body, walls convulsing griping haechan like a vice. he whimpered above you, stilling his hips as he coated your insides white, curses flew out of his mouth as he made small trusts, loving the feeling of overstimulation. your thighs vibrated and jerked, letting your orgasm die down, haechan pulled out slowly, making you both hiss. he sighed contently, getting up and heading to the bathroom and coming back with a washcloth. he videotaped as his sticky substance dripped from your hole, cleaning you up thoroughly as he continued to zoom in.

‘well… that's a wrap’ he said cheekily and turned off the camera, placing it on his bedside table. you laughed at the comment, moving closer to him as he climbed into bed beside you. heart floating as he pulled you closer, bringing your head to rest on his chest. ‘i think that would win at fucking sundance’ he whispered, making you snort and playfully hit his chest. you both sat in comfortable silence, his fingers ghosting your back, moving up and down.

‘did you mean it? what you said?’ you asked, feeling small in his embrace.

‘what part?’ he ventured, grabbing hold of your shoulder.

‘when you said you had been waiting for this moment, was that real or just for the tape?’ you felt stupid needing clarification. you both had decided to make it overzealous so it would do numbers, he wouldn't think twice to say any of that stuff when money was on the line, or maybe he had meant it and in the heat of the moment confused about what you were also thinking.

‘of course i meant it love, if you can't tell, i’ve been in love with you for a while’ he confessed.

you gasped, head lifting off of his chest to gaze up at him, eyes shown in full sincerity, he went on ‘there's no one else who understands me as you do, you continue to put up with my shit, you're honest when i need it most, but you also support me in everything i do. you spent a week trying to find any companies that would take me on, going as far as to call continually when i never asked you to in the first place’

you groan remembering the hiring manager that had said ‘his resume wasn't good enough’ to which you gave them an earful telling them they would be stupid not to accept him. ‘you laugh at my stupid jokes and you always let me win in league, you are effortlessly beautiful without even trying, even after you have woken up after 15 hours of sleeping, seeing your face walk out of your bedroom door is the best feeling, i get so excited when you come home from work, like i’m a dog waiting for its owner’ you cry as you both sit up, holding each other.

‘haechan… i don't-… you’re my best friend, the person who knows me better than i know myself,’ he wipes small tears pricking from the corners of your eyes, just as they are about to fall ‘you always know when i’m down, you help me with tasks whenever i get frustrated and you never complain, you are my rock and i know i can always rely on you for anything, you’re my home.’ you finished your turn of the confession with a simple, ‘i love you too’

haechan gives you a small kiss, ‘no more crying, we should rest’ moving to turn off the lamp next to him, he puts you in an embrace and lays you down back in your previous position, kissing your hair you let your eyes flutter shut. ‘what if i told you i was a secret billionaire?’ he mumbled.

you squirmed, pretending to be annoyed at his antics, he gripped tighter, trapping you in his warmth, whining ‘please, go to fucking sleep’ you grumbled, finally settling down after a long day of shooting.

you stirred awake as the sunlight from the window hit your eyes, blinking you stretched and sat up, groaning as every muscle seemed to ache after last night. ‘good morning girlfriend’ haechan sang, walking into his room holding a plate of food for you.

‘girlfriend?’ you questioned, grabbing the fake porcelain from him.

he shook his head from side to side ‘mmm well we’re married in my head already, so that’s we can go with for now’

you sighed and nodded, smiling, ‘okay boyfriend, whatever you say’ picking up the bagel you got ready to take a bite when haechan gave you a nervous smile without saying anything, still standing in front of you ‘... what's wrong?’

‘don’t get mad, but hypothetically, what if i told you i forgot to hit record last night’ he cast his eyes downward, obviously trying to hold in a laugh.

you groaned, knowing he was still messing with you, ‘i saw the red light on the camera stupid, you can’t fool me.’ he looked up hearing the crunch from the toasted donut, happily eating away. ‘now come here and massage my back’ he immediately obliged, coming behind you to rub your pain away. ‘and make sure to delete everything before giving the camera to jaemin. please.’

haechan stopped, ‘but he said he wanted to see!!’

you turned around ready to grab him by the neck and not in a good way, ‘HAECHAN’. all he could do was laugh and hug you as tight as he could, never wanting to let go.

‘holy shit babe, come here and look at this’ haechan called from the kitchen, you came buzzing in, eager to see what he had to show you.

‘what is it?’ you mused, glancing down at his phone as he handed it to you.

you gasped, seeing the number of money your videos have made over the past couple of months, ‘that's enough to pay for four months of rent!!’ after a couple of months and making more videos, you started posting them to a private channel online and promoting them in various placing, thus helping you both reach pretty decent number for amateur porn. you even moved into his bedroom and turned your old one into a perfect little studio. 

‘i know!!’ he got up from the table and hugged you in celebration, ‘and we owe it all to our first subscriber and top donator… maybe we can ask him to film for us some time’

you dropped your arms and grimaced, ‘jaemin’

it really was the best idea he ever had, and you love him for it.