#which is getting way fucking longer than it has any right to be

[phantom-fics]

DPxDC Prompt

Oh shit- fuck- no- no no Ancients no. Danny was currently standing– or well, floating– in front of none other than Tim Drake. Of whom was staring back at Danny absolutely gobsmacked. The teens mouth is desperately trying to form words as he is stood there, hair sticking out in all directions from his earlier nap, cup of coffee going cold in his left hand and his right weakly pointing at Danny. If he wasn’t freaking out so much Danny would probably make a comment about how the other looked like he’d just seen a ghost. He’s just got a great sense of humour like that. Not the time though. Right now, it’s time to make up whatever ungodly excuse he can come up with to explain how he’d transformed from normal, everyday human Danny into the very person Tim and his cohort of bird and bat themed vigilantes have been trying to track down for the past month.

Honestly, Danny almost felt bad knowing all of their secret identities but knowing things you didn’t necessarily want to was all part of becoming a ghost. Such as that time he floated in on his friend Tucker and he was– maybe he shouldn’t continue down that train of thought actually. Eurgh.

Danny’s eyes darted around the ornate hallway they were in for a moment before he managed to settle on a response. “It’s cosplay?” the halfa’s voice lifted at the end, turning the statement into more of a question rather than a fact he’s sure of. He smiled a bit to try to help his case not realising that he had just bared his sharpened canines to the other which very much did not aid him in any way.

Tim blinked. “It’s… cosplay? Are you being serious right now?” he said incredulously.

“Dead serious.” Danny replied, nodding sagely while clawed hands placed themselves behind his back, his hair floatily diving and rising with each movement of his head. Tim released a dry and disbelieving laugh.

“I- I knew it. Everyone told me I was crazy, they told me it was impossible. I knew it. Oh my god, wait until I tell- ,” This is exactly the moment in which Danny realised he had absolutely nothing to worry about. None of the bats believed Tim anyways, what does it matter if he’d just proven his theory when Tim has absolutely no evidence he could use? Danny's memory brings him back to when he met Wes, some guy in his old school who just so happened upon him mid-transformation. How he tried telling anyone who would listen that Danny was Phantom and the result ended up in him being labelled the “weird conspiracist kid”. If it worked once why wouldn't it work again? Danny began to smile as he listened to the other continue his rant. “ -totally stealing the title of best detective- why- why are you looking at me like that?”

“Tim, Timothy, little Tim boy, you know, when I was 14 I died half-way in my house's basement which led to me becoming Phantom,” Tim reeled as Danny explained calmly while floating closer to Tim, the chaos behind his intentions only showing through the sly look he wore. “I also beat the last Ghost King in battle so very technically I’m the Ghost King now, so take that as you will.” although he was finding joy in making Tim distraught he made care not to share anything that could truly be used as evidence or used to fuck up someone else’s well being. What can he say, he’s a really benevolent king. (Plus a whole plethora of characters would absolutely go off on him if they ever found out he accidentally shared some sensitive info.)

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Tim just barely breathed out, feeling overloaded with all the information being dumped on him.

Danny grinned a feral grin, no longer trying to hide his inhuman qualities from the guy he’s about to be harassing a whole lot more often. “Because no one will ever believe you” he says smugly, grin growing to a point where it was unnatural.

He began to slowly sink into the wall leading outside, not breaking eye contact when Tim gritted out his reply “No. No! You sick son of a bitch! You- get- back here-”. With no more regard for his coffee that spilt over his hand as he ran up to the wall and began trying to grab Danny out of it, to no avail. All he was left with was a mildly cold hand and a huge ensuing crisis.

—

Not very long afterwards Danny was struck with a wonderful idea. Why not make the most of this situation and prank Tim a bit? And the plan was as follows: make the vigilante believe as many lies as he was able. Have some fun and make sure Tim didn't stumble upon anything too important, two birds in one stone.

[bomberqueen17]

progress

man last week at the farm was so hectic that it was Friday night before I had to recharge my laptop. Like, from Sunday morning to Friday night, I had not actually sat at my laptop, which is the primary place I do both the hobbies I like to do and spend my leisure time, for long enough to discharge the battery. So if that don't tell you something, IDk what does.

anyway. i'm back in buffalo really really enjoying the central air at the moment-- it's not even that hot it's just over 90% humidity unrelentingly and having a break from that is amazing.

Chita is 'm ebecoming pickier and pickier about food, and has grown very thin, which I don't like, but well, she's old enough to vote, and her thyroid medication is damaging her kidneys, so. There's a limit on how much longer we'll have with her, and I'd like to keep her going as long as I can, but. Well, it's hard. At least she's still happy and lovey and purry. Currently she's sleeping in a box under the ottoman, which is her favorite disappearance spot.

I'm determined to bash out the rest of this novel, which is taking for-fucking-ever but I think I almost know how it ends now.

I'm also thinking of giving up on getting treatment for ADHD. (whining about that behind cut)

Vyvanse did nothing, methylphenidate did nothing, now I'm on a higher dose of methylphenidate and I can tell I've taken it because I get headaches, drymouth, and occasionally feel like my heart is beating faster than it ought to, but I'm not having any positive effects from it. At this point I'm realizing I wouldn't know what a positive effect would even entail. I've spent about four thousand dollars out of pocket on this (high deductible), and then we switched health insurance (new job for dude) to... the same health insurance but with the deductible reset... so I'll have to spend seven thousand more before they cover anything at all, and I'm just all set. I could've bought myself a bunch of really nice shit for that, instead of a lot of headaches and some advice to form better habits. So. I'm trying to be scientific and document my experiences but I've pretty much got the gist of it by now. ADHD stimulant meds have no positive effects for me.

I guess that's all I was really trying to do, was find out if treatment was possible. So many people say it changed their lives, and I would've liked that. I know it takes a long time to dial in on the right medication and the right dosage but. I have literally not experienced any positive effect from anything, and at this point I can't even imagine what it would be like. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe I was just expecting something unrealistic. I don't know why people take these medications. The current psych says stimulant meds slow your thoughts down. That's not what I need. I don't have trouble focusing because my mind is racing. I have trouble focusing because I forget I'm real. I have trouble getting anything done because I intrinsically cannot comprehend prioritizing goals. Slowing my thoughts down wouldn't help with that anyway. So I don't know why I'm spending so much time trying all this. The psych said that if the methylphenidate isn't helpful she might try modafinil next, and I had already looked that up and I'm not even sure what they're hoping it would do for me. Atomoxetine made me anhedonic and destroyed my digestion for a while. What's modafinil gonna do? I literally can't imagine what good thing it could do. Maybe I'm just too old and set in my ways. I am just not ever going to be a person who can set goals and then carry them out and I should accept that and get as Zen as I can about it. I'm basically unemployable and it's too late to change it. It's fine.

IDK the one therapist was like "i can't help you you should see a psychiatrist directly" but now that service is texting and calling me about scheduling another appointment and i have no idea what to even say. i guess i can text back and be like "it's all good, i am giving up!" but i don't know if they'll take that as an answer. But like, in the last session I did with her she was like "well a pill isn't gonna fix ya!" so i'm like well. then. what. are we doing here. telling me to keep a journal has only given me an almost traumatic aversion to notebooks, so i doubt there's any more like. useful information here. a pill isn't gonna fix me, it's not even going to help me, and a notebook isn't going to save me, and i have yet to encounter advice i haven't already tried, and i'm just you know what i'm good enough i guess. this is so much hassle and i have no faith that anyone is ever going to figure out what my fucking deal is anyway.

But. apart from that life goes on and is fine and i can stop fretting now and get back to that writing. I wish i could keep my house tidier but like, i also wish I could fly, right? Some things, you just can't have. I can't make my cat immortal, I can't learn how to make a fucking list, I can't set a goal and achieve it. But I can mostly write a book. Maybe I can finish one of those. I'll keep trying.

[fiveht]

hello! question about disarm and their dynamic!! you said in an earlier ask that u are well aware of the power imbalance happening in the fic

i was wondering, how did you deal with the fact that remus was clearly attracted to 17 year old sirius and waited anxiously for him to turn 18 before pouncing? it's quite a controversial topic— i'd love to know how you navigated that challenge! :)

Okay well this is probably me just strolling into a fucking minefield, so I just want to preface this by saying that Disarm is a fictional work intended to be seen as a pulpy, trashy romance/erotica short story, and should not be examined for deeper meaning or messages, because there are none present. So I'm not going to talk about the real-world implications, because I think it's insulting to the reader when the author feels they have to make a point to remind them that a fictional story shouldn't be replicated in real life. I'm going to assume, given that my fics all have Explicit ratings, that no one under 18 is reading my writing, because it is specifically rated for adult audiences! (And if a minor consumes media that is clearly intended for adults, it's not the creator's responsibility to address them.) When I write, and when I speak about my writing, I am speaking to a group of adults who are more than capable of distinguishing fiction from real life and who do not need some random smut writer coming along to tell them how to be good and moral citizens.

That being said, of course their power imbalance was a factor I considered while I was writing, because power imbalance is one of the main tenets of age difference fics. So I'll address some things in the context of Remus' perspective on the development of their relationship.

First I'd like to clarify that while Remus was attracted to Sirius immediately, he wasn't aware he was 17 until the day of his birthday, so there was no like, countdown marked on his calendar or anything. Rieka told him she was going out for Sirius' birthday that night, and that was the moment Remus learned that Sirius wasn't yet 18. Before that, all he knew was that Sirius was university-aged. And more to the point, he most definitely was not waiting anxiously before he pounced. The idea of going for Sirius, who at that time was just Rieka's cute friend, would have never crossed his mind. Sirius is attractive to him because Sirius is just fucking pretty, and very much Remus' type physically, but Remus doesn't pursue every twink who catches his eye. (Maybe in his younger days… but that's a backstory for another time.) Remus doesn't know the mysterious texter is Sirius until the night of his birthday, and he would not have pursued Sirius if he had never figured it out. The texter is a benign curiosity until that night, and Sirius is a cute sometimes-houseguest with somewhat questionable boundaries. That's all.

So idk, maybe that answers your question, but if you would like to learn more about Remus' perspective, read on.

Remus is very, very careful in how he approaches things, because he has no reason to think that Sirius actually wants to go further than being an anonymous brat in his text messages. The in-person flirting actually stops very early on -- that wasn't just me not showing the other times it happened, the second scene in Remus' office is the last time Sirius comes on so strong. After that it's just car rides home, and while Sirius is kind of a natural flirt and can't help himself sometimes, for the most part those car rides are about getting to know each other and having genuine conversations, not about Sirius playing with his hair and fluttering his eyelashes suggestively.

It does not escape Remus' notice that the first time the texts go quiet, it's after he insinuates that he wants to know who he's talking to. He interprets that as an indication that Sirius is not ready to take things further at that time, and he doesn't push it. He gets him the groceries with no ulterior motive -- at this point, Remus is falling for Sirius in a way that's kind of confusing and foreign to him, but he knows for sure that he can't stop thinking about how shitty and awful and unsafe Sirius' apartment/neighbourhood is, and how he must be flat broke because he doesn't have a job and Remus is well aware of what his tuition is costing him and what rent is like in their city, even in a shithole like that. So he buys him fucking groceries, because he wants to take care of Sirius, even if that's all Sirius ever wants from him. He tells him he's welcome at his and Rieka's place any time, and he isn't flirting when he says that, he just wants Sirius to know he has support if he wants to use it.

As I've said before, Remus is aware of their power differential, so he wants to make sure that Sirius is granted as much power and control over the development of their relationship as possible. It's very important to Remus that the big moves are made by Sirius, not by him. The small moves, too -- the only times Remus initiates conversations, it's just to say hi, and ask how Sirius is doing, and try to cheer him up if he's down. Sirius (aggressively) initiates everything even remotely sexual. So things heat up again, and Sirius sends him the video, and Remus hears him speak in the video, and thinks, okay, so maybe he does want me to know? And he's still not going to say it, because he has no intention of forcing Sirius' hand, so when it comes up again, he simply says that he would like to know who Sirius is, and when Sirius says he's afraid to tell him, Remus drops it. He doesn't want Sirius to feel any pressure whatsoever. If he wants to just keep sexting indefinitely, Remus is here for it. But he does have feelings for Sirius now, feelings that go well beyond "oh no he's hot", so if Sirius is ever up for taking another step, Remus is here for that too.

The call-and-response reveal conversation is as forthcoming Remus is willing to be. He builds those questions slowly, so if Sirius sees a question like "Do you know where I live?" and panics and asks to stop, he never has to know what Remus was working up to. And of course, at that point Sirius is pretty certain that Remus must already know the truth, and all he really wants is for Remus to be the one to say it aloud, so it's not Sirius' fault if everything falls apart. The questions were the compromise between Remus pulling the trigger for him, and Sirius having to own up to it himself.

Remus needs Sirius to be all-in, and he doesn't want any doubt in Sirius' mind that this is what he wants. Remus could have texted him the day after his birthday with "Hi Sirius" and Sirius probably would have jumped right in, but that wasn't how Remus wanted it to go. If they were doing this, it couldn't be a fling, and it could never be casual, and it had to be completely, enthusiastically mutual on all fronts. Remus would have waited months more, and he also would have dropped it entirely, if Sirius had asked. 

Jesus christ, what was the question again? 😅

Thanks for the message, I hope this is a sufficient answer and I apologise if it is not. This was a great procrastination tool, ngl.

[ahavaas]

(sometimes we wank and sometimes we play. I'm playing! yeah this is an old one, plz be sweet to @kuntya, who's having fun too, I think.)

see, I don't hate the idea of (bad ending au, sorry, I will explain) Jiang Cheng promoting Wei Wuxian to idk Necromancer Supreme of Yunmeng Jiang, dressing him up all gorgeous, pointing him at anyone who looks at them funny, and telling him to kill.

(hold on: let's contemplate that. let's think about that for a second. picture it in your minds.

okay! focus!)

see, I think the story is really clear about what happens when one supremely powerful guy tries to take over the world (he gets stibbity-stabbed. in the back. by someone he trusted. One Really Powerful Guy still has to eat, and sleep, and drink water that hasn't been poisoned by all the people who hate and fear him, y'know?) and the longer you play "I can and will kill all of you if you fuck with me," the more opportunities you create for everyone to get Really Worried, band together and wait for you to fall asleep.

should Jiang Cheng have been *looking* for an excuse to go to war maybe 1-2 years after everyone in the cultivation world finished a bloody war specifically to curbstomp the last Guy Who Was Way Stronger Than Everyone Else?

ehhhhhhhhh. *gestures vaguely* not a historian (not that this matters in discussions about Vague Fantasy China) but my general takeaway is "no".

it's a hard sell, right? "hello everyone. not being at war has been pretty fun, right? anyways. you know my shixiong? yeah, the one who keeps getting daydrunk. the one who does the necromancy that's bad for your soul and spirit. him, yeah, hahaha. he just killed a bunch of jin. without my knowledge or permission, yeah.

I mean, they were doing some fucked up shit! he was right to be pissed about it.

so we're at war with the jin now.

yeah, the largest distinct post-war population with the most money. hear me out.

if we kill em all and take their shit, WE will be the richest sect around. they're definitely doing some evil shit and they're going to be a problem in the future if we ignore it.

we can definitely do it! unstable drunk shixiong is *really good* at killing people (this is a good thing). the people he just killed (without checking in with me) definitely deserved it!

well. when the lan and the nie see us starting another war, I have to assume they will accept the righteousness of our cause and cheer us on. why would they be concerned? the last wildly powerful guy Killing 'Em All was Evil, but Wei Wuxian is Good, so. y'know. I'm sure everyone will be chill.

if they're not chill?

crazy idea! we have the moral high ground.

but in that case I guess the plan is wei wuxian will Kill All of Them too.

we're keeping it simple, stupid: we're gonna kill people until they fuck off and leave us alone. wei wuxian is *really really good* at killing people.

if something happens to him?

hahaha we might be kinda fucked, yeah.

not super clear on how the necromancy works but presumably he'll die eventually, yeah. definitely a problem for future us!

you're raising some valid questions and concerns for sure. the thing is: it's way too late for that! what's done is done! wei wuxian got (righteously) angry and made the call. we've got to deal with the situation at hand.

haha will that happen again? maybe? impossible to say! I cannot stress enough how little control I have over the unstable drunk guy who's really good at killing people for good and moral reasons! he follows his heart!

understandable. good luck out there, man."

(am I being a little goofy? sure: if you want to play with this idea, you'd probably want to focus on the existential threat posed by the power-hungry Jin commiting war crimes with impunity. you still have to play the hand you're dealt, which any way you look at it, still includes "our secret weapon is my unstable drunk (very charming!) shixiong with a heart of gold, excellent morals, and very little impulse control, and our plan is: righteous murder".)

idk again, playing-not-wanking: I just don't think any scenario where yunmeng jiang claims wei wuxian, shelters the wens, and says "wei wuxian is the fantasy equivalent of a nuke and we will let him off-leash if you fuck with us" leads to any kind of stable political situation. is it a fun idea? indubitably. is it hot? 1000%. does it work? idk man maybe you guys can square this circle, I feel like it ends badly.

Literally the main schism between me and the people who keep @-ing me is: did you believe Jiang Cheng when he said, "if you insist on protecting them, then I can't protect you"? If you think he was lying and he did in fact have the power to publicly defy every other sect in general, and Lanling Jin in specific, and still keep his promises to his own people, but he just chose not to exercise it for convenience, then yeah, he sucks

If you believed the narration when it said that the Jiang sect was in a pathetic position, and accept that Jiang Cheng was the youngest and least experienced sect leader in the room who had zero support from the other sects during that time (Nie-Jin-Lan had just entered into a brotherhood and left him out! This was way before Yanli and Zixuan got married!), then every single take from the people in the first camp is insane goblin speak and we will literally never get anywhere

[blueskittlesart]

Dear Big Brother

kind of a sequel to this comic

[plutotheplum]

ᡣ𐭩 zayne | scrubs ᡣ𐭩

cw: vaginal fingering, p in v, finger sucking

zayne has an inkling that you have some sort of obsession with his scrubs.

he doesn’t exactly know why, but there’s been too many instances of you ogling him in his scrubs for him to pass as simple coincidences. the first time, he’d just finished up in surgery, the complications making it run longer than most, his body weighed down by exhaustion that he’d simply decided to return to his office, without changing. he hadn’t expected to find waiting for him was you, a cute, little bento box clutched in your hands, wrapped up in a snow-patterned cloth. 

he’d been thankful, he always is, what kind of boyfriend would he be otherwise?

but you hadn’t smiled at him that night, instead stared at him blankly with wide eyes and parted lips. he’d tried talking to you, but it was as though your mind was preoccupied, your gaze solely fixated on his scrubs, every flex of his lithe fingers as he’d undone the knot of the cloth. zayne thinks he might’ve heard your breath catch when he sat down in his chair, his thighs spreading slightly to get comfortable, scrubs pulling over his thighs a little.

you’d excused yourself with a flustered air, not without kissing him, however, the movement of your lips a little too desperate for him to consider normal, the scrape of your teeth against his lips enough to have him readjusting his half-hard cock in the privacy of his office.

the next few times it happens, zayne can’t help but be intrigued.

you’re handsy, the desire in your eyes barely concealed, the press of your thighs hard to miss when he spins a pen between his fingers, pretending to think. but it’s not his scrubs only, his glasses seem to have some hold over you too.

like when his glasses slide too low on the slope of his nose and he pushes them up, zayne can spy the way you bite your lip, your hand curling into a fist on your lap. he wishes you’d just act on your urges, but all he gets are eager, little kisses, your hands drifting over his chest for a moment before you pull back with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek and say you’ll be waiting for him at home.

he can’t have that. when grayson mentions next month’s observational surgery for medical interns, zayne knows exactly what to do. 

one call later to akso hospital’s chief of surgery, with the promise of attending whatever upcoming medical conference is next, he’s managed to get you a front row seat.

zayne hopes it’s enough to make you finally snap.

- 

you don’t know how you’ve managed to find yourself here.

you thought observing surgeries was strictly for residents and interns, but apparently the invitation extends to doting girlfriends too. to your mortification, you think zayne might be catching onto your blatant, although extremely appreciative, ogling of him in his scrubs. which is why you’re sitting here now, perched on a metal bench, watching as your boyfriend’s gloves slip on, a mask covering the lower half of face.

aortic aneurysm, grayson had mentioned. 

any longer and you may as well have had an aneurysm yourself. 

you can hardly sit still, teeth sinking into your lower lip as zayne’s low, commanding voice comes through the speaker, narrating the surgery with precision. you shouldn’t be feeling this way, thighs pressing together under your skirt as you listen to his voice, watching the way he works, completely in his element with such professionalism that has you feeling hot and entirely too bothered. 

which is probably why you’re pawing at his broad shoulders and pulling him down with a rough tug, lips pressing against his in a feverish kiss the moment he’s out of the operating theatre.

“sorry,” you whisper against his lips, “you just- you look really good, zayne. really, really handsome and if you don’t fuck me right now, i think i might die.”

zayne huffs out a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly, kissing the corner of your mouth affectionately.

“yeah, sweetheart? i suppose it would be against my oath to neglect someone so direly in need.”

you nod rapidly, pulling him down for another searing kiss, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the soft strands. zayne smiles against your lips, guiding you towards his desk, your lower back hitting it as he boxes you in against it, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

a soft moan leaves you when he squeezes at your ass, groping at the fat, his breath hot against you as his other hand slips under your skirt, rubbing up against your embarrassingly drenched panties. 

“you’re this wet?” zayne asks hoarsely, groaning when he pulls your panties to the side and feels your slick sticking to his fingers stubbornly as he rubs the pads of his fingers against your slippery, puffy folds. “just from watching me perform a surgery?”

“surgery, scrubs,” you mutter absentmindedly, half-lidded and drunken gaze dragging over the length of his arm, pussy clenching at the visible flex of his bicep and the muscles in his forearms, the sinewy skin littered with scars nearly enough to make you cum right and then there. “i think i’m just always wet around you, zayne.”

his smile against your cheek makes your heart flutter, an airy, contented sigh leaving you as he sinks two fingers inside of you, curling them with practised ease. 

“it is flattering,” he whispers, pecking your lips gently, his hand pulling your sweater up until your bra is exposed, fingers unclasping your bra quickly. zayne sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, his jaw clenching. “fuck- you’re beautiful, love.”

“thank- ah- thank you.”

you flush under his gaze, head tipping back as he thrusts his fingers into your clenching cunt, the low, hoarse groans he lets out into your ear making you curl your hands into his scrubs, pulling him impossibly closer. the praise he gives you makes everything spin around you, swirling and melding into nothing until all you can hear are his soft whispers.

“good girl… taking my fingers so well, yeah? pretty, pretty fucking baby… all mine… you sound so pretty, sweetheart… i love you…”

you can barely handle it all, mouth opening for his fingers when he slides them inside, sucking dazedly, hips rocking down against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, gasping when he curls them further and presses his thumb against your swollen, aching clit. when his mouth latches onto your breast, kissing and sucking, tongue flicking at your nipple before he bites down with measured restraint, you know you’re done.

he groans when you pull at his hair, muffling your sounds with a sloppy kiss. zayne’s arm wraps around your waist to hold you up when he feels you shake, licking into your mouth with such fervor that has you whining and whimpering until he pulls back to shush you.

“what- what are you doing?” you ask, voice slurring, shaking your head in a panicked gesture when he tries to pull his scrub top over his head, “don’t do that. the scrubs and glasses stay on.”

“you’re serious,” zayne muses when you stop him again, his fingers lacing with yours. “so, i was right.”

“mhm,” you smile up at him, tongue licking over his lower lip playfully.

he smiles lazily, pushing his glasses to sit higher on the slope of his nose, sitting in his chair, his thighs spreading invitingly, the fabric tight around the hardened bulge that makes your pussy throb.

“c’mere, sweetheart.”

as if you needed an invitation. you’re pulling your skirt and panties off, clambering up onto his lap, his chair creaking as you kiss him, hand slipping between your bodies to free his hard, thick cock that’s smeared with milky beads of pre-cum. 

there’s a collective sound of relief leaving both of you when you sink down on his warm length, his hands grasping your waist as you rock your hips down, whining softly into his mouth.

you lean back, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that has zayne’s eyes fluttering shut, his head tipping back to rest against the back of his chair. the bob of his adam’s apple has you growing wetter, pussy fluttering around his fat cock, zayne’s hand roughly squeezing at your ass.

“that’s it,” he breathes out, hooking his thumb against your teeth to pull you closer, lips pressing against yours. “ride my cock, love. take what you want.”

his collarbone is exposed, peeking through the v of his scrubs, your hands guiding his hand to your throat, whimpering when he squeezes your neck gently. his fingers are pushing back into your mouth before long, the same fingers that were moving so precisely only hours ago; saving someone’s life.

you let your tongue lave between his fingers, head bobbing as you ride his cock, fingers pushing at his scrub top, walls clenching around his cock when zayne bites the hem, holding it between his teeth. he looks good like this, almost as fucked out as you are, a hazy smile spreading across your face as you lean forward, breasts squishing up against his warm chest while you work your hips, bouncing on his cock, your hard nipples brushing against his pecs.

“i love you,” you mumble, voice shy and airy and cheeks flushed, despite the fact that his cock was currently stuffing you full.

“i know,” zayne whispers, hand pressing against your back to keep you flush against him as he picks you up, laying you down on his desk. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

which is why he fucks you like he means it, because he does, guiding your ankles to lock around his back as he leans over you, pounding his cock into your cunt, forcing your pussy to stretch around his thick cock, his hand cradling the back of your head so it doesn’t bang against the desk.

his glasses slip off with a clatter, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care, too consumed by pleasure and lust, your teeth sinking into his shoulder when he grinds his hips into you, cock buried so deeply inside of you that your thighs are twitching, eyes squeezed shut. 

“zayne,” you gasp, “zayne, i- i can’t-”

“gonna cum?” zayne asks, his voice hoarse and trembling from the pleasure, “please, sweetheart? cum on my cock, wanna see you look all pretty and undone, my love.”

the brush of his thumb against your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge, that and the way he drives his cock into you, in one measured, deep thrust that you’re almost sure you can feel his cock in your throat.

“c’mon,” he rasps into your ear, the lewd words accompanied by the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your cheek in encouragement, “c’mon sweetheart, cream my fuckin’ cock.”

you’re crying out, back arching, fingers scrabbling for purchase, wrapping around him, gripping the fabric of his scrubs desperately, your squeal muffled by zayne’s mouth slotting over yours, the heels of your feet pressing against him, trying to keep him stuffed inside of you. 

“fuck-” zayne groans, “oh fuck- sweetheart, take it, take my cum.”

he thrusts into you unevenly, grunting as he cums, his body falling over yours, hot cum flooding your pussy as his cock throbs and jerks inside of you. a contented sigh escapes you as you lay limp on his desk, nails scratching at his scalp gently, fingers running through his hair soon after.

zayne smiles at you when he props himself up, his lips brushing across your jaw fleetingly.

“maybe you should exclusively wear scrubs from now on,” you suggest, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes, pecking his lips.

“you’d never let me leave the house,” he whispers against your lips, amusement lacing his words.

“how could i?” you pout, your nose nuzzling against his, “not when you look this good.”

zayne lets out a low laugh, helping you sit up, cleaning you up with a few tissues before he does the same, helping you with your clothes after, his hands smoothing over your ruffled skirt.

you yawn contentedly, pressing yourself against him, rising up onto the tips of your toes to kiss him again, mewling softly when he pets his hands along your waist and hips.

“you did really good today,” you offer when he drags you onto his lap, curling up against his chest. “the surgery, i mean, i don’t know a whole lot about hearts and aortas, but i think you did great, zayne.”

“you don’t know a lot about hearts?” he muses, tipping your chin up with his finger, “that doesn’t sound right.”

“what?” you ask confusedly, brows furrowing as he kisses your forehead. “what do you mean?”

“how could you not?” zayne whispers, his gaze soft and riddled with overwhelmingly love and affection. “how could you not when you’ve completely captured my heart and soul?”

[monstersholygrail]

There were moments you could be paranoid. Who isn't sometimes? But when you swear there's a monster under your bed, everyone simply laughs and brushes off your concerns.

If only they knew, if only they understood. The way strange things kept happening in your bedroom. Your underwear you flicked off that was suddenly nowhere to be seen when you went to pick it up. The way your towel always seemed to fall off your body as soon as you pranced back into your room after a shower.

But every time you looked under your bed, you got no real proof. You narrow your eyes into the particularly dark corner of your bed, even swearing you see a few eyes peeking out. That wouldn't be enough. You needed undeniable proof and you wouldn't stop until you got it.

Your retaliation is swift and brutal. Teasing them mercilessly as you refuse to wear panties in your bedroom. Adorning new skimpy outfits, that way the monster can easily look up and see your glistening pussy. Can smell your arousal and know there’s nothing for your essence to catch onto. Yet they’re immobilized, not being able to steal your panties or reveal themselves to get to you.

You no longer bother putting on a towel after your showers. Leaving your wet body on full display. Taunting the monster under your bed and putting on a show for them as you slowly get dressed.

Making sure to find any excuse you can to bend over, letting the monster watch from afar as you present your body to them.

You can always feel its gaze on you. The way it’s many eyes lock onto your form, their focus unyielding as soon as you open the door to your room. The longer this goes on, the thicker the air in the bedroom grows. Tensions rising and sexual need growing. The frustration and restraint pushing and pulling to create an alluring atmosphere that slowly becomes irresistible.

Affecting not only the monster under your bed but you as well. Sensing such a strong desire from the monster has arousal coursing through you, your pussy getting wetter with each passing day. If their attentions rile you up this much, you start to wonder just how fucked you’ll be when they finally snap and take you like you’ve been waiting for them to.

It’s that same night when the monster under your bed can’t take it anymore. Your bare body squirming on the bed, blanket pushed aside. Their form rages with need, cock already dripping with pre-cum. Their tentacles snap out, not holding back as they spread your body for them and pin you down into the bed.

Tiny groans leave you as you wake up. Eyelashes fluttering open before a gasp rips from your throat at the sight of the monster at the end of the bed. Finally showing themself. Their slick yet soft tentacles tighten their grip in fear of an attempted escape and you moan softly.

“Finally…” you say breathlessly. The monster doesn’t wait a moment longer.

Their cock slides in with ease, which wasn’t surprising given has you had tortured the poor thing by touching yourself right before you slept. Hearing your moans but not being able to see was agony. But now that was all over. The monster growls and instantly starts pounding into your wet hole.

You remain practically still, no matter how much you try to writhe and twitch. So firmly enveloped in their tentacles that all you can do is take it and fall deeper into sensation as their cock savagely snaps into you, wrecking you and molding your body to fit their mindblowing girth.

They fuck into you like a beast, eyes roaming over your jolting form, ears picking up on the way your bodies clap together. All of this being so much better than either of you imagined. They can’t get enough of you, tentacles slipping into your mouth to which you immediately start sucking on them. Only heightening the pleasure for you both.

When your orgasm suddenly crashes into you without warning, you scream around their tentacles, pussy clenching down on their thick cock to milk it for all it’s worth. The monster from under your bed lets out a chilling roar that sends goosebumps down your spine before it shoots his seed deep inside your cunt.

You continue to soothingly suck on their tentacles, giggling as you feel it twitch in your mouth. Wondering how sensitive they are…Thinking you may need more forms of proof to really convince people they’re real.

The monster from under your bed growls once more at the sultry look in your eye. Their tentacles possessively clinging to every inch of you before they start rolling their hips back inside your needy cunt. Ready to fuck you all throughout the long night until they have to return back under your bed when the morning comes.

[simonbrain]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[aloha-from-angel]

A clip of the ending of the live-action Lilo and Stitch movie ended up on my feed, so y'all get to hear me bitch about it. Specifically, the idea of Nani giving up Lilo so she can go to a mainland college.

A. Fucking. US MAINLAND. College.

When we're out here doing SO MUCH trying to keep our Native Hawaiians home. Like, are you fucking serious? More Native Hawaiians (53%) now live outside of Hawaiʻi than within it! Only 23% of the Hawaiʻi population is listed as Native Hawaiian—and that number includes mixed-race individuals. (There’s mostly Mixed Plate Specials over here <3)

Think about that for a second. Out of well over a million people living in the islands, only around 300,000 are Native Hawaiian. That’s it.

And yeah, we can dig deeper into those statistics later, but for now, let’s just sit with how absolutely messed up it is that the underlying message of this Cash Grab L&S remake seems to be: “It’s good and right for Nani to give up her little sister to the state and go chase mainland dreams.”

Even worse? It’s Lilo who tells Nani to go. Like that’s supposed to be sweet or inspiring or something.

That is so freaking fucked up.

And it's such a gross misunderstanding of the issue WHY Nani shouldn't and WOULDN'T give her sister up.

Native Hawaiian children are more likely to be removed from their homes for neglect—not abuse. 

Several studies have found: 

Native Hawaiian kids were placed in care more often for neglect than non-Hawaiian kids. They are grossly overrepresented for being taken away because of neglect. 

"But Angel, if these kids are being neglected, they SHOULD be taken away and put in a stable environment, right?"

Yes! If they actually ARE being neglected! And if neglect wasn't based on subjective standards that target Native families! 

I went to a Hawaiian immersion school when I was in elementary school (Also because my brothers were in Special Education and this almost completely Native Hawaiian run school was the BEST for Special Education on the island) and did NOT know that Hawaiian kids were not the actual majority in Hawai‘i until I was in 7th grade and tossed in with the rest of the district in Middle school. 

A good portion of those kids were in foster care. 

Some were because of parental drug abuse or physical abuse, ect, (The local domestic violence shelter was up the road,) but a majority were from parents who were trying VERY hard to regain custody. Aunts and Uncles and Sisters and Brothers and Cousins and Tutus of all genders trying so hard to gain custody in a way that made it so it would be harder for them to be taken away. 

Some reasons I have PERSONALLY seen given as to why Native Hawaiian children have been removed from their homes are: 

"Inability to cope with parenting — (this is extremely subjective and is often a bullshit excuse to say that Native Hawaiian Caretakers aren't good enough. In the case I saw, it was because the mother was a teen mom, but she did a damn good job.) 

Inadequate housing — (Which also includes having "too many people in the house”, when culturally many native Hawaiians live with extended family. Case in point was because the kids lived with their five cousins.) 

Low or misused income — (Literally not having enough money when milk costs 10 dollars a gallon here…)

Broken families — (having a stepmom/stepdad, anything non-traditional.)

These aren't acts of violence against the kids. These are normal family lives. These kids would cry so hard about their home life, they wouldn’t focus on school, they’d act out, they’d hurt other kids and seek any sort of love and attention from stable adults. 

Native Hawaiian kids are: 

Overreported

 Overseparated 

Kept in the system longer 

More likely to re-enter foster care

This isn't unique to Hawai‘i and I won’t pretend it is. Bias in child welfare systems has also been extensively documented in African American and Native American communities, with indigenous peoples especially being targeted, especially recently. In acts that can only be described as a continuation of the White Man’s Burden ideology and residential schools, often POC children are tossed into group homes that see them as little more than a paycheck and a chance to “save the poor little wretches from their people”.

The problem was that the system was built on its own narrow ideas of what “good behavior” looked like—usually the way white middle-class kids were expected to act.

The stories I heard and the things I saw made me understand that the system was not just flawed—it is actively hurting ‘ohana in our state. The reasons kids were taken weren’t always about danger or neglect. 

It’s a quiet kind of violence, but it’s violence all the same. It fractures the very fabric of what makes a community strong—connections, histories, the ability to hold each other through hard times. 

POC children do not do well in the US foster system because of the systemic racism present.

Not to mention that Lilo has behavioral issues and is obviously going through a lot after her parents' death. She's neurodivergent, a POC, and vulnerable now that her parents are gone. 

Nani would be aware of these circumstances. She would never willingly give her sister to a system that is literally against her. And Tūtū can have Lilo removed from her home for anything from being “too old to be capable” to Lilo getting in trouble for violent behavior. (Which she's known for and likely will get worse now that the only person still alive from her immediate family is in FUCKING CALIFORNIA, WHICH, BTW, SENDS THEIR STUDENTS HERE TO STUDY MARINE BIO).

Yes, Nani is allowed to have a life outside of Lilo. She’s a 19-year-old who suddenly had to become a parent to her little sister after unimaginable loss. She’s doing it all alone—no real support system, no safety net, barely scraping by. She is SUFFERING.

But the beauty of the original Nani was that despite all that pain and pressure, she chose to fight tooth and nail for her sister. Because that’s her ʻohana. And as the original movie hammered home: ʻOhana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.

That wasn’t just a cute line or a throwaway bit. It was the theme of the story. It was a message about resilience, love, and keeping your loved ones together—especially in the face of colonialist systems that do try to tear families apart.

And Nani would know what would await Lilo if she were taken away—shuffled through the system, disconnected from her culture, her roots, her ʻāina. She’d be statistically more likely to end up homeless as soon as she turns 18. (Unfortunately this is a reality for so many foster kids I know.)

Yes, she left Lilo with David’s Tūtū. And yes, I’m sure David’s Tūtū is a lovely lady, even though she wasn’t in the original movie. But that’s full-on giving her sister up, letting go of custody and walking away for good. That’s not what the original Nani would do—and it sure as hell shouldn’t be painted as the “right” thing.

Lelau was one of those kids who was a real-life Lilo. (and Lilo was her obsession, ironically, she had so much Lilo and Stitch merch.) Lemme tell you a quick story about her.

She was my best friend for most of elementary school. She wasn’t “bad,” but she was different—emotional, lashed out and behaved in a way that was easy for adults to misread or just plain misunderstand. 

Her older brother had been taken by child services too, but because he was quieter, more “compliant,” he stayed with their older sister who already had a big family. That sister was trying to keep everything together, but with her own kids to raise, the weight was heavy. Meanwhile, Lelau got bounced around between different foster homes and relatives’ places because the system said she didn’t “behave.”

I think about Lelau a lot. I wonder what she would have thought if she watched this trash as a child, and saw herself in this Lilo, and saw herself as more of a burden than she already did.

Because here’s the truth: kids like Lelau already think they’re the problem. They hear it every day, even if no one says it out loud. It’s in the sigh when they walk into a room. It’s in the way teachers pull away, or how other kids are told to “be patient” with them like they’re some sort of test. It’s in the case files that reduce them to diagnoses and risk assessments. And it’s especially in the “well-meaning” media that repaints trauma and neurodivergence as something to grow out of—or to be handled by someone else entirely.

What they don’t get to see nearly enough is the fight to keep them. The fierce, messy, uncompromising love of someone who says: You’re not too much. You’re not broken. You’re mine, and I’m not letting go.

That’s what the original Lilo & Stitch gave us. That’s what Nani was. She wasn’t perfect—she yelled, she struggled, she made mistakes. But she stayed. She kept showing up. And she refused to let the system take her sister. That’s the kind of story Lelau needed. That we all needed as a kid. 

And yeah, the funny blue aliens were the real reasons we watched it as kids, but that doesn’t mean the message was lost on us.

So when I see these rewrites—this gross and horrible story where Nani gives up custody, where that decision is framed as “self-empowering” or “best for Lilo”—I feel sick. I know it’s just a story. But stories matter. Especially to kids who are already hanging on by a thread. Especially to kids like Lelau who don’t have stable adults around, who feel like a problem, who live every day waiting for someone to decide they’re too much and walk away.

Nani and other caregivers deserve better wages, free therapy, housing support, childcare, a goddamn village to help raise that child. Help shouldn’t mean losing the people they’re fighting for. Help should look like wrapping around both the kid and the caregiver. Keeping families together.

But the system doesn’t work that way—by design. It’s rooted in colonialism. It’s built to police poor families, brown families, Native families. It calls it “protection,” but it strips kids of their language, their culture, their names, and places them in homes that get paid to raise them out of context. That’s not safety. That’s assimilation.

Lelau got told again and again that her feelings were “too big,” her reactions were “bad behavior,” and that she needed to learn to “be good.” But what she really needed was someone to say, “I see you. I hear you. I get why this is hard. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She needed what Lilo got in the original story. A sister who would burn the world down if it meant keeping her safe. Her sister tried, god did that sister try, but it was so fucking hard. 

I guess I just keep wondering how many kids are watching this reboot, this sanitized versions of their own pain, and slowly internalizing that they are the problem. That the most “loving” thing they can do is to “stop being the burden”.

But that’s not love. That’s the system talking. That’s white supremacy and capitalism in a child welfare costume. That’s the lie kids like Lelau are told every single day.

And I’m just so fucking tired of it.

If you’re gonna tell a story about broken families, about loss, about trauma, about Hawai‘i, then tell the truth. Don’t paint giving up custody as this amazing, empowered choice if you’re not gonna talk about how the system coerces that “choice” out of people in the first place. Don’t act like this was the best option for the child themselves.

Because I’ve seen what happens when those kids grow up. I’ve seen what happens when no one fights for them. And I’ve seen the difference it makes when someone does.

[alchemistc]

favors

Tommy's the kind of asshole who checks his phone at the table in the middle of a first date, now.

In his defence, it hasn't been a great first date. And not in any sort of charming way, either.

In his defence, he's been waiting on this text for what feels like longer than it actually has been (four weeks, three days - he feels stupid admitting he's got a rough estimate of the hours too, but the point is he's been waiting. Hoping. Took this invitation to dinner as an attempt to remind himself he was the one who walked out.)

Tommy is absolutely the kind of asshole who glances up from his lap to find his date staring at him with his jaw clenched and doesn't bother to make more of an excuse than "Sorry, family thing, I gotta go."

Tommy's the kind of asshole who drops three twenties on the table and doesn't bother to say goodbye as he winds his way through tables - this place was pretentious as fuck, anyway - and pushes through the rotating door.

He's not even halfway to his truck when his phone displays an incoming call.

The last time he'd seen that name flash across his screen he'd been - well, he'd been a ball of nerves for all of five seconds before a winded voice had asked him to commit some light treason and Tommy had hopped to.

"Evan. Hey."

He remembers Evan had always thought he was so cool, and he sort of wishes Evan could see him now, with sweaty palms and a nervous hitch to his step as he twists around the wire fencing that will lead him to the truck he'd dropped thirty-five bucks to park, in this stupid downtown lot for this stupid date that hadn't distracted him for a minute at the stupid restaurant that only served tapas and hipster whiskey.

His voice is a little tremulous, a little off. "Hi Tommy."

Tommy doesn't waste time. He's done enough of that, and Evan sounds - Jesus he sounds awful. Sad, deep in his bones. Tired. A little out of it. "Everything okay?"

"I did have feelings for you. When I said that. I - It was such a shitty thing to say and I realized I never apologized for it even though I meant to and...and I did. I do, still, really."

It's the kind of opening Tommy couldn't have dreamt up in a million years. It's solid proof that Evan has worked it over in his mind at least half as many times as Tommy, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, how he'd ruined it so quickly when everything he'd been a sad sack about pretending he didn't want had been right there, ready for the taking. When he'd done that devastating bambi-eyed, through the lashes glance up, even though they were the same fucking height, and Tommy had stuck his foot in his mouth so badly he'd knocked out a couple teeth.

"Okay. I -."

Whatever he'd have come up with in that moment escapes his brain a second later when Evan continues.

"Which is why what I wanted to ask you may be, like, super awkward."

Tommy's a little grateful to find his truck is only two spaces from where he is at the moment. Has to bite back the sharp deprecating laugh when he realizes this is another fucking favor, not a goddamn reconciliation. He left a date for this.

A bad one.

But still.

"Okay." Clipped is a good term for the way the word comes out of his mouth. He's already wincing before he's even finished saying it, because if he can tell Evan's hurting from his voice alone, surely Evan can tell from his own tone that he's...annoyed. In pain. Wishing he could rip the memory of Evan Buckley from the spot it's nestled beneath his ribcage, where he can't shake it loose.

Evan's quiet for a long, long moment. They'd been great at getting immediately horny any time there was even a hint of strife. Not so easy to do when they haven't been together now for longer than they ever were. "I was wondering if I could borrow your truck on Tuesday."

And that's - that's a fairly reasonable request, as far as the 118 standard goes. Still makes him want to cry, a little.

"Can I ask why?"

"It's... Uh...?" The pause lasts long enough that Tommy has to check and make sure Evan's still on the line. His next words are quieter, but he can hear the tremble in them. Has to bite down the urge to make himself a shield against whatever it is that has him so emotional. Not his job, anymore. If it ever even had been.

The farther removed he is from all of this, the more he wonders if he really had imagined the connection between them. How the intimate moments felt charged with more than a desire to rip each other's clothes off, how the silly moments had felt like the prologue of a long and happy story.

"It's fine, Evan. I'll, uh - have to check my schedule but I think I can make it work."

He's free Tuesday. He and his truck both are. But maybe... Maybe this has run its course. Maybe Tommy will have to make more of an effort, his next bad first date.

"Eddie's moving back," Evan says, and there's a weird twist to his voice, a quirk around the name Tommy doesn't recognize. He'd always said "Eddie" with the kind of reverence Tommy couldn't fully grasp, a superhero and a confidante all rolled up in the lazy smirk and cow-brown eyes of a man Tommy had no hope of beating out on the Important To Evan Buckley scale. But if Tommy had to put a description to it, Evan kind of spits the name, now. "And until I can figure out a place to stay I need to get a few things in storage quickly. I just thought - it was stupid. Obviously it's short notice, and you shouldn't feel obligated to -."

"My spare room is empty," Tommy says. Tommy lies, more accurately. It's currently storing all the renovation shit he's been accumulating since the breakup turned him into an insane person pretending he knows a damn thing about fixing up a house.

This pause seems to hold a little more weight to it.

"...okay?" And there's - there's something there, in his voice, sun warm and yellow, bacon cooling on a paper towel and eggs still not plated while Evan swallowed and asked the one question Tommy had been hoping he wouldn't ask.

"I just meant - why spend the money on a storage unit, right?"

"Tommy."

"Let me check my schedule. I can get back to you. If Tuesday works, we can just - we can figure it out from there."

"Tommy."

And that's his "you're spiralling" voice. Tommy hadn't heard it often. Too busy trying to be as cool as his shiny new boyfriend thought he was. Too busy choking down the urge to sink a knife into his ribcage and carve out his heart to hand it over.

"I'll let you know by tomorrow morning," Tommy promises, and before he lets his words get away from him he ends the call.

Jesus fuck.

Hell.

What the fuck?

---

Tommy's so frayed with nerves he spends the entire drive slowly wearing a groove into the side of his cheek. By the time he makes it to the quiet street and sees Evan's Jeep parked on the curb, gate open and already stuffed full of boxes Tetris-style, he feels like he might just fucking explode.

It makes the terse, perfunctory head nod from Eddie on his way up the paved path just that much more confusing. That much more frustrating. He's got a set of keys swinging from his fingers, and doesn't even glance behind him as Evan pops the door open with a hip and stacks a box on top of two others already sitting in the porch.

There's clearly more going on here than Tommy is privy to.

"You aren't helping?" It's an innocent question. He doesn't even mean anything by it. Across the yard, Evan goes tense. Halfway down the drive, Eddie goes still, and swivels his gaze to Tommy.

"No one asked me to." By the stoop, Evan tips his gaze down, suddenly incredibly interested in whatever the label on the box he just set down says. He seems small. Not the man who'd guided him backwards up the lawn with so much tongue Tommy hadn't realized where he was until they were already inside. Not the man who'd confidently held a funeral for a long dead cowboy and roped Tommy into it without a care in the world that Tommy didn't believe in ghosts.

"Well, if anyone else was subletting you'd probably have had to give them more than a weeks notice to pack up their shit and leave, so I figured you'd be helping," Tommy says, because whatever the hell is going on with Eddie's face right now has him ready to raise locked wrists to chin height.

Eddie's tongue rolls along the inside of his cheek. "Buck says he's got it."

Knife, meet tension.

Tommy's always been more of a blunt instrument.

"Right."

"Didn't realize 'got it' meant calling in a favor with his ex, but hey, I haven't been around, in a while."

"Do we have a problem, Diaz?"

Eddie levers himself into the driver's seat of a vehicle that very distinctly isn't his truck. "Lot of that going around, at the moment."

That stone-faced look from the funeral is back on Evan's face.

Tommy's fist are clenched. He doesn't have a clue when that happened, or why it takes quite so much effort to shake his fingers loose.

Eddie clocks it. Stares for a long, long moment. Slams the door closed and backs out of the drive a little quicker than advisable, if the glare from the neighbor watering her hydrangeas is anything to go by.

He doesn't quite peel off down the street, but it seems like it takes him some effort to drive like a responsible adult.

Evan doesn't meet his gaze when he lopes across the lawn to meet him at the door.

He's gotta break the silence somehow. "So. Diaz seems pissed at me."

"It's not you."

"Uhuh."

"It's - I said something he -." Evan frowns. Twists a finger up into the slack of the tape along the top of one box. "Same old story. Buck makes it all about himself."

Tommy's missing something.

Tommy absolutely doesn't have the right to pry.

"What the hell does that mean?" Tommy asks, and watches the marble crumble.

---

It takes a day and a half to get everything out of Eddie's. Another half a day to stuff whatever they can into Tommy's bare spare room.

He'd bought a shed and stuffed the contents of his reno-supplies into it indiscriminately two nights earlier, at the ass end of three 24's from hell, and throws up an ironic thanks that Evan hadn't come by nearly often enough to be surprised by the new shed, or the dozen half-finished projects littering the house.

Tommy learns a lot of things that make him want to scream, over the course of the four-day span they squeeze that moving timeframe into.

It takes everything in him not to shoulder-check Eddie on the way out, once the final box is loaded into the bed of Tommy's truck.

He'd given them some privacy, before they left. Hopeful that Eddie would back down from this escalating argument of theirs, hopeful that he'd remember that his best fucking friend had sacrificed a hell of a lot, to allow him to move to El Paso. That he'd lost more since.

Evan hadn't spoken, the entire drive back to Tommy's.

He asks Evan out to coffee a moment before he offers to let him sleep on the couch until he finds something more permanent.

He should be less surprised than he is when they end up naked and sweaty and panting in his bed an hour later.

"We have to stop doing this."

Evan bites a nipple, and Tommy hisses.

"I'm serious, Evan. I can't do casual with you."

That gives him Evan's full attention. "What does that mean?"

"It means when I sleep with you I'm definitely having feelings for you."

He regrets the comment. Evan blows a raspberry into his sternum, and rolls onto his side to take in Tommy's expression. It's gotta be - well, it's gotta be a fucking mess. Just an absolute shit show of terror at having revealed too much. "I deserved that one."

Tommy smooths a hand over his shoulder. "You didn't, actually." After what he's been hearing about his friends and family, lately, Tommy's suddenly very aware of the words coming out of his mouth. "What I was trying to dance around is telling you I want to try again, and I don't want to fuck it up by falling into bed without actually...talking about it."

Evan snorts. Hitches his leg a little higher across Tommy's thigh. Yeah. Too late for that.

"I baked, to stop thinking about you. I baked cookies, and brownies, and three kinds of bread, and a Baked Alaska, and twelve different banana bread recipes, and - and it didn't change the fact that all I wanted to do was talk to you. See your face when you pull that stupidly bitchy look every time I don't know one of your references. Hold your hand and - and just be somewhere with you. Didn't matter where, I just...wanted. And I couldn't have it. So I baked."

"You made a Baked Alaska?"

"Tommy," Evan chides, but there are tears springing to the corner of Tommy's eyes and -

God he'd fucked this up so royally.

"Move in with me," Tommy says, the hysteria bubbling up in his throat, and he swallows it down, and down, and down again, because as the words settle under his skin, he realizes they feel right. What Evan had wanted, all those months ago, he'd wanted it too. He'd just been so fucking sure it would destroy him, in the end.

He's so goddamn tired of denying that what he really wants is for the rest of his life to be storied by memories of the man at his side, right here in this moment.

It's terrible timing. The worst idea. They're both rung out emotionally, grief and anger and insecurities bubbling just under the surface, ready to rise and make their lives miserable the moment they leave this bubble.

They haven't talked about any of it, not really.

"I'm serious. Why be apart, and all that?"

"Tommy."

The way his name curls out of Evan Buckley's mouth is like a favorite song. He never gets tired of hearing it.

Even when it's exasperated and confused. "I'm in love with you," Tommy murmurs, because his streak of insanity clearly hasn't passed. Evan's breath hitches. The worst part is that it's true. In a way he doesn't know how to quantify. He'd do a hell of a lot more than steal government property, for this man. He'd stay, for this man, at the risk of destroying his entire soul.

"Don't ask me because you feel sorry I'm technically homeless." It's an out. Teed up and ready for Tommy to swing. Tommy goes for the bunt.

"Pretty sure that was more of a demand than a question. You can say no."

Evan peeks through his lashes, chin tipped against Tommy's chest. "What if you change your mind?"

Well. That's a sore subject. Should have expected that.

Tommy slips a hand down his side. Gathers up his hand to slide their fingers together. "I won't. Believe me, at this point I've tried."

There's a quirk to Evans smile he hasn't seen in a long time. He's missed it. God, he's missed it.

This doesn't fix anything. Not a damn thing.

But Tommy doesn't want him to spend a single night going forward wondering whether or not he's worth all the trouble the rest of his family seems to have made him feel he is.

They'd been there, before. Right on the edge of something serious. Something permanent.

They can get it back.

"You're being serious," Evan comments, like he needs the confirmation just to make sure he's not hallucinating. Tommy hooks one of his legs, rolls until Evan is half under him.

"Baked Alaska serious," he intones, just to see Evan laugh.

"Where am I gonna put my bike rack?" he asks, after a serious, weighty pause, and Tommy presses in to suck Evans lower lip between his teeth in retaliation.

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

[sir-heichou-smith]

Johnny thinks you and Ghost only want him for the sex.

He won't tell either of you he's ass over elbows for both his lieutenant and his girlfriend because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself.

No, he can't tell you because he's the idiot who fell in love with the two people he couldn't even dream of having.

No one else has ever made him feel so cared for or special before you two though, and it confuses the hell out of him to the point where he can't help but think he has to leave after every session.

He doesn't want to overstay his welcome, meanwhile you and ghost think he doesn't want to be with you and only wants the sex, which is fine (you'd really prefer that he stayed for aftercare since it is real important to you, you know how Simon could get and it's not easy coming back up on your own from how far he puts you under) but you know something is wrong when he stumbles out of bed and limps to the door after throwing his pants on, mumbling something about having to get going for some thing or another.

One night Simon and Johnny stumble through the door after a few drinks, their hands wandering and teeth clinking out of desperation while you trail after with a hand on each of them.

Clothes are thrown and kisses are traded all the way to the bedroom. You hear Simon utter praises in the Scot's ear, "such a good boy f'me Johnny. Gonna show the mrs how well you can take it for me? Let's give 'er a show."

He shudders in the larger man's embrace, and you think you see something flicker in those baby blues as he kneels to undo Simon's zipper with his teeth.

But you're tipsy like they are and you can only focus on it so much until Simon pulls you in and groans into your mouth, one of his big hands on the back of your head and the other tangled in the mowhawk bobbing up and down on his cock.

That morning you wake up quietly, before either men, and you take the moment to enjoy having both of them in your bed.

Johnny wakes up quiet too, thinking himself a goddamn idiot for giving in to staying the night when he tried so hard not to.

He does his best to untangle his limbs from Simon's meaty arms and your thick, supple thighs. It's so warm and comfortable and everything he's ever wanted and he doesn't ever want to go, but he has to. It doesn't belong to him, you're not his and neither is Simon and he's just in the way.

God he's so fucking stupid for this, all he's doing is making himself hurt more than what he has to. He just can't take what he's given and accept that he'll never have what his heart truly, unrightfully wants.

While you think nothing of it as he slithers down the bed, (assuming he needs the bathroom and he'll come right back into your embrace) Johnny is pulling on his clothes from the night before as quickly and quietly as he can, tears building up under his lash line and threatening to spill over his cheeks. His breaths come in short staccato so he holds it until he can't, breathing out slowly through his nose and in through his mouth.

He needs to leave, can't be here any longer because he's already overstayed his welcome.

Hes not supposed to feel this way, he's just a toy for you and Simon to enhance your guys' relationship. Your beautiful, loving relationship that he's stupid for wanting to get in the middle of because he'd never expect either of you to return his feelings.

He thinks he's in the clear when he looks back and notices Simon's heavy chest still breathing evenly, taking one last glance at his magnificence before turning around for good because he can't put himself through this anymore, he's not enough and he just needs to accept that now before he can never recover from the heartbreak.

"Johnny?" He's hears your low voice come from the cocoon of warmth he craves with ever fiber of his being. Your precious face looks confused and, dare he say it, a little hurt. "Where are you going?"

His heart shatters. "I-I... I'm heading out now. I didnae mean to stay so long. Sorry 'bout that, bon. Nothin' to wake the big guy over."

Before he gets his shirt on he hears you shift. "Johnny wait-"

"No. No, I cannae do this anymore okay?" His chest heaves with what feels like the weight of the world, and the tears start to fall.

"I know my place, and I keep forgetting it when you hold me so close and tell me I'm your good boy. When you kiss me and it feels like nothin else matters anymore. I never wanted to come between you and Si but I overstayed my welcome now and I need to leave so that I can-"

"What are you on about?" Simon blinks his eyes and rolls onto his back, a thick arm behind his head and the other stretched out across the empty space where Johnny just was.

Blue eyes shut and his pretty face scrunches up in pain, but he turns around before he thinks either of you can see. His shirt is hastily pulled over his head and he trips over himself pulling on a shoe from the night before.

He doesn't get to leave after throwing on the second one. A big paw of a hand circles his bicep almost completely.

"Don't think you're goin anywhere now, mate. What's this about?" Tired honey eyes look up in confusion and concern, their owner now sitting up and the thick comforter slides down to meet his naked hips. Baby blues can't help but trace the movement.

Your feet touch the cold floor as you get out of bed and circle around to the Scot. "Johnny when did we ever say we don't want you too?"

His head whips up in confusion and he looks between the two of you. "But.. But you-"

"Baby, take those clothes off and get back in bed." Simon pulls lightly on the arm in his grasp and Johnny can't help but follow.

"From now on it's non-negotiable, you stay here with us and get your aftercare in before you even think of leaving. Not that we ever wanted you to."

Big hands pull at the hem of his shirt and it goes without thinking. You stand behind him and wrap your arms around his naked torso to unfasten his jeans.

"Such a pretty boy, Johnny. You're our pretty boy and we want you just as much. Please dont leave us again." Your words bring tears to his eyes again, these ones accompanied by a bright perfect smile and a small huff of disbelief.

The three of you fall back into bed, smothering Johnny in all the kisses and words of love he never even fathomed could be true.

Limbs and tongues tangled alike, and the morning was spent mostly in bed, the Scot wedged tightly between you and Simon. As if he'd still possibly think of leaving now.

[kurooh]

PROFESSIONAL ( AT LOVIN’ ) !

⊹₊˚. HAWKS’ BDAY 2024 — after six months of being his press agent’s friend with all kinds of benefits, keigo struggles to find a way to tell you that he can’t keep up his side of the agreement any longer. / or, his heart’s been in it since the very beginning.

word count: 14.3K (um….please read🧎‍♀️)

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, friends with benefits -> lovers, angst, unprotected sex, creampies, cunnilingus, drinking (everyone is mid twenties), dirty talk, squirting once, office sex.

xoxo, juno: happy LATE birthday to keigo <33 WOOO first fic of 2025 and it’s the longest one i’ve ever written.. inspired by the weeknd’s kissland! hope you enjoy, love you guys :,) 🩷

“this pussy of yours is pretty fuckin’ greedy, huh?”

“how could i not be when you always fuck me so g-good?” the filthy words rush out of your mouth in a surge of euphoria that has taken over your cognitive functions and renders you clinically cock drunk. in this state, things you’d normally never agree to are suddenly more alluring than a shiny trinket to a nesting bird. sex on the roof of the heroes’ safety commission is outlandish and obscene (you’d used those words when keigo had first brought it up in jest) — but here you are getting plowed by none other than the no. 2 hero of japan.

“aw, dovey,” keigo coos, gloved hand closing around the slope of your neck and tugging you back into his chest, “you’ve always got the best compliments, don’t ya?”

“ah, r-right there!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into your skull as your third orgasm of the half hour boils in your tummy like magma in an explosive volcano. “shit, kei, ‘m gonna cum again..”

“heh, go ahead ‘n let it out for me,” the heel of his other hand digs hard into the plush skin above your pubic bone and the crude slapping of skin against skin grows louder. “c’mon, baby, cum all over this cock. show me how good you feel, yeah?”

“yeah,” you whimper, desperately throwing your ass back onto his cock to get him even deeper, “oh my god, keigo, fuuuck—‘m cumming!”

it nearly sweeps you off your feet, the strength of your blissful orgasm leaving you shaking violently and clenching uncontrollably on keigo’s cock. his teeth sharply sink into his lower lip when he quickly pulls out of you, lamely stroking himself to completion above your ass and spraying strings of ivory onto your skin. your body is slick with sweat and now cum, but the messiness of the situation doesn’t hit you quite yet — you’re busy trying to catch your breath while he hangs his head lowly behind you.

keigo still holds you upright on legs of jelly, lightly beating his wings to help stabilize himself. watchful gold eyes sweep over your body, doing a once over and admiring every inch of you. he’s always considered you as the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and has always felt lucky to touch you — so why does he feel so damn unfulfilled? it’s probably a form of karma; keigo hasn’t ever had a consistent relationship, all due to his own actions. so many of his old girlfriends had clashed with him over his neglectful habits — his inability to give them time, attention, and effort. all of his relationships began positively, then quickly deteriorated into toxicity he’d grown tired of dealing with.

he’d been single for a year, and went without sex for longer. if he didn’t always have the press looming over his shoulder and scrutinizing each of his damn movements, he would’ve been able to get his dick wet sooner! keigo would certainly never admit it, but the total deprivation has been a good thing, allowing him to reset and understand why those relationships had completely gone downhill. at the time, he’d pettily blamed his girlfriend or the new guy she’d moved on with.

you let out a tired puff of breath and break away from his hold too soon just to look at your phone, which is sitting on top of keigo’s jacket. “so, my lunch break isn’t over just yet. we can hit the sandwich place around the block if you’re up for it?”

god, you’ve got that lazy smile playing on your lips like it always does after he’s made you cum. how is it possible for someone to look so elegant even as she buttons her blouse and wipes cum off her ass with a spare napkin? his brain literally short circuits when you hand him his jacket, plush lips shaping around a word. words. didn’t you just say something? maybe his post nut clarity has faded into obscurity, or he’s lost his hearing from how hard he just came.

“keigo,” you sigh, snapping your fingers in front of his face and briefly contemplating slapping him out of his stupor, “is the light on upstairs?”

a shiver jolts through him despite the fact that the weather’s warm, and his disassociated eyes finally hone in on you, standing right in front of him. “yeah, sorry. what’d you say earlier?”

you shrug on your suit jacket and slip into your heels. “i’m still free. we can grab sandwiches around the block if you’d like.”

so thoughtful. his heart swells happily at the prospect of eating lunch with you. it always does, usually accompanied with a flip in his stomach, whenever he tags along on something you’re doing, whether it’s eating lunch or sorting through lengthy documents after the office closes.

“sounds good. are we walking or flying, dovey?” your favorite sex petname rolls off his tongue naturally, and after months of this arrangement, you’ve stopped correcting him.

“let’s just walk,” you say decisively, wrapping the used napkin in another, “it attracts less press, showbird.”

☆ ☆

still thrumming with the sensations of sex, keigo walks into the restaurant behind you, piping up to place his order and then to swipe his card for the lunch. he dutifully waits at the table while you stand at the counter, glancing at your phone every now and then to alleviate the impatient boredom that accompanies most edible purchases. keigo allows himself a moment of respite, and instead of looking at his phone, he looks at you — particularly the way your clothes hug the slopes and curves of your body, much like he does when he’s coming down from an orgasm.

it was exactly eight months ago when keigo had first laid eyes on you. he knew right then and there that under no circumstances would he allow his old persona to shine through or mess things up between the two of you. for the first two months out of those eight, keigo had befriended you (with much encouragement from his friend mirko, bless her) and spent time getting to know you as a person over friendly lunches and the occasional drink. he’d committed each of your stories to memory and marked your birthday down on the calendar, something he’d never done for anyone else before. the beginning of everything was after one of those rare drinks that had landed you in keigo’s apartment and sitting criss-crossed on his bed, discussing your unlucky love life.

he’d listened with rapture as you pored over the freaks you’d met and gone out with in detail, mistakenly trusting your friends to set you up with someone nice on a blind date. in their defense, you’d drunkenly mumbled, it’s not their fault that there’s so many people catfishing. one inebriated conversation led to another, and you’d happened upon the fact that neither of you hadn’t had any good sex in a very long time. in the morning, you came into work late and sore all over, but also newly enlightened. for the past six months, you’ve successfully maintained a friends with benefits relationship with keigo takami, the no. 2 hero of japan.

“this one’s yours. here’s the receipt,” you push him a tightly wrapped sub sandwich and his tab.

he catches the sandwich after letting it spin on the table like an arrow on a game spinner, then crumples the receipt. “why don’t you believe me when i say i enjoy paying for you, hm?”

you sigh after a bite. “it makes me feel like a sugar baby . . but also, i can pay for myself.”

“so you’re either saying i’m old or rich,” keigo chuckles when you roll your eyes dramatically, “i know you can, but just let me spoil you, dovey.”

you knew it was a losing game the moment you brought it up, cheeks heating a little at the implication of his words. maybe being his baby isn’t that bad. conversation comes to a comfortable standstill as you both dig into your sandwiches, crumbs falling to the table and making a small mess. when you look up to pause and wipe your mouth, a laugh tumbles out before you can stop it.

“what?” keigo asks confusedly, holding his sandwich tightly and going so far as to swivel around backwards in hopes of pinpointing whatever made you laugh. 

you wrap a napkin over your fingers and lean across the table. instinctually, keigo leans in for a kiss, only to be a little more than heartbroken when you swerve to the side and dodge it to instead dab at a streak of mustard across his chin. the sudden intimacy and close proximity cause the apples of his cheeks to turn rosy in embarrassment. “did you just lead me on?” he asks when he notices you giggling at him again, voice taking on a playful and petty tone. “because it totally feels like you did that on purpose.”

“no, keigo,” a wide smile spreads across your face at his usual antics, “you were the one eating so quickly you got mustard all over your face! someone had to clean you up.”

in an instant, his voice drops an octave, becoming low and sultry. “you keep talking like that and i’ll clean you up.”

“i— we’re in public!” you exclaim, a dull ache pulsing between your legs at the thought of him using his tongue on you. 

he shrugs noncommittally, feeling triumphant now that he’s briefly flustered you. “public or not, you know you love it. now eat your sandwich.”

“way ahead of you,” heat floods your cheeks as you pick up the sandwich, feeling dirty because of the slick pooling into your underwear. keigo doesn’t understand how easy it is to get you worked up, whether it’s with his words or the mischievous footsie he keeps playing under the table with you. “if i come across a headline about this conversation, i’m gonna kill you.”

☆ ☆

“late night?” keigo hums, shattering your concentration on the current task. startled and disheveled, you glance up just in time to catch his typical smirk. his gold eyes shamelessly rake up and down your body as if he’s spotted something he wants—no, needs—to claim. however, his raunchy ogling comes to a screeching halt when he hones in on the shadowy dark circles beneath your eyes.

“the latest,” you blow out a peeved breath through pursed lips, doing your utmost to avoid looking out the window. it’s completely dark outside, the sky an inky blanket of night and stars over the city. “i’m fucking swamped.”

it comes out bitterly, and keigo cautiously steps forward, wings twitching nervously behind him. that well-groomed mess of vermilion feathers at his back seems to have a mind of its own, constantly betraying their owner by displaying his emotions so openly. 

“what, you coming to rescue me?” absentmindedly, you swish around your empty coffee mug. not a single drop flies over the edge, the porcelain totally dry as if it was never used.

“c’monnnn, you know i’m always up to rescue you,” he teases playfully, gently tugging the mug out of your grip and setting a reassuring palm down on your hunched shoulders. “i’ll get us some coffee and help you out when i get back.”

“i highly doubt that you’re qualified to deal with PR work, keigo.” a small though rascally smile plays on your lips, corners flicking up as your sour demeanor starts to mellow out. 

he sticks out his tongue and steps out of your office, heading to the kitchen. as his feet quietly pad along the hard carpet, he considers your recent behavior — last week you were fucking around on the roof and then getting sandwiches like it was nobody’s business. keigo was seeing you around the office and outside of it, but the time he’d been spending with you had decreased dramatically over the past few days. the coordinated lunch breaks and escapades were no more, and keigo’s been caught up wondering why. now, the reason for this couldn’t be linked to anything he did or said — still, it’s impossible for him not to overthink.

“god, you’re a lifesaver!” you groan joyously as keigo sets down a full mug of coffee in front of you and away from your laptop and notepad. “thank you for this.”

“slow down, you haven’t even seen the things i can do outside of making coffee.”

you rotate your laptop once he finally takes a seat in front of you, insistently pointing a finger at the various tasks on your metaphorical plate. “if i give you some work, you’ll have to do a lot of proofreading.”

keigo nods, and his eyebrows suddenly pull downwards in a mix of playful confusion and surprise. “wait, is that a virtual shrine dedicated to me?”

“what?” you mutter, squinting your eyes as you frantically look over the computer screen to no avail. “oh, shut up. just start reading while i finish up the rest.”

there’s a pause and a beat of silence as you both settle into your respective assignments.

then, “i actually came to the office because i missed you a little.”

“you what?” you laugh increduously, licking a finger to aid you in flipping through paperclipped pages. his eyes follow you, from the moment your tongue darts out to wet your skin and then flicks through pages you skim to find what you’re looking for.

“well, i haven’t seen you outside of work in a while,” keigo sniffs, tearing his eyes away from you and refocusing on the words on the screen. at the risk of sounding too vulnerable, he throws in something disgustingly horny to save himself. “was just wondering about my fuck buddy.”

fuck. he’s really cringing now, throat instinctually closing up once he feels waves of nausea crashing over him. but you don’t even bat an eye, too busy setting papers aside in different stacks and barely paying attention to him. “oh, yeah. i’m sorry, it’s just that a ton of people have been dumping so much work on me.”

“so that’s why i’m reading a drafted article enshrining endeavor as number one?” he grins, briefly catching your eyes. you’re not quite sure if it’s the exhaustion finally catching up or something else, but your stomach flutters when you automatically meet his gaze. loose papers drift to the floor, falling right past you. 

“yep, that’s why,” you laugh nervously, snatching up the papers so forcefully that they crumple in your grasp. keigo’s always so damn charming, and it affects you more now that you’re so tired. right?

“you want some dinner, dovey?” the affectionate pet name lingers in your mind, echoing loudly until it finally fades into a memory from a while ago. the transition of his affectionate voice into one choked with unadulterated pleasure is seamless, leaving you breathless in an instant. a glance at his wings has you sloppily picturing them fanned out above you and frantically beating the air as keigo ruts his hips into yours . . god, what’s gotten into you? he certainly could.

“i want you,” it slips out before you can stop it or even control it, words laced with a silent desperation only he can detect. “uh, i mean—”

“bold words,” a wolf whistle trills out into the air, reminding you that you’ve now started something you won’t be getting out of easily. “sure you can handle what you’re askin’ for, baby?”

“don’t act like i haven’t countless times before,” you retort, voice a little weaker than you’d like. it’s frustrating, the influence he has over your body — he hasn’t even said anything meaningful and yet heat’s surging to your cheeks while a shiver of excitement ripples through you.

“riiiight. aren’t you the one always saying you can’t handle it? ‘oh, keigo, please! i can’t, i—’”

the endless teasing is just too much — it makes your blood boil, gets your pulse racing, and absolutely does what it was intended to do. your full mug of coffee tips off the edge of the table and spills when you slam the laptop shut, leaping forward to rapidly close the distance between you two. your lips, slightly sticky with coffee, crash onto keigo’s hard, causing your foreheads to knock together too.

it’s a palpable invitation, one that he eagerly accepts without hesitation. his strong hands settle firmly on your hips in an attempt to stop their slight tremble, fingertips pressing into the curve of your waist. he pulls you into his lap and you fall into sync with one another just like always: keigo slips his tongue into your mouth while you tug at his blonde curls. impatience curated by time apart and characterized by frustration has the air in the room sparking with white hot electricity that’s strong enough to cause a power outage — you’re so close to finally scratching that unbearable itch, at least until it comes back tomorrow with much more ferocity.

keigo draws back with a knowing smile, lips curling up. “we should stop, dovey.”

a thin, glossy string of saliva connects your lips to his. you’ve got this desperate, needy look written all over your face, which crumples petulantly as you consider the possibility of being left unsatisfied. something purely horny twists in his chest, alongside his still yearning heart — keigo fucking loves being in control, being the only one who can give you the satisfaction that you so desperately need, but the thought of being something more resurfaces in his mind again.

it always comes to him at the worst times: right now, during a sexual moment, or before he falls asleep and when he opens his eyes to daylight in the morning. it’s eating him up inside, and he’s already too far in to stop — or is he? no, he isn’t! not if he finds a way to extricate himself from the suffocating casualness of this mess and advance whatever’s left into a real relationship, one that’s abundant in love and adoration. the evolution of the relationship hinges on the timing of his love confession, so he’ll definitely plan to wait until you’re not holed up in the office and on his lap looking like you’re about to shed tears.

“i c-can’t,” you gasp breathlessly, heart pounding in your ears, “kei, please— i need you so badly, i’ve been waiting so damn long.” 

and who is he to deny you, when you’re begging so beautifully?

“so you missed me?” keigo murmurs, pressing kisses to the column of your throat and savoring the way you softly gasp. this is his moment. he’s going to slyly frame a question for you, and when you answer it correctly, he’ll spring his confession onto you and then give you what you’ve been dying for.

“god, yes,” a moan rushes out from between your lips, head tipping back to give him easier access. with his nose pressed into your skin, keigo blissfully inhales the faint wisps of your favorite perfume. eight months later and you’re still wearing that scent daily, ever since he complimented you the day he met you. “you know i did, keigo.”

“what’d you miss the most?” he smirks between open mouthed kisses, guiding you straight to the answer with his warm hands that slip under your shirt and languidly caress the small of your back. 

“your cock, t-the way you fuck me,” you groan, unintentionally shattering his plan into pieces; but he doesn’t let it show, chuckling into your neck as he rapidly snatches them up and off the floor. it’s okay, he’s okay. all he has to do is ask a few more questions and offer up some multiple choice answers — in doing so, he’ll have a chance to tell you how he really feels.

“mmmm, is that all?” 

your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you tug him back by the hair, scrutinizing him with eyes clouded by lust and nothing else. a carnation colored flush sits high on his cheekbones, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down a pesky i love you. not now, not here — this isn’t the right moment.

“keigo, why are you questioning me like my boss does?” he blinks, averting his eyes to your glossy neck, shining with his saliva in the dim light. it smells like coffee now, and he’s wondering if it’ll ever get cleaned up, dark liquid overflowing and soaking through the carpet, straight into the floor. he doesn’t want to be like the coffee, forgotten about and lingering in the air since it had fallen off the desk without you having caught it.

keigo knows you — he always has, and it’s too easy to pick up on the unmistakable tension twisted in your question, along with undertones of discomfort and deflection. automatically, he slips back into his typical persona, lips curling into an impish smile while he waggles his eyebrows to emphasize his words. “heh, you’re so impatient. can you blame me for wanting to build things up?”

you visibly relax, plush mouth forming into a pout he wants to kiss away. “i think there’s been plenty of build up. don’t tease me again.”

“yes ma’am,” he replies coolly, lifting his hands into the air in a show of submission. you release his hair and he pulls you into his chest, holding you tightly as he stands up from the chair. it rolls away into a corner, plastic backing hitting the wall with a soft thud just as keigo slams you down on the desk, papers flying every which way. 

“keigo, hah, you haven’t even gotten me naked yet,” you sigh, heat rushing to your face as he sinks to his knees on the hard carpet, his eyes never leaving yours. dexterous, impatient fingers find the clasp of your pants, and he drags them down your legs, along with your sticky panties. 

“i know,” keigo breathes, pulling your thighs over his shoulders and pulling your hips close to his face, “and yet, you’re already fucking soaked for me. aren’t you, baby?”

“yeah, i am,” you whimper, feeling your cunt clench around nothing when he rewards you by spitting onto your clit. “all for you, kei.”

“you’re so cute.” 

you really are, all spread out on the desk, pretty and pliant just for him. there’s not a shred of resistance when he manuvers you closer or teases his fingertips around your quivering hole, ignoring your strained cries for more. dark pupils enlarge against gold irises, and keigo’s wings flutter eagerly as his arousal crashes over him in continuous, steady waves of heat. now that he’s between your legs and focused on his favorite late night snack, the scent of the coffee dissipates along with his thoughts. 

“keigo,” you keen, fingers threading through his tousled curls, “please, just—oh god, stop fuckin’ teasing me.”

a sportive smack! lands on the side of your bare ass, kicking up a few papers when you jolt forward in surprise. “easy, baby. easy,” there’s a low, warning pitch in his voice, and you settle down frustratedly, gnawing on your lower lip. keigo’s never been one to rush when it comes to eating your pussy, even during quickies—you’d be more aggravated if he didn’t always make you cum so damn hard. his face is flushed pink and shining with eagerness as he pushes two fingers inside you, fixated on the way they slide in so easily. 

he experimentally curls them, and a lick of heat washes over his whole body when he watches your face crumple, head tipping back weakly while you tug at his hair. the blond curls are soft between your fingers, giving you something to grab onto when you need to steady yourself. 

“fuckkk,” keigo groans, attaching his rosy lips to your clit and lightly sucking at the swollen, sensitive bud. clumsily, you grind your hips against his mouth, body sweltering as the small office fills with the impolite smacks of his lips and wet squelches of your sloppy cunt. “loosen up for me, baby, you’re too tight.”

a trembly breath leaves your lips as you obediently readjust for him, spreading your legs and trying to relax so he can tug his fingers back. for a moment, he pauses to appreciatively look over his glossy, creamy fingers—he sticks them into his mouth, moaning and squeezing his eyes shut as he puts on a show of swirling his tongue around them like some kind of slut. once he opens his eyes, those piercing gold hues meet your own and he plunges them back inside, making you whimper.

“listen to me, dovey,” keigo murmurs, breath fanning over your wet clit, “i want you cumming hard on my fingers in the next thirty seconds.”

“but—oh,” your voice cracks when he deeply curls his fingers, purposefully interrupting you, “what if it’s not enough? i don’t think i can—”

sharp, pearly teeth lightly graze your clit and make you mewl noisily, the action both a warning and a reward. “yes, you can, dovey,” he utters in a hushed voice, “c’mon, show me you’re a big girl. i’ll be counting for ya.”

with that, keigo dives back in, furiously licking your clit while he roughly curls his fingers into that sweet, spongy spot inside you. it’s probably not serious, but something in your stomach flutters at the thought of disobeying him—if he wants you to cum, you’ll do just that. your hips rock into his tongue, developing a messy rhythm that could possibly rival his own when he’s inside you—he smirks against you, clearly pleased with himself. papers lift into the air, swirling around in a flurry of white as if they’re caught up in a tornado. the source of the miniature storm is his wings, uncontrollably flapping about as he determinedly licks at your clit like a lollipop. 

twenty five. a thin sheen of sweat shines on your forehead, making the skin tacky. absentmindedly, you wonder if it could be possible for him to cum in his pants just from eating you out. he certainly enjoys it enough — whenever he says he’s feeling thirsty or hungry, he’ll end up eating you out for so long you pass out by your seventh orgasm.

twenty. keigo’s absorbed in the smell, sight, and taste of you. nothing’s better than watching you fall apart on him, dewy tears in your eyes as you fight back overstimulation or impatience. but this is new: he’s never demanded you to cum after setting a time limit in place. it occurs to him now that he didn’t think far enough ahead to answer the question you’ll probably end up asking afterwards, something along the lines of ‘what would’ve happened if i didn’t cum?’ . . 

fifteen. with your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips lurch off the desk, a bit of drool pours down your chin. covered in a mixture of sweat, spit, and slick, you’re at a loss for words as keigo’s damn tongue rolls over your clit again and again. perhaps you’re too dazed, but you swear you feel him etch the letters of his name into you with the tip of his tongue.

ten. keigo’s pussydrunk, soaking his boxers with precum as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. his eyes are dark with lust, and the rosy skin of his cheeks and chin is smeared with that sticky wetness he just can’t get enough of. all of your muscles pull taut like a bowstring, and you sob out his name, pushing his face into you as euphoria hits you from every direction and all at once.

“kei, oh my god, ‘m gonna fucking cum,” within seconds of your frantic gasps, you abruptly gush on his fingers, hard enough to push them out of you — cum squirts from your cunt, getting onto his face when he curiously leans in to lick it away.

you don’t get a second to come down from your high because keigo roughly licks you through it as if he’s severely dehydrated. “mmmph!” you squeal, hips immediately pulling away from him like he’s given you an electric shock. “wai—wait, keigo, it’s way too much!”

he relents, rolling his eyes as if he doesn’t believe you. “fine, fiiiiine. you win this one, dovey.”

“pants off.”

he quirks an eyebrow but starts to undo his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft bang. “you’re so fucking greedy, i swear.”

you throw him a glare, wiping sweat off of your forehead as you sit up, slowly hopping off of the desk. 

papers fall all around you, quietly crinkling as they hit the floor and surround the desk in a sloppy circle. your lips press into a thin line as you take the sight in, mildly exasperated by the mess you’ll force him to clean up. “on the desk, keigo. tuck your wings in too.”

he laughs in disbelief, used to calling the shots when it comes to sex, “so demanding, baby.”

you fix him with a serious look, crossing your arms over your chest while papers ride the dying currents of air made by his wings. keigo clears his throat and folds his wings close to his back, “yes ma’am.”

his flushed cock is rock hard, bobbing as he settles onto the desk; it’s fraught with veins and beautifully curved to one side, something you’re endlessly thankful for when he’s inside you. above him, you’re dripping wet and ready to take him deep — keigo shudders when you grip the base of his cock, carefully balancing yourself on the desk so that you can easily sit down on it.

“holy—oh, shit,” he curses, abs clenching beneath his clothing as he forces himself to keep his hips down. if you want to take control, he’ll give it to you — anything you could ever want is immediately yours. bleary gold eyes clear up and hone in on where you’re connected; your pussy swallows his cock whole like it’s nothing, leaving him breathless.

you swallow, gnawing at your lower lip, “i’ve fucking missed this, kei. been s-so long.”

memories from your most favorite escapades rush back to you so quickly your head spins, momentarily distracting you from the task at hand. there’s a beat of silence before keigo grips your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he borderline begs you, “baby, c’mon, fuck me already.”

“don’t tell me what to do,” you breathe, placing your hands in the center of his chest to hold yourself up, “you don’t get to do that right now, keigo.”

“god, you’re gonna kill me.”

maybe you won’t, but your hips will — they start to move until you’re bouncing roughly on his cock, letting his tip bully itself against your cervix. it’s the kind of kiss that only the two of you can understand, filled with affection and an hungry obsession for more.

for what seems to be the hundredth time, this mahogany desk is christened with more sex. skin claps against skin, filling the room with the same applause that echoes in a theater after a successful show; the whole building is empty, and it’s only your window that’s flooded with fluorescent light in the otherwise dark night.

“dovey,” keigo moans, voice cracking on the familiar pet name, “if you keep going like this, i’m—i’m not gonna last much longer.”

you don’t answer, eyes squeezing shut against the burn of exhaustion setting into your muscles. handsy as always, he grabs at your tits, pulling you further on top of him and taking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

the sharp edges of his pearly teeth drag against your skin as he sucks, golden eyes shutting once he hears your whiny moans grow louder. you’re fluid and all too smooth, riding his cock into oblivion while working in these little humps against his pelvis that don’t disturb the rhythm you’ve built up. your clit drags across his skin deliciously—shit, it’s possible that you could cum together.

“haah, baby,” keigo trembles beneath you, wings spreading out and quivering against his will. “i’m so damn close, i want—” it nearly sounds too intimate, but he ignores the voice in the back of his mind and focuses on his impending orgasm that’s fighting its way out of him. “shit, i just want you to cum with me.”

sensitivity creeps up your spine and makes your body ripple with a shudder, “r-rub my clit ‘n i will, kei.”

everything happens so damn fast; it doesn’t take long for your body to respond to his frenetic touch, and you completely fall apart on his cock, triggering his own high. while your cunt desperately grips him like a vice, he’s shooting endless ropes of cum deep against your cervix. ultimately, it was pointless for him to fold up his wings — they’ve fought against him like usual, strewing more papers around the room and knocking objects off of your desk.

“d-don’t move just yet,” he wheezes, holding your hips in place the moment you try to retreat, “just stay here for a second, dovey.”

a mixture of slick and cum is smeared in the wispy beige hair that adorns his pelvis, and he looks at you pleadingly, cheeks a blotchy pink. it’s cute, but not nearly convincing enough for you to stay much longer than half a minute. “c’mon, i’ve got some stuff to finish up.”

begrudgingly, keigo lets you go and winces as you pull off of his cock. it flops lamely against his stomach, cum dribbling down the sides and adding to the creamy ring around the base. he sighs, unsurprised by your eagerness to depart — his thighs are cooling now that you’re no longer sitting on top of them.

“that was good,” you say, voice layered with praise as you stand on the tips of your toes and peck an appreciative kiss to his cheek, “let’s get started on sorting papers, shall we?”

you’re already across the room before he can grab your waist and show you what a real kiss feels like, slipping through his fingers like fine grains of sand each and every time. 

☆ ☆

rules are the stitches in the seams of anything, always there to hold things tightly in place. it’s natural to break a few every now and then, but what if there are some that should be broken? perhaps they tend to hold things back rather than securely in place.

“okinawa’s just beautiful,” keigo says wistfully, reminiscing about white sand beaches and the bird’s eye view of colorful tourist umbrellas dotting the shoreline from above. there’s a small glitch in his memories that adds you to the scene in a bikini, sunbathing on a towel while he convinces you to come swim in the water with him. he hears himself say something impulsive, but he doesn’t regret it. “maybe we can go on a trip there together. i’ll fly us.”

you stir your drink with a straw, watching the alcohol whirl around ice. “ah, i think we should build up to that, keigo. you’re forgetting that i’ve never flown around that far with you before.”

“we could always change that,” he replies, voice suave. “nighttime is the best time to fly.”

“someday i might just take you up on it,” a laugh spills out of your mouth after a gulp of sweetened tequila, and keigo’s face softens. one of the things he loves most about you is the fact that you’re not afraid to be yourself around him, never once hiding a smile or laugh. “anyway, is there anywhere you haven’t traveled?”

“hmm, let me think,” he raises his fingers to his chin and ponders momentarily, although the answer had come to him the moment you’d started to ask the question. “well, there’s your house.”

you shake your head, nudging his wrist with your own. “noooo, i’m talking about other countries and cities. haven’t you flown out of japan?” 

“only to okinawa,” he supplies, wings twitching anxiously. whenever he brings up your home in the city or worse, him going to it, you always clam up or push him away. granted, it was a boundary line you’d marked in the sand when you’d gotten into this reciprocal relationship all those months ago. escapades have taken place everywhere but your home—he could count on one hand the amount of times he’d mentioned doing it at your place, only to end up on a random rooftop or in an empty alleyway. ever the quick learner, keigo learned not to bring it up. but now, when he’s considering all the variables involved when it comes to confessing to you, he can’t help but feel that it’s necessary to see your house at least once.

sweat rolls down his spine and he unconsciously tugs at his fitted shirt, feeling the heatwaves brought on from both the liquor and the crowded atmosphere of the bar. there’s so many people walking behind the two of you, so much noise, so many bodies all in one space — he feels a little trapped.

“i’ve never been,” you say, derailing his train of thought as you drain your third drink of the night and then flag down the bartender for another. “it’s supposed to be a great vacation spot, though.”

he wipes away the sweat from his forehead with his arm and finishes his drink before nodding your way, wings fidgeting behind him. “it really is, dovey. you wanna take off after another drink or two?”

two glasses slide on the counter, the sides dripping with condensation and cold to the touch. it’s nice to feel in his hands, and he feels his nerves calming after a few long sips. “sounds good,” you answer, feeling hot yourself. the edges of everything in the room seem to blur, thanks to the halos circling the dim bar lights. “you might have to carry me out of here, though.”

“oh, i don’t mind,” keigo answers with a smirk that you can hear in his voice before looking up at him, “but only if you promise you’ll hold on tightly.”

“yes, keigo,” you drawl, scooting your barstool a few inches closer to him. he follows your shameless eyes, tracing your weighted stare to the small gold chain around his neck. it makes a tinkling sound when keigo loops a finger beneath it, hazy eyes meeting your own.

“can’t stop staring, can you?”

you automatically roll your eyes and look away, although your heart starts to race with anticipation. it should be an innocent question, but keigo’s words roll off his tongue in a way that is loaded with his unique charm and flirtatiousness. in a matter of seconds, you’re overthinking the question and the certain innuendo behind it; your breaths come in shallow pants that are just barely audible, and a finger slips beneath your chin to tip your head up. 

keigo leans in, lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “gettin’ all worked up and i haven’t even touched you? that’s a first for you, baby.”

just stop it, you think, yet you’re unable to turn away. damn, he’s got you right where he wants you, and he knows it — keigo shoots you a knowing smile when he notices your thighs unconsciously squeeze together. it’s so hot in this bar, and it only grows hotter in his presence; an uncontrollable shiver races up your spine and you shakily reach for your drink. “stop it, kei.”

your words are shaky, and his wings twitch triumphantly behind him, feathers slightly puffing up. the dewy glass slips right out of your hand and splashes all over your blouse, sticky tequila soaking all the way through to your bra and dampening your chest. keigo stifles a snicker and plucks the glass out of your lap, a little bit of liquid still sloshing around inside it.

“that—that was your fault,” you drop a loose ice cube into the remains of your drink and glare at him angrily as he dabs a handful of napkins against your chest, unabashedly looking over the shrinking fabric. now that it’s all wet, it clings to every inch of your chest and emphasizes the outline of your tits.

“oh, but i wasn’t holding the drink,” keigo clicks his tongue and sends you a wink, sweat shining on his forehead. 

“someone has to foot the bill,” you grouse, sourly blaming him for your now stained blouse and sticky chest. then, it hits you—neither of you are drunk enough to leave the bar. after flagging down the bartender and requesting six shots, you look at keigo competitively. “listen up. whoever finishes the shots first wins and doesn’t have to pay.”

“really, a drinking challenge?” keigo grumbles, knowing you have a better chance of winning. normally, he wouldn’t mind paying for you, but you’ve challenged him and might risk covering the bill you’ve both racked up. his head is fuzzy, but one thought is clear: he won’t let you.

“yes, really,” you shoot back, nose crinkling at the smell of the liquor all on its own in the shot glasses. it’s not sweet and there’s no chaser, but you’re determined to fight your gag reflex as it goes down. “ready?”

“i’m ready,” keigo sighs, lifting a shot glass. 

it ends faster than the alcohol was poured. you’re proud to have won, and keigo doesn’t let on the fact that he assisted you. despite the liquid fire burning your throat, you’re happy—too happy; this is the most drunk that keigo has ever seen you, and he’s in the same boat as you, looking for the oars.

he nearly forgets his card when he struggles to his feet and walks out of the bar with you, right into the not-so-dark nighttime of the city. all of the streetlights are fuzzy and the sounds of racing cars are muffled; this is a different area of the city and it takes a moment for you to register where you are in relation to keigo’s apartment.

“dovey,” he says, cheeks flushed a bright red, “do you wanna go to my place?”

strong, possessive hands find your waist and pull you close, pressing your damp chest against his. those gold eyes of his search your face carefully, as if he’s taking in your features and committing them to memory or looking for something he’s intent on finding. 

your hand settles on his cheek and you pull him forward for a kiss on the busy street, not caring about who sees or writes about it. you’re in your own world, thinking of nothing but keigo and his plush, yearning mouth—he’s got the sense to pull away before it goes further, vaguely gesturing for you to turn around. when you oblige, he wraps his arms around you and under your own, holding you securely against his chest.

“i’ll treat you to a little night flight.”

vermilion wings beat the air powerfully, kicking up dust and litter along the sidewalk as keigo lifts you off the ground and into the sky. you’re shocked and speechless as you look over the city from above, thousands of buildings endlessly illuminated with light and color from the entertainment district. “it’s beautiful up here,” you breathe, feeling a little less drunk now that chill air washes over your face and cools you down. “why didn’t you invite me up here sooner?”

keigo laughs, riding on the wind and becoming one with it. “i did, you just never took me up on it. as to why, i don’t know.”

everything’s so much clearer from up here. the view is impeccable, and the air is fresh, free of the different scents of the city — exhaust fumes, restaurants, cigarettes, the occasional incense store. you’re shivering, a little too cold from the breeze blowing through your damp blouse, but being pressed against keigo’s warm chest makes it more bearable. something prods at the back of your drunken mind, a thought you’ve pushed away each time it arrives.

keigo thinks he’s slick. he thinks you don’t notice his lingering gazes, the odd way he tries to snuggle up to you every time you finish having sex, or the acute tenderness written all over his face every now and then when he’s talking to you.

but you do. you notice it, each and every time—in fact, you know exactly what all of this behavior stems from, but you choose to ignore it. clearly, keigo is in love with you. it’s evident in his actions and body language, yet he hasn’t actually said anything. it’s so damn easy to notice and understand because you feel the same, you’re just better at hiding it. something about the idea of a relationship with the no. 2 pro hero of japan is daunting — not only because you’re his agent or you’ll constantly have to face the public, but because there’s a possibility that transitioning into something more from being friends with benefits may be too dramatic of a change. 

“oh, fuck,” keigo groans, getting lost in the myriad of lights and buildings below. he doesn’t know where the hell his apartment is and isn’t sure if he has the time to fly around for a half hour looking for it.

“what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly, suddenly aware of the fact that your legs are dangling in the air. in order to preserve his pride and sensitive ego, you don’t bring up anything about him dropping you, but your body tenses.

“it’s the shots,” he grouses, speaking quickly, “they’re gonna come back up.”

“where’s your apartment?”

“i don’t know,” keigo answers, and now you can hear him starting to gag as he forces the contents of his stomach back down. “i can’t keep flying around much longer . . sorry to cut this little flight short, baby.”

“it’s okay, just don’t get sick,” you reassure him slowly, trying to pinpoint your own apartment. surprisingly, the building is a minute or two away from you, if he flies fast enough. “keigo, we’ll head to my place. see that dark building right there, near the red billboard?”

he nods, and the waves of nausea evaporate instantly. after months, he’s finally going to see your apartment—he’s now leagues closer to successfully confessing his feelings to you. keigo’s heavy wings slice through the sky as he hurdles toward your apartment; while the speed is steady, the course is not. from below, people watch as something wobbles through the sky, shifting awkwardly from side to side in a way that isn’t at all graceful . . or intimidating.

you assume he really has to throw up, when it’s quite the opposite. “k-keigo, see that balcony with the potted plants? there’s only one pot of flowers.”

“is that yours?” he asks, struggling to control how giddy he is. “i see it.”

☆ ☆

with the solid, familiar ground of the balcony beneath your feet, things around you are a little steadier. still, the alcohol buzzes persistently in your head and makes you giggle over nothing. it’s warmer now that you’re out of the sky, standing close to keigo and surrounded by all of your potted plants. a pleasant tingling sensation courses through your limbs as your body wobbles, adjusting to being out of the air and the new thoughts that rush into your head.

everything’s still a little fuzzy at the edges, a reminder of your tipsiness and disorientation. keigo wraps a supportive arm around your waist when you nearly stumble to the ground, quietly giggling at your own actions and sighing contentedly in his grip. there’s a beat of silence as your body meshes into his, the kind that settles between two people who’ve just shared a long day, and it feels so natural that your mind absently drifts to two pairs of shoes beside one another and two cups of coffee in the mornings—perhaps you didn’t notice the routine you’ve slipped into, one so innate that it makes everything else feel a little less important.

“hey, did i mention how sexy you are when you’re drunk, dovey?” keigo hiccups, wings quivering as he leans on you for some support, struggling to balance just like you are. his knuckles nudge into your side gently, grin widening as if he’s waiting for a reaction from you. the playful edge to his voice falters momentarily, and you exhale through your nose, shaking your head in disbelief.

“ugh, you must’ve had much more than i thought,” you laugh, kicking the doormat up and retrieving the brass key from beneath it to unlock the door. it’s dark out here on the porch and the same inside, leading you to awkwardly jam the key into the lock.

“you always blow me off,” he sighs ruefully, smile dropping as he notices you using the key upside down. “what, do i embarrass you or something?”

“i-it’s not that,” you breathe, tensing the moment his chest presses against your back and his hand envelops yours to help you with the key. goosebumps rise on the tender flesh of your arms first, then all over your chest, beneath your damp blouse. you recover once the lock gives, sliding the heavy glass door open and catching your breath. “kei, you’ve always got something to say to me.”

“you, of all people, have the power to shut me up whenever you want,” keigo teases, following you into your quaint apartment. instead of appreciating the moment, his mind races to find an answer to the million-dollar question: why were you so intent on keeping him out of here? even in total darkness, the place is cozy, shelves adorned with knickknacks and décor that suits you. totally lost in concentration, keigo’s wings bristle and he accidentally knocks something off a shelf, but manages to catch it in his hand. you’re in the middle of saying something, but he doesn’t even notice, his eyes completely lighting up at the sight of the object.

“is this that glass bird i gave you all those months ago?” 

a nervous laugh rushes past your lips and you nod, hand falling away from the light switch. “yeah, i thought it looked nice up there. it’s pretty.”

“wow, baby,” he gingerly puts the figurine back in its place, elated by the possible significance that this little glass bird holds. “if i’d known you liked it that much, i would’ve showered you in gifts.”

in the middle of unbuttoning your blouse, you trip over your own foot, and keigo, ever the hero, catches you as gently as he did the figurine. his fingers splay across your bare side and you blink up at him, faced with another small gap that’s dying to be closed. “i know what i want as a gift,” you utter, voice low and sultry. the words seem to hang in the air like more of a promise than a request.

keigo can smell the liquor on your breath and the temptation that accompanies it—without a second thought, his lips are on yours and he’s pushing forward with alcohol buzzing in his veins. he’s so full of hope, believing the best over what he’s considered a sign of something more; it feels so right to kiss you like this, with his hands spanning your bare waist and tugging gently at your waistband. it doesn’t quite occur to him that he is inebriated and therefore may not be thinking as sharply as he would if he were sober in this situation. 

you shove forward, pushing him hard into a wall and nipping at his lips hungrily. despite being a little bothered by him being in your apartment, you can’t say you’re not interested in fucking on your own bed for once. a shaky gasp leaves you when you pull away for breath, stomach fluttering delightedly at the hardness of his cock pressing into your thigh.

his breath hitches in his throat, hazy mind racing a thousand miles an hour. the question leaves his lips with more urgency than intended. “i—shit, you really want me to take you right here?”

“in the hallway?” you laugh, astonished. “i’d much prefer my bed, it’s easier for you to fuck me as hard as you want.”

desire and lust conducts your actions, has you dropping your blouse to the floor and unclasping your bra next. each article of clothing falls to the floor in a heap, forming a trail leading to the bedroom door. keigo follows your lead, wings jittering with anticipation as he crosses the threshold. billowy curtains blow up and around the window, lifted by the night breeze, and your room is dark, the details barely visible: keigo notices the many pillows on your bed (so that’s why you were on his ass about buying more than just one) and the full length mirror off to the side.

keigo stops to glance at his reflection in the mirror, fraught with the sculpted curves of muscle—each line a testament to years of hard work and dedication. dark hickeys litter his tanned skin, all left behind from the heat of many moments. momentarily, his eyes shift from the glass to you, perched on the bed and waiting for him. his fingers subconsciously graze over one of the marks, just as he recalls one of your rules, a line that had been drawn in the sand early on—no marks, nowhere near your neck or anywhere at all, even if people couldn’t see them. 

it’s a curious little thing, isn’t it? you clearly have no qualms about marking up his body, but you never let him give you some in return—he hasn’t voiced it, not yet. he exhales softly, feeling the ache between his legs flare once you call his name expectantly. it’s like a switch flips, causing his mind to sharpen and his pulse to quicken when he steps toward you.

bathed in opalescent moonlight, you sit back against your makeshift throne of pillows, eyes raking over him shamelessly, as if you’re looking for something else to sink your teeth into. vermilion feathers puff up and shake themselves out as the bed dips beneath his weight. “come here,” he beckons you lowly, with every intention of making you his. “you’re mine, aren’t you?”

now mussed with abundant wrinkles, the bedspread shifts beneath your bodies as keigo slots himself on top of you and hastily kisses down your neck, lightly nipping at the tender skin, just enough to elicit soft moans from you. doubt melts into desire, lacing his ministrations with something more urgent. for six months, keigo has never seen or left a single mark on you, and tonight, that’s about to change—you’ve already broken the biggest rule you had by bringing him to your apartment, so how much further could this go? 

“yeah, ‘m all yours,” you whine, back arching off the bed when he bites at the soft skin of your tits, tongue lapping away the sticky tequila you spilled earlier. it’s so different—he can’t believe he went this long without making any objections. 

things are heating up fast, and that haziness from the liquor creeps up on both of you, blurring your thoughts just enough. his hips chase yours into the bed, and he eagerly grinds his hardened cock against your thighs, all over them. your voice cracks slightly when you try to moan his name, impatient as always. but keigo decides to take his time with you, kissing and biting longer than usual—he’s in no rush, not yet.

it’s intoxicating in every way possible, causing your body to swelter and thrash beneath his own. keigo’s moving fast, delighting in your pleasure and drinking in every reaction unapologetically. fuck, to think you’d denied him and yourself for so long—he should make it up to you somehow, shouldn’t he?

“dovey,” he pants, fingers slipping under the fabric of the panties appreciatively, “you wore my favorites?”

crimson fabric adorns your waistline, threaded with soft lace. for lingerie, it’s pretty comfortable: it doesn’t floss your asshole like a thong or g-string does, something you’d told keigo when you tried it on in the dressing room. he knew he’d be buying it the moment you stepped out with a bright smile on your face. seeing it on you now is surreal, and he nearly creams his boxers at the sight of it, wings conveying his thoughts for him through a tremble.

your hips rise up and off the bed so he can pull away the last bit of fabric that covers your body. “yeah, but it doesn’t matter now,” you titter cheekily, shockwaves of arousal shooting straight between your thighs.

unceremoniously, your legs are thrown open and keigo’s wings flutter in amusement, always the first thing to react to whatever you have to say. “it matters to them,” keigo comments, jerking a thumb back to point at his pesky wings, “fair warning, this place might be a mess by the end of this.”

“so long as you help me deal with it tomorrow, i don’t mind,” your fingers swipe his cooling spit off your chest, and you’re a little startled as you press at a fresh hickey. it’s sticky, skin now sensitive and tingling in a way that’s just right.

fierce as always, keigo doesn’t waste any time diving between your legs, eager to fuck but even more so to eat your pussy. glistening strings of slick stick to the tender skin of your inner thighs, connecting them to each other thinly until he licks it away. “mmm, dovey,” he moans adoringly, and your pulse quickens, “taste so goddamn sweet.”

keigo’s a proud pussy eater, the filthiest and best you’ve ever met. he could be gasping for air with his face covered in your cum and yet, he’d still have something utterly nasty to say. unapologetically nose deep, he slurps loudly at your soaking cunt and pins your antsy legs down over his shoulders. 

“ngh, keigo,” you thrash forward, thighs squeezing his head like a vice while your hips uncontrollably buck into his face. “please don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

“keep squirming around like that and i will,” he grunts, one hand pressing you down into the bed while the other pushes between your thighs. those tenacious gold eyes of his are hooded now, gleaming rapturously as he devours everything you have to give him like he’s been starving. loud, sloppy slurps soon fill the room, falling into cadence with your whiny moans; scarlet feathers ruffle in response to his most favorite sounds, and his hips rut carelessly into the mattress, desperately seeking friction.

your head falls back into the downy pillows, jaw dropping slackly as you unsteadily sneak a hand down to your clit, fingers seeking to rub a lustful itch away. keigo’s fingers wrap around your wrist and snatch it away from your pussy, instead guiding your hand to his head in a show of acquiescence. 

“don’t go doing that,” he groans, pulling up for air and pressing a thumb to your swollen clit hard enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull, “use your words instead, dovey.”

you weakly nod his way, and a sudden, swift slap is delivered right to your clit, the force behind it causing you to see stars. a twisted yelp tears from your throat, and you’re doe eyed when you tearfully glance down at him, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“gotta work on using your words, baby,” keigo coos, thumbing away a stray tear from your cheek. “jus’ trying to make you understand that i need you to tell me what you want.”

there’s a dark edge to his voice that makes the apologetic tone he’s taken on seem ingenuine, almost a little mocking. and yet, you let out a sweet moan, leaning into his touch with a hushed, “yeah, kei. i understand.”

still reeling from the tingling impact of the pussy slap, you guide his head back down between your legs and unsteadily grind into his mouth. he greedily drinks you in, smacking his lips like he can’t get enough of your honeyed taste, and unconsciously pulling you closer. his fingers rub tight circles into your throbbing clit, occasionally pinching the bud to elicit a scream or two before letting go.

keigo had always been taught not to play with his food—but when she’s quaking against his face and sobbing out his name over and over, he just can’t help himself. he’s had a perpetual  mean streak that he’s only ever unleashed during sex with you, taking an overwhelming satisfaction in fucking you dumb and then teasing you about it. he notices the way your thighs tense at either side of his head, the way your head falls back whenever he tenses his tongue.

your clammy fingers claw through blonde curls, saccharine moans spilling from your lips with each ravenous push of his tongue through your folds. it’s a push and pull rhythm that is nothing less than addictive, dragging out the air from your lungs and leaving you utterly breathless. 

“g-god, keigo,” you keen loudly, shoving him down without any regard for his ability to breathe, “need you to—i need you to fuck me with your tongue.”

he groans in response, shamelessly humping the bed now that the ache between his legs has become too prominent to ignore. it flares dangerously every time you say his name or look at him with that blissed out expression written all over your face . . fuck, now you’re telling him exactly what you want and pushing him around, something he’s always enjoyed. his tongue slips into your awaiting cunt and pushes deep, tasting even more of you once he finds that puffy, spongy spot inside of you that makes you clench up every damn time. 

your breaths come in rushed, frantic gasps that soften each word. “fuuuck, right there—yeah, t-that’s it,” your voice shakes involuntarily, tight with inevitable euphoria. “kei, you’re gonna make me cum, hah—‘m real close, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

you chant those last words religiously, and keigo’s offended that you’re thinking he’d ever want to. “on my fuckin’ tongue,” he half groans, half begs, not sure if you even hear him at all.

keigo doesn’t dare to stop until you finally come undone on his tongue, shuddering uncontrollably as he licks you through your high, nearly passing out from a severe lack of oxygen. you’ve got him in a beautiful leglock that he regrets breaking out of, but seeing the dazed, drunken look on your face when he comes up erases the thought from his mind. the entire half of his lower face is covered in your cum, and heat floods your face when his pink tongue darts out to clean up his lips, all while holding your lidded gaze.

a few sanguine feathers float around your face, falling from the air like snowflakes and lightly settling on the bed like rose petals. it seems to make the moment warmer, more romantic as if this is your first time with him—in hindsight, it would’ve been nicer to christen the relationship with a bed of rose petals and scented candles scattered around the room. instead, it was something that happened fast and right after conversations about ex partners.

you pout at him as he positions himself on top of you once again, pressing a wet kiss to your mouth. instinctively, you lick away the mixture of spit and slick he leaves on your lips, tasting yourself on your tongue momentarily. it’s bittersweet and a little syrupy . . maybe he really isn’t lying about you tasting like candy. your thoughts fade away when you catch a glimpse of his vibrant wings — you’ve always seen them, but not like this. this time, you’re up close to them, so close you can see the downy barbs and delicate vanes of each individual feather.

“are your wings . . sensitive?” you ask curiously, voice carrying the barest note of reverence as your hand tentatively inches over his shoulder. after each and every covert tryst of yours, you’ve seen keigo smooth out the feathers or greet you in the morning with stimulating news of his freshly scrubbed wings. but this—touching them—feels like crossing an unspoken threshold.

keigo doesn’t answer, his breath catching in his throat. he’d been in the middle of dazedly tugging his boxers down his body when you’d just dropped a miniature bomb on him. this is the first time that he’s been this astonished, features mellowing profoundly. soon, he finds his voice and uses it, words intertwined with an unexpected tenderness: “ . . it’s alright. they’re just a little sensitive, heh. nobody’s ever touched them before.”

as if they understand you’re talking about them, his wings shift toward your fingers, obviously inviting you to touch them. this is certainly new — for the first time, his defiant wings are actually yearning to be touched, even though they get a little choosy when it’s him who’s brushing his hands through the feathers. gingerly, you reach forward and your hand disappears into the mussed feathers, fingertips brushing lightly against the sensitive skin beneath. the apex of his wings is abundant with small, downy feathers that quiver at your touch.

his eyelids flutter shut and he emits a shy moan, swallowing a sudden heart-shaped lump in his throat. courage swells in your chest and you push further, awed by the all-encompassing softness that meets your fingers. you’d expected them to be coarse, rough from years of flying and smelling earthy or musky. the faint scent of mango wafts through the air, stirring up a sense of familiarity and comfort in your chest, reminding you of all the times he’d protectively wrap his wings around your body as if to steady you. 

“they feel so nice,” you murmur, feeling his cock throb against your thigh. it draws you back into the moment, where you’re naked beneath him with anticipatory legs sprawled open. “so . . soft.”

keigo’s buzzing when you experimentally stroke your fingers through the thin feathers, an intimate form of worship that is only understood between the two of you. “you, ah, didn’t expect them to be?”

a wind created by his flapping wings kick up your curtains and make the metal rings clatter on the bar they’re hanging on. “i thought they’d be a little rougher,” you purr, voice smooth and sultry as your legs lift, locking tightly around his waist. his v-line is visibly sharp and hard to the touch like cut marble against the pillowy skin of your thighs, muscles flexing as he guides his cock to your soaked pussy. 

“i’ll show you rough, dovey,” keigo huffs, smearing his cock with your slick and pulling your legs away from his sides. he’s going to fuck you up, and he can’t do it properly in this position—your feet are thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, thighs folded tightly against your chest. he’s painfully hard, leaking sticky precum all over and trembling by the time he pushes the tip of his cock between your folds. your response is immediate; an eager moan slips out of your mouth, hips bucking impatiently onto his cock.

“damn, baby,” his chest heaves tirelessly, skin flushed pink and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, “you’re ready f’me, aren’t you?”

you look up at him with dewy eyes, electricity shooting through your every nerve. “i-if i was made for—ah—anything, it was taking your cock.”

god, you can’t just say shit like that and cluelessly think he won’t actually fall in love with you—he was only asking for a simple ‘yes’, but now he’s got hearts in his eyes as he finally pushes inside you, swallowing down the sudden urge to blow his load this fast. pulsating, gummy walls wrap around him and seem to suck him deeper without him even moving; he weakly presses his head into your shoulder, gasping frantically as he tries to adjust to the grip you’ve got on him.

“f-fuckkk,” he stutters out, regaining his cool composure after a moment despite the room feeling like a sauna, “i’m gonna hold you to that, you better not forget it.”

he’s relentless, going from zero to sixty in a second with no thoughts of slowing down — he’s jackhammering his hips, curved cock ramming right into your sweet spot and french kissing your cervix. you’re dripping wet, slick pouring down your ass and making each thrust slip ‘n slide all the more smoothly; the bed creaks ceaselessly beneath the weight of your bodies, groaning so loudly it occurs to you that it might just break. but that isn’t even a problem, not with keigo, who’d drop a ton of money on something you could just express the slightest bit of interest in.

“h-holy fuck, keigo,” you gasp out, back arching off the bed, “i could—oh my god, i could cum just from this.”

“yeah, dovey?” he grins, voice tight as he quite literally plunges deeper into heaven. “jus’ from my cock?”

sweat beads on your forehead, making your body swelter with endless steam that seems to vaporize any inhibitions you still had after all the drinks. “nghh, w-wait, ‘m gonna cum—”

“wait?” keigo practically barks out a laugh, shaking his head ruefully at you, “there’s no waiting. i want you to cum right on my cock ‘n i’ll fuck you through it, dovey.” 

you nod with mascara infused tears streaming down your face, legs quaking uncontrollably. everything seems to happen at once — a twinge of pain takes root in the backs of your thighs just as the built-up tension inside you snaps into thousands of sparks, finally igniting your long awaited orgasm.

keigo forces himself to keep his eyes open despite the fact that he’s risking an early orgasm, balls clenching at the sight of you: your lips form an o shape as euphoria washes over you, making your body quiver frenetically. he swallows dryly, closely rocking his hips against yours so you don’t push him out. 

“kei,” is the first thing you sob out when you recover, struggling to catch your breath with every thrust fucking the air out of your lungs. you’re sensitive all over, skin prickling with heat that doesn’t cool even with his wings creating a draft. 

he’s straining tight at the seams, heart pounding in his ears as he thinks of nothing but you.

you, you, you.

with your sweet, glossy-lipped smile in the mornings and the voice of a vixen when you innocently call his name. you’re nothing less than beautiful beneath him, clawing at his shoulders and staring up at him with those glazed over, blissed out eyes while your body molds against his. it’s a shape he knows well, one he’s pictured in his head when he’s all alone, one he’s been dreaming about whenever his eyes close.

his breath catches in his throat. “haah, fuck—dovey, i can’t hold it anymore.”

“right fuckin’ there,” your voice cracks into a squeal, “mhm, jus’ cum inside me.”

“you mean it?” keigo asks dumbly, nearly melting at the wild look you throw him in response.

“yeah, kei—shit, ‘m gonna cum again,” the words rush past your lips, urgent as ever and spurring him on to keep going, “i want you to—i need you to fill me up.”

something sweet flashes behind his gold eyes and he tucks his face into your shoulder, breath coming in frantic pants while he gasps your name. you’re practically in your own world, moaning loudly and dragging his slim hips closer to your own. when his cock starts to twitch deep inside you, the heel of your palm digs into his lower back, forcing his tip right against your cervix. he’s burning hot, utterly lost in you with no way of finding his way out — cum spurts from his cock and the spasms wrack his body, each stripping away a layer of him until he’s left with only his heart in his hands. 

“i fucking love you,” it rushes out and he doesn’t regret it for a second, “god, baby. i love you so much.”

your eyes roll back as your body surrenders to the toe-curling sensation of your third orgasm of the night, euphoria hitting you from all directions and rendering you clinically cock drunk. you muster just enough strength to wipe the salty tears away from your eyes, teeth chattering just the slightest bit as you drag in a gasping breath. 

after a moment, you yawn, stretching out your folded body and nudging at his chest to get him to lay down beside you. “ooh, that was great, kei. there’s no fucking way i’m walking tomorrow.”

coming down is the hardest part.

keigo’s shaken to his core by your flippant response to his confession, but most of all, he’s deeply embarrassed to have said something—no, to have thought something this stupid. finally, he’s getting a taste of karma from all of his failed relationships; he wishes that he could allow himself enough pity to ask the abyss of the universe what he did to deserve this. the heat that had once been sexy dissipates immediately, leaving him as cold as a corpse. he rolls over to the side, letting go of you and staring up at the ceiling, laying on top of wings that don’t even have enough life to twitch. pathetic tears prick at the corners of his marked eyes, and for the first time, he’s happy that the lights are off.

“keigo? did you hear me?”

“sorry, i didn’t. what was it you were saying?” he drags a forearm across his sweaty forehead, overlooking the tender inflection in your voice.

“i just . . i don’t know. that was really good,” he may not hear it, but you do. quickly, you clear your throat and tug up the blankets, inviting him to crawl underneath with you. “goodnight, kei.”

he should bite his tongue, but he doesn’t; this is the last time. “goodnight, dovey.”

☆ ☆

after tossing and turning the whole night, keigo finally decides to end the torture at 5:20 am the next morning. it’s still dark out, and he figures that he can easily slip away under the cover of night. he’s got a mild hangover, but it won’t impair him, not when he’s determined to keep it together until he gets back home.

soberly, he absorbs his surroundings and recalls the memories that have been plaguing him for hours. his body tenses, thick cords of muscle pulling taut as if he’s bracing against the impact of a punch, and like it has countless times before, the scene replays in his head again. his emotional, devoted admission of love was something you’d completely ignored—again and again, you’ve only ever shown an interest in his body.

in his chest, he feels his heart clench horribly as he looks over your sleeping form. you’re curled up in yourself under the warm blankets, turned toward him with a serene look on your face that makes it all the more difficult to slip out from under the sheets and into the cold. like a cat, he silently pads into the hallway and collects his clothes as if he was never there. he’s inches away from the back door he’d been so excited to step through last night when he stops in his tracks, head hanging lowly as pangs of guilt hit him like fists. it’s not right to just leave you like this, not without making an effort to say some kind of goodbye.

keigo hesitates in the hallway, feet seemingly glued to the floor. all he can hear are loud alarm bells—every instinct is begging him to leave, to spare himself the imminent heartbreak of going back in that room to see you. against his better judgment, he eventually tiptoes into your room with every intention of giving you one final kiss. at your bedside, he bends forward and presses his lips to your forehead; the kiss is entirely chaste, the brief touch carrying a blend of quiet grief and the tenderness of a love that was bound to fall through.

like most things in his life, this kiss doesn’t go as planned. there’s a momentary flash of blue and white��he’s managed to give you a strong, accidental static shock with an innocent kiss at 5:22 in the morning. you blearily wake up, squinting up at him in confusion and making out the high collar of his hero jacket.

“good morning, keigo,” you stretch under the blankets and reach for his hand, “what—what time is it?”

“it’s early,” he answers unsurely, sitting down on the foot of the bed. his wings droop, vermilion plumes seemingly inanimate. “y’know what, don’t worry about it. go back to sleep, baby.”

“but where’re you going?” you sit up abruptly, eyes narrowing at his fully clothed body. a glance over the edge of the bed reveals that he’s even got his boots on! 

“i’ve got patrol, silly,” keigo picks the easiest excuse out of an array of choices, and you sniff it out immediately. “i’m a hero, remember?” silence hangs in the air for a moment before you slowly speak up, sounding more confused than anything else. “but saturdays and sundays are your off days.”

keigo pauses, tongue sliding over his teeth as he contemplates what to say now that he’s been caught in his lie. like an idiot, he’s managed to trap himself. you scoff, cognitive functions coming to back to life as the final vestiges of sleep fade away into the ruined morning. did he actually expect you to wake up naked and hungover, all by yourself?

“okay, you caught me. i’ve got some stuff to deal with.”

“this early? c’mon, why’re you in such a rush?”

ultimately, it’s best for the both of you if he pulls away.

keigo’s usual smile drops and he sighs, “i’ve got shit to do, okay?”

it’s this early in the morning, and your blood pressure is already spiking in a way that is most undesirable. “are you fucking kidding me, keigo?”

the way you say his name so angrily, so accusingly—it fucking irks him, causing the corners of his lips to pull downwards into a scowl. he’s not really angry at you, he’s angry at himself for causing this dilemma to begin with, but you don’t know that. how could you really know anything about him aside from the way he likes to fuck?

“why are you getting so damn pissy? i’m going to leave whether you want me to or not, okay?”

stark naked, you exit the safety of the bed and make a beeline to your dresser, where you yank open drawers in search of clothes. keigo stands, watching longingly as you pull on some panties and a bra.

“i’m getting pissy because you wanted to take off so i could wake up naked and alone! you didn’t even say goodbye.”

“i was trying to,” keigo argues back, jumping to his feet, “but you were the one who ruined that for yourself, didn’t you?”

“a kiss isn’t enough!” you snap, now covered in a loose t shirt and pajama shorts. “couldn’t you have just waited a few hours? maybe then you could’ve told me why you were leaving.”

“what the hell? so you’re saying i need a reason to go back to my own house?”

“i don’t see why you think you can lie to me!” your voice raises furiously, words sharp as daggers, “i’m not just your agent, keigo. i know you, i care about you! don’t you get that?”

it’s quickly evolved into a dangerous game of catch, the pressure to be the one to drop the ball growing heavier atop his shoulders with each passing moment. painfully, a vein in his forehead pulses from the headache brought on by the hangover and the memories that follow it. it’s been hours and he can’t seem to shake away the pain that gnaws away at him. he’s so stupid.

“yeah, i know you are,” keigo grits out bitterly, “all i wanted to do was leave.”

“so abruptly?” you press him for answers, flicking on a small lamp so you can see him clearly. deep wrinkles span the entirety of each article of clothing that hangs on his body, but it’s the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes that makes him look unusually sloppy, getting you to pause as you take the sight of him in. concerned for his wellbeing, you soften, body relaxing. “what—keigo, what’s wrong?”

“it’s just the hangover,” he squints defensively, backing away and into a corner, “anyway, you got your goodbye, didn’t you?”

your gentle, worried face falls away. it hurts more than any injury he’s ever gotten, but he has to keep the walls up to protect himself from the pain even though guilt slips in through the cracks like mustard gas. with a pinched sigh, keigo backs away from the wall, wings limply hanging behind him as he prepares to exit your bedroom with no intention of ever coming back.

he’s blindsiding you, lying to you out of nowhere and slipping through your fingers like steam, too elusive for his own good. without a second thought, you close the distance and grab firmly at his wrist, a gesture that would’ve worked once. “i can’t do this anymore,” he mutters without looking over his shoulder, snatching away from you as if he’s been burned. “i just . . i can’t.”

“what’re you—what do you mean, keigo?” he looks out into the distance of the hallway, focusing on a specific floor tile and tracing its grooves so he doesn’t have to see your face. just from your voice, he knows you must be absolutely crushed. for courage, he allows himself a steady inhale before stepping past the threshold and leaving you in the lurch.

“this,” keigo turns, gesturing wildly and spitting out the words as if everything that’s happened in this room is horribly filthy, “it’s bullshit, all of it. i’m done, got that?”

there’s a beat of silence, and keigo stays a second too long.

“keigo, you’re breaking my heart here.”

you’re probably referring to the sex, aren’t you? surely you’re disappointed by the fact that you’ll no longer be fucking the no. 2 hero, petting his wings and calling him by a name few are able to.

“oh, come on,” he looks over you sourly, shaking his head as his eyes span the entirety of your body, “you’re pretty. you’ll find yourself a new fuck buddy, it’s not that big of a deal.”

immediately, he regrets saying it, feeling a rush of nausea in his stomach—he doesn’t want you with anyone else.

you blink back tears, his stare suddenly invasive and hurtful. “i don’t want a new fuck buddy, i want you.”

“tough shit,” keigo grunts, wings drooping further down. the longest feathers now drag along the floor, picking up whatever there is to offer. “i’m done being friends with benefits.”

“i just—all this fucking time, i’ve been wasting my time wanting to be with you,” the words tumble out of you bitterly, filling up the space between you with everything you’ve ever wanted to say, and his ears prick, grasping at a possible implication beneath all of it, “god, to think i was afraid we wouldn’t be able to become something more—all of this was a mistake.”

keigo pauses, heart pounding in his ears and possibly affecting his ability to hear. “you’re . . in love with me?”

“i was,” the correction is swift and choked, reverberating straight to his core and making his body stiffen. it hurts more than anything to hear, carrying a horrible weight, the kind that makes him realize you’ve given up on him.

“then why didn’t you—that doesn’t make any sense,” he gasps, the newfound information hitting him like a freight train, “if you were in love with me, why didn’t you—how couldn’t you have said something?”

“what’re you talking about?” you hiss, harshly rubbing away the tears in your eyes with the back of your hand. keigo’s bewildered now, face devoid of anything but shock and some kind of adoration as he seems to process something inside his head.

he stares at you desperately, struggling for the right words, “fuck, dovey, why didn’t you say anything last night?”

“don’t call me that,” you snap, the petname far too fond for a moment like this one, “why would i possibly have said something last night?”

keigo falters, and his voice cracks as the words rush out like a torrent. “i told you that i—god, i fucking told you i loved you. didn’t you hear me?” 

oh.

oh.

his heart squeezes painfully in his chest when the realization washes over your face, making him realize the gravity of this misunderstanding—you didn’t hear him.

wearily, you take a seat on the edge of the bed. he sees the way your spine curves forward, and bites down hard on his lower lip once the first sob slips out of you. in an instant, keigo’s beside you and pulling you into his arms, shaking all over. he doesn’t know what to say, but his voice breaks with endless regret when he finally comes up with something. “i’m sorry, god, i’m so sorry,” tears race down his cheeks and into your hair as he murmurs despairingly, “i thought you didn’t care, i didn’t know—”

there’s nothing more to say. 

keigo tries anyway, brokenly whispering apologies that fade into the air like smoke. his arms are tight around your body, holding you closely — it’s an unspoken promise to never let you go again. for the very first time, he truly melts into you without the walls in the way or the burden of hidden feelings. when you slowly relax against him and your sobs become quieter, something shifts in the air. vermilion wings, once held down by the weight of everything they’ve been carrying, finally come back to life. wings that have had no other purpose but to protect keigo now extend outwards to protect you too, soft feathers cradling you tenderly in the quiet of the morning. just over the horizon, the sun begins to rise, bathing the city in the light of dawn and new beginnings.

[chiya-eltanin]

hm. dont usually put my own two cents for theories but somethings been kind of annoying me recently so yeah. ralsei thoughts.

i really dont like the idea that ralsei is a specific object. especially not with newer stuff from chapters 3 and 4.

For starters, most people that try to figure out what ralsei is in the real world are basing it off of this appearance

however, I feel like there's plenty of evidence to point to this not being his real form, right? People have already pointed out that his original shadowed form isn't fully consistent. It's possibly the most obvious when you compare his singing animations in both forms. His hat form makes what was later 'revealed' to be his ears look more like hair?,

Ears don't really split the same way that hair does, and theres other examples of hatsei having this kind of spikyness to his 'ears' that hatless ralsei doesnt have.

even the fangamer plush makes his ears spiky!!

its a pretty major part of how hatsei looks, and its certainly been talked about before. And then comes chapter 3+4. And we have plenty of evidence that ralsei is a shapeshifter, and I have seen literally nobody talk about it????? huh?????

Oh, and the hat casting a shadow on him makes no fucking sense because he goes onto wear SEVERAL hats in chapter 3 and he's normal????

also I know its like. A funny bit, but HE TURNS INTO A HORSE

WHY THE FUCK WOULD KRIS'S HEADBAND TURN INTO A HORSE???? WHY WOULD A GREEN CRAYON TURN INTO A HORSE???? WHY CAN HE DO THIS????? THIS ISNT A COSTUME THATS NOT HOW THEY WORK????? WHERE WOULD HIS BODY GO.

not to mention that changing shapes was literally his ability in the legend of tenna game???? he plays it off like 'oh every character has abilities i can turn into a box' but he can also turn into a dog? since ralsei was the only one who read the manual it very well could be an ability given to him since the real Ralsei is also a shapeshifter.

It would also explain why ralsei draws himself in his hat form

thats closer to what his natural form is. Dont have any screenshots on hand right now, but he's got two lines in chapter four (if you leave him lying on the ground for too long, and right before they find the first fountain) about how much longer he can 'keep this body for' that make it very obvious that he's only using a form that looks cuter to appeal to us. Him being a shapeshifter would also explain things like

His face being a deliberately made abstraction would also make this interaction make a lot more sense. Pre chapter three, I assumed Ralsei based his face on Asriel to either try appealing to Kris or as fanservice for the player/red soul, however, now that we've slowly started learning more about Ralsei, it's beginning to seem more like Ralsei just wants to have a face and more distinct appearance, like the lightners do. However, because of how dark worlds work, he can only base it off of what already exists, with that already existing 'model' being Asriel, although with modifications to make himself cuter— pink horns and eyes, and his usual glasses. It's why Kris is always quick to point out differences between them, and why Ralsei is embarrassed at being told that they look similar, he didn't have a choice other than be based off something that already exists.

Alright, so Ralsei is a shapeshifter. He still has to have some equivalent in the Light World though, since that's how Dark Worlds work. He was literally about to tell Susie what he was before getting interrupted, and Toby Fox is deliberately dancing around the topic.

However, I think the answer is actually pretty obvious. Ralsei is a being of 'pure darkness', which is why he can exist in any Dark World, unlike Lancer and Rouxls, who need to be objects that 'belong' in their respective worlds. His form is made up by the original dark fountain, and he describes himself as a 'Prince of the Dark'. Characters in the Dark World know about what happens to and around their real world equivalents, but Ralsei in particular seems to be especially aware of all of Susie and Kris's actions and movements. He doesn't need to be brought in by Kris like Lancer and Rouxls do, and he always appears in the Dark World a few moments after Susie and Kris do, while somehow almost always having pretty intimate knowledge of how the world came to be. Ralsei is also the most adamant on being depended on by Lightners, even more than people like Tenna. He talks about how a Darkners role is to be used by Lightners and to make them happy, and his character development in Chapter 3 especially goes into how he wants to be needed and how he's afraid he's slowly developing his own personality, and why he believes darkners shouldn't do that.

So, taking all of that into account, I feel like the most obvious answer for what Ralsei is is a shadow.

He's a literal prince of the dark. It explains why he can shapeshift, since shadows can be made to look like anything— I'm specifically thinking of things like shadow puppets, and why when he gets knocked out he seems to literally disappear, returning to the shadows. A shadow is also the most dependant on light, shadows literally cannot exist without light, or they'll just be darkness. It even explains his empty room.

His insistence that his only role is to help the Lightners, the way that people can never find anything notable about him (asking swatch for specials his suggestion for Ralsei is based purely on how he dresses and Queen literally forgets to get him a cage), and his ability to be in any dark world (since there's literally nowhere without shadows) all seem to point towards Ralsei being a shadow.

Ralsei being a shadow also means he's literally with you in the dark, could probably straight up not exist if the world was plunged into darkness, and also makes him a weaker version of a titan (explaining the 'prince' title. not quite king, but noble nontheless).

[cheer-nympho]

Steve had been conned into chaperoning the kids to a ren faire.

Admittedly with very little resistance, but he was keeping that to himself. Once there and with their bags packed away into some apparently theme appropriate tents he had shrugged on some medieval casual clothes and…immediately lost track of all of them,

But a figure he did spot was a long haired Jester entertaining a small entourage with juggling,

Steve finds himself laughing slightly condescendingly at the jingling man. Why do people find juggling so impressive?

He picked it up straight away with some hackey sacks while bored between practices. He’s just good with his hands.

When he looks back up to get another glance in however, the jester isn’t perched on top of his little rock anymore and the crowd has merged with the other dweebs.

Steve stares at the empty space for a moment before a jingle right by his ear spooks him into turning around.

“Art thou not impressed by my amazing skills, your lordship?” The jester asks, swaying on his feet and causing the bells all over him to ping, grin wide and mocking.

And up close Steve notices one very important, very dangerous thing.

This court jester is really fucking hot.

He looks like an idiot, a nerd, a dweeb. Its hard not to in a pointy hat. But he also wore it too well, looked too perfect like that.

Steve notices the…is that..? Yes, the corset wrapping tightly around the mans waist, red and black diamonds decorating the sides and leading to small puffy shorts. His legs are covered in tight black leggings which should look ridiculous. It should.

An obnoxious cough and head tilt-jingle make Steve aware that he has been staring at the mans waist for way longer than was ‘bro code permitted’

He looks up with a wince, expecting a look of disgust ranging from mild embarrassment to punch-your-lights-out.

He was, instead, greeted by a smug and knowing smile. The red and black triangles painted over the mans eyes warped where the grin reached them. “Or maybe thou art impressed, but skills are not what draw thine eyes.”

Shit. Fuck. The stupid hot nerd is using stupid nerd speak on him. And Steves stupid nerd, apparently ‘very accurate’ pants are getting tighter. He needs to say something. Anything.

“You’ve got…bells.” Okay, maybe not anything. He used to be better at this shit.

He is rewarded with a wild, joyous laugh as the jester throws his head from side to side. “I do! Isn’t it amazing?The staff insisted on it so they could hear me coming.”

“It certainly makes an impression-“

“Eddie, names Eddie. And what does my lordship go by?”

“Steve is fine.”

“That he is…” The comment was punctuated by a less than subtle glance, almost a leer. “However, Fine Steve seems unimpressed with my merrymaking. As the official court jester, I cannot let that stand.” He stamps his foot, causing another cacophony of jingles.” “Therefore…”

“…Pick a card any card!” A pack of standard cards was presented to him with a flourish, but all he could do was roll his eyes.

“Come on, really? This shit is basic. All I have to do it watch your hands. You’ll swipe my card out and put it back in later, or mark it somehow.”

“Ooo his highness has it all figured out doesn’t he. Well then, princess, you have nothing to lose by picking a card, do you?” And that was…true. Plus he could maybe try to fix his previous fumble and try to claw a number out of this disaster.

So with another bitchy roll of his eyes, Steve plucks a card from the deck and hides it behind his palm. Two of Hearts.

Then out of nowhere… “You know, Stevie, if you think I’m pretty you can just tell me. I know the kingdom would approve not of a noble like yourself marrying a commoner like me, but they need know little of how we…” He begins to reshuffle the cards, motioning for Steve to place his chosen one back in before making some very obvious, very crude movements with his fingers. “…get to know each other in the meantime.”

He was going to die. In the middle of a nerd fest.

“Well, my lord…” Eddie continues, circling him while dragging a finger across his arms and shoulder blades before coming to a stop in front of him. A very bold hand takes Steves jaw and forces his head up, pretending to inspect something on his costume for any bystanders.

“If you would like some more…close up demonstrations…” He leans in tightly, still holding Steve’s jaw in a tight grip. “You can pay me a visit in staff cabin 23 tonight.” He strokes a piece of hair gently behind Steve’s ear before pulling out a card, as if from said ear.

Steve was glad that Eddie took the initiative to carefully pull his hand up and place the card into his palm, because currently Steve was too preoccupied with staring like a fish out of water into Eddies eyes. Everything about him was just so captivating, so alive.

Maybe that’s why he did little more than step forward aimlessly, with small grabby hands when Eddie pulled away. Before Steve could even process it, the bells and jingles had mingled back into the crowd. But that was…that was okay. Cause he could go to the…cabin?

But how was he supposed to- Oh. He looks down. On the card was a loosely clipped room key with a ‘23’ crudely engraved into the edge as if by a pocket knife.

The card itself, to his horror, was the Two of Hearts.

Shit.

He forgot to watch the fucking hands.

[heartyluv]

Note: DID I SHOCK YOU GUYS?!? COWBOY CALEB?!?!?!? Serious note, this has been in my mind for dayssss and it came out so much better than I imagined. I hope you think so, too. ♡ Please —Click Here— for part two if you’d like!

creds to @/saradika-graphics & @/anitalenia for the dividers/banners!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut (kindaaaa slow getting there. hope that’s okay), Loss of virginity

Word Count: 4,272 (WOAHHH)

Summary: You and Caleb in the house alone + Unspoken feelings.

Cowboy!Caleb/Reader

When you handed Caleb a cup of your momma’s homemade lemonade, you had to make sure that you didn’t stare for too long.

You didn’t want to get caught eyeing the black tattoos that trailed down his sweaty arms. Or the thin material of his white tank top which clung to his abs that rippled beneath the partially translucent material with every breath he took.

Instead, you simply gave a quick nod to the man you’ve known since you were five years old.

“Thanks, baby,” he tilts up the corner of his mouth, catching his breath. You tried your hardest to ignore the pet name as you waited for him.

He pulled off the gloves he wore to move the horses’ hay around, his hand brushing against yours when he grasped the cool cup. You looked at everything but him as his thick neck worked to drink the refreshing beverage. After he handed it back to you, you didn’t wait a moment longer to scurry out of the stables.

When you first met Caleb, he was much younger and not packed with muscled or decorated with beautiful inked artwork. His family owns a ranch a little ways out from your parent’s small farm and when you all moved down to the pretty countryside, they were the first to pay you a visit.

Caleb teased you all the time like it was nobody’s business, and it was all because the boy refused to admit how much he liked you the longer he stayed in your presence. You were equally shy about your feelings, but you were more of a quiet mouse about it so he thought it was one sided.

The older you two got, the less time you two spent together, but the feelings never faded. Not when you when to college—at least attempted to before dropping out and coming home three years in—and not when Caleb’s name had become a prayer whispered off the lips of several women around town.

You weren’t hurt or phased. As an adult, he had the right to sleep with whoever he wanted to, be with whoever he wanted to, but no matter how many women he’s fucked—it’s been no more than six, but they’re all obsessed with him—Caleb always, always thought of and wanted you. When you left, he thought the best way was to get over you was to force himself to move on.

Despite the rift that naturally formed after you left, you and Caleb would always be a part of each other. That unspoken vow between you two is why he’s here now.

Your father had a small accident, making him unable to take care of his usual duties around the farm for a few weeks. While you and your mother helped pick up the work, assistance was still needed. That’s why when Caleb got word about it, he didn’t hesitate to come by every day from sunrise to sunset, helping to take care of the animals and any work around the property.

He did it all without any payment or expectations, simply giving help to the people who he looked at as second family. His family’s ranch was so successful that he didn’t need the money and even if he did, he wouldn’t have taken it. That’s how humble he is.

And while it was incredibly sweet, it was still hard for you to see him. Still hard to act like you didn’t want to climb all over him, to talk to him like there wasn’t any time missed.

So for everyday that he’s been here, you kept your distance unless your parents explicitly asked you to interact with him. You had maybe two conversations in the three weeks he’s been around and even then, it was only because your mother or father had been there.

There were always subtle glances, moments shared and stories told when your eyes would briefly meet. But it never went beyond that, and you could never understand if you were grateful for it or not.

Before you make your way to the house, you walk up to Caleb’s horse Applebottom, who’s been free roaming while her owner is working inside. She nuzzles into your palm and you pat her wet nose with a chuckle as she swings her blonde hair all over the place to show how delighted she is to be petted. You admire her golden brown and shiny coat, loving how much Caleb really takes care of the sweet horse he’s had since he was thirteen.

Departing from her so that she can continue her frolicking, you climb the porch once you approach the wooden steps and walk inside to put the cup in the kitchen. As you wash your hands, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You look over to see your momma.

“Hey babydoll, you give him the lemonade?”

“I did,” you nod. “He said thank you.”

“Good, good,” she huffs. “Listen, your dad and I have to go visit your grandmother. We should be back by tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Okay. Is Grams alright?”

“She’s fine,” she waves off. “She just wants to see her son is all. Been worried sick after we told her about the fall and you know she doesn’t leave the house, so I’ll just bring him to her since he can’t drive on his own right now.”

“Does Caleb know you’re leaving?”

“I’ll get around to telling him. You’ll be okay in the house yourself?” She plucks some stray hay from your hair.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

As the day progresses you find yourself on your momma’s rocking chair, subtly watching Caleb ride around with Applebottom. It’s safe to stare from a distance, so to the best of your ability, you watch how his strong thighs flex in his dark blue jeans, how his hips rock back and forth on the saddle. You listen to how he praises her and laughs every time she does something cute or funny.

The evening glow from the setting sun decorated the scene before you, the little amount of light left gleaming off the gold buckle of Caleb’s deep black Cattleman. He tips his hat off to you with a wink, making your cheeks hot. You turn away when he and Applebottom gallop further down the grass.

The screen door open and shuts behind you, and you look to see your dad with his cane. He sighs as he plops himself on the swinging bench beside you, looking out to where Caleb went.

“We might spend the night at Grams. Supposed to be a storm tonight.”

You tug at your denim shorts, getting uncomfortable with how they stick to you because of the summer heat. “You still sure about going, then?”

He nods. “I don’t want to leave her alone with this anyways. She’s never liked bad weather, just like your mother.” He and you laugh at that.

It’s silent for a moment. “Since Caleb lives a little far out, I told him he could stay the night so he doesn’t have to worry about trying to beat the storm.”

Your body freezes. You look at your dad, not knowing how to respond. He does it for you.

“He stays out of your room, you understand me?”

“Daddy, what are you implying?” you quirk a brow.

“I ain’t implying nothing. I’m saying that we all know what kind of character he is. He’s still a good kid, but he’s…slightly more experienced. Don’t want nothing happening between you two right now, is all. I know you’re grown and I’m not saying Caleb means harm or anything like that, but I don’t want him thinking he can try anything. Just want you to be safe.”

Your parents have never been oblivious to the way you and Caleb look at each other when you think no one’s looking. They’d never say it out loud in front of you, though. Because Caleb has become the town’s heartthrob—something you didn’t expect to return home to—your father still cares about and respects him, but he’d rather you not be another notch on his belt.

“He won’t,” you assure, and your dad looks at you with knowing eyes. “We won’t.”

Caleb stayed outside longer than you expected. You had whipped up a small dinner, telling him it was ready at some point, but he never came inside. He claimed he had a few more things to wrap up in the stables and said he wanted to make sure Applebottom was comfortable before he headed inside. You didn’t combat it, leaving his plate on the counter for him before you took yourself a shower to settle in for the night.

Your parents had left about an hour ago and they let you know they were with your grandmother who missed you something fierce.

It actually started raining as soon as they got there and your dad was right, had Caleb left at the time they found out about the storm, he would’ve been driving home in it.

You laid in your bed, looking at a whole bunch of nothing on your phone when you heard a loud clatter. Startled, you looked behind you to see that your curtain rod had given out.

“Not again,” you grumble, standing and seeing if you could pop it back into place. You couldn’t.

Deciding that you’ll actually have to put in a little elbow grease because you refuse to sleep with your window bare, you walk out of your room to head to the supply closet to find your daddy’s toolbox. At the same time you began your short trek down the hallway, the bathroom door opens to your left.

You look briefly to see Caleb. Shirtless and wet. With a towel slung low around his waist.

You quickly avert your gaze, not saying a word. He’s a walking wet dream, you think to yourself.

“Everything alright?” he calls to you. You halt for a beat, clearing your throat and hoping that your voice doesn’t betray you.

“Yeah,” you say simply.

You hear him chuckle. “You still avoidin’ me? Acting like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him, keeping your eyes up. “I’m not avoiding anything.”

“Then talk to me. It’s just us,” he shrugs. “Nothing to be distant about.”

“I’m busy right now—”

“Let’s be busy together. I got time.”

“Caleb, really—”

“Please,” he says softly, his whole being softening. “I miss you. Miss talking to you.”

Unfortunately for your poor heart, you miss him too. So much. Giving in, you curtly nod. “Okay, we can talk while I fix my curtain rod. Go put some clothes on or something first.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He only put on sweatpants. And instead of letting you work on the rod, he takes over the tools that you found to handle it for you. You sit on your bed, ogling at his back muscles and how they move beneath his smooth skin.

“I’m surprised you still have it if I’m being honest,” he comments, adding onto the conversation you were having as he works on another screw. The thunder rumbles every now and then, making you feel nostalgic for some reason. Maybe it’s because you and him would have late night talks like this when he used to sleep over with his parents during nights with storms similar to the one outside, would happen.

“I’m keeping it even when it stops working. It’s a relic.” The beat up radio from the fifties that Caleb gifted you a couple years ago will always be sacred in your eyes. Not only is it because it was a send off present right before you left for college, but you love antique things.

“Since we’re talking on the topic of things we’re surprised about, the tattoos? What made you get all that?”

He lowers one of his arms, using the other to rattle the rod a little to see how sturdy it is and once satisfied, he gets down from the step ladder you gave him.

“That’s right. Last time you saw me, I only had Applebottom’s name on my side. But it’s nothing sappy or anything. I thought they looked good and figured, why not?”

“I know your mom lost her shit when you got the big ones,” you shake your head with a smile. Caleb’s mother has always been against anything tattoo or piercing related, so you wonder how he’s still standing.

“She did. Until I got the ranch tatted down my arm. Had me get the same exact piece framed and put it on the wall.”

You laugh, thinking about his theatrical mother who you need to get around to visiting. After you came back, you hesitated because you were always nervous about bumping into her son. As you speak with him though, you wish you didn’t. It doesn’t feel forced and it’s nice to talk to him again.

“You ever notice the one on my chest?”

Your frown in thought, moving your head side to side to tell him no. You’d been so busy trying to make sure you didn’t look.

He steps closer, making you crane your neck to look up. You squint, ignoring the fresh scent coming from him and his intoxicating size. The warm light from the floor lamp by your window helps you see and is that…

“My name?!” you exclaim, standing up.

“Least I could do for my favorite girl. Got it when you left for college ‘cause I missed you so much. Wanted to surprise you after I found out you came back, but then you avoided me like the plague.” He stares at you as you run your fingertips across the cursive writing with several small birds flying above it.

“You mean one of your favorites?” you roll your eyes. He grabs your hand before it can fall away from his skin completely. You choose not to speak on the avoiding him like the plague part, because he’s 100% right.

His jaw clenches. “A lot of things changes for a man who isn’t afraid to admit something out loud anymore, you know that?”

“I’m sure.”

“And if I told you that it’s always been you? That it can only ever be you?”

“I’d say the amount of women who knows what your dick looks like means you’re full of shit.”

He smirks. “Jealous?”

“You want me to be?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Tough luck.”

“Cute. But your nipples are telling on you, pretty girl.”

Your facade drops and you try to pull your hand away to cover your peaked nubs beneath your pink tank top.

“Want me to leave?”

You don’t answer and that solidifies all the hope he needs.

“How about if I told you that I’ve always imagined what you’d look like wrapped around my cock. Would you let me stay and find out?”

He stares at your lips as you stand dumbfounded and at a loss for words. “I’d say,” he takes your response and smirks as he twists it. “That based on your dilated pupils and the raging pulse in your neck, the idea intrigues you.”

“Just for you to conquer another sexual fantasy, then leave after you’ve gotten your sample?”

“You wound me,” he kisses your fingertips. “You’re smart, baby. You know I didn’t just start wanting you.”

“You said nothing.”

“Wanted to before you left, didn’t have the guts. Then you came back and it felt impossible to try. Well, with how you’ve been dodgin’ me, is all.” He places your palm to his cheek, kissing your wrist. “And I used to feel like you were too good for me, that I didn’t deserve someone as perfect as you. And while I still do, I want you to make that decision on your own.”

“And if…If I said I wanted you? Then what?”

“Then you’d have me.”

You shudder as he keeps kissing. His eyes are glazed with lust, the desire for granted permission pumping his heart. And when you shakily nod, his mouth is on yours faster than you can brace yourself.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he makes quick work of lifting you, using his strength to climb into the bed with you hanging onto him as he presses in between your legs. Your back arches as his teeth bite the skin of your neck, soothing each nip with an erotic lick from his tongue.

“I’ve never done this before,” you blurt out, making him stop. His eyes look up, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“You’re..?” You nod to answer him so that he doesn’t have to say it.

“Fuck, baby…” He gathers his thoughts. “I’d be honored to be your first. I promise to treat you real good, give you what you deserve.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not one bit,” he assures, kissing your jaw. “Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about. Want me to keep going?”

“Please…”

He smiles, pressing another to your nose. “Spread your legs wider for me.”

You listen to him, letting yourself feel as his hand snakes down your body, past your sleep shorts and into your panties. You whimper as he collects some of your slick, bringing it to your throbbing clit. He kisses you deeply, gently circling your bundle of nerves beneath his middle finger.

“I’m gonna make you cum at least once to get you ready, alright?”

You nod, withering beneath him as he works you so easily with just one finger. As he shoves it into your hot walls, you cry out. Then when his thumb continues to please your clit, you feel like he’s raging his own storm within you. You’ve masturbated before, but it’s never felt like this.

Your moans are uncontrollable, falling from you and entrancing him like an ancient siren that has ruled the waters for centuries.

“I knew you’d sound beautiful,” he whispers into your neck. “I’m adding another one, okay?”

A second digit fills you, making you brace your hand on his bicep. The rain hitting your windows is loud, but it has nothing against your cries of pleasure. His fingers slide in and out, curving just right and stretching you deliciously. His hand is like magic with how it’s able to make you feel something so powerful.

He trails down your body with his lips, kissing your tits and sucking on your nipples.

“Caleb…I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, my sensitive baby. I’m right here…”

He rubs your clit just a little faster to help send you over the edge and you pull him back up, tasting him like he’s the epitome of salvation.

As his mouth mingles with yours, you start to shake when your orgasm washes through you, ridding yourself of anything that wasn’t entirely him. His fingers don’t stop until you’ve gone completely slack and he swallows your whimpers as if they’re his fuel.

He’s ravenous now, pulling his fingers from your cunt and bringing them to his mouth to taste your sweetness. Sitting on his knees, you breathe frantically as he pulls off everything keeping you from him. And you’re just as desperate, sitting up to help him pull off his sweatpants.

“Caleb, that’s not gonna fit.” You look between his eyes and his cock once he’s naked too. “How are you even walking around with that thing?”

He laughs genuinely at your shock. “You don’t want it?” He grasps himself, using his tip to push against your clit. You don’t want to seem dramatic, but you swear you almost came again, just from that. He’s so entranced by how your pretty face does nothing to hide how good you feel.

“Just relax for me, yeah? Anytime you need me to stop, just say the word.”

You nod, but put a hand to his hard stomach as he gets ready to slide inside. “I’m not on any birth control. Do you have a condom?”

His eyes slightly enlarge. Caleb has always worn a condom when he had sex. No one could get him to pull his pants off if some form of contraception wasn’t available. But for you? He was ready to go in raw and not give it a second thought. “Fuck. Fuck, I don’t have one. We don’t have to—“

“It’s okay. I trust you.” You trust him. It’s like falling in love with you all over again.

“I’ll pull out and I’m clean. I would never hurt you.”

“I know.”

You watch your name on his pec move in rhythm with his chest as he inhales and exhales. Bracing a hand beside your head, he uses his other to slowly begin to put his cock inside your cunt. He catches his bottom lip in his teeth and when the head slides in, you clench tightly, wincing at the unfamiliar fullness.

“You feel so good,” he breathes out a laugh, knowing that he’ll come quick if he doesn’t get a move on. His fingers and your first orgasm prepped you nicely with how easily he glides inside. He inches in slowly, trying to gauge your comfort level, but there’s nothing but pure bliss on your face.

“All the way,” you beg impatiently. “I can take it…”

“Anything you want,” he promises with a kiss. He loves kissing you.

In one fluid motion, he’s buried to the hilt.

He throbs inside of your velvet walls, making you attempt to push yourself forward to really feel him. “Move, please move..”

As commanded, his hips start to move back and forth to gain momentum before snapping into you like you’re an experience that will fade away if he doesn’t give you what you want. The bed shakes, gently thumping against the wall every time he sinks all the way back inside of you. That ache you initially felt is long gone, replaced by a something that not even a dictionary has the words to describe.

“This pussy is mine,” he growls in your ear, sucking on the lobe while you make a mess of his semi-dry hair.

“Let me hear you claim this cock, pretty. You need to understand how devoted we are to you from now on.”

The feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix is mouthwatering. “Your cock is mine,” you mewl as tears form in the corners of your eyes.

His balls slap against you, the continues smacking itching a part inside of you that you never knew needed scratching. You feel how his veins slide against you, feel how your pussy sucks him inside every time he slips away because you can’t even think about this ending.

“I’ve never felt anything this fucking good,” he moans as you chant his name the closer your orgasm approaches.

“I’m about to come, baby. I feel you, you’re right there. I can’t finish until you do.”

His pelvis grinds against your clit, his hair gently ticking your skin. You scratch at his back, your nails making him fuck you harder and his strong arms keep you enclosed in a safe cage. Finally, for the second time, you come so hard that it makes you cry genuine tears because it was so overwhelmingly pleasing.

Swiftly he pulls out, his cum shooting out to land onto your pussy and stomach. You watch how he pumps himself in his hand, edging the rest of his spend out of his leaky tip as it droops slowly.

You look at each other and he’s crawling back on top to kiss you with so much gentleness. He kisses your tears away first and you share a humorous laugh as he gives you more, especially when his featherlight caresses down your sides tickles you.

“You don’t have to say it right now, but…I love you. So much.”

You smile. “I just might love you, too.”

The next morning, the rain has completely stopped and a strong mass is holding you tightly. You stir awake first, humming gently to yourself as you recount last night.

All the way from when you saw him fresh out the shower, up until he cleaned you up and held you until you fell asleep. There’s a pulse between your thighs, both from wanting him again and from what he made you feel just hours before.

A gentle peck to the back of your neck startles you. “You’re up?”

“You know I am,” you chuckle.

“Good.” He inhales your sweet scent. “I’m not one to push my luck, but I’m more than ready for a repeat.”

“Caleb, you just woke up.”

“So did he,” he emphasizes when he grinds against your bare ass, making you bite your lip. He pulls you to lay on your back, causing you to giggle as he gets between your legs and kisses all over your face.

“I wanna take you riding again. Applebottom would love it. Maybe we can get you your own stallion, hm?” He smiles sincerely. “And I wanna show you off now that we’ve stopped playing around. Maybe get around to putting a ring on that finger.”

“You’ve got a lot of wants, cowboy,” you smirk.

“That only you can fulfill.” He goes to attack your mouth again.

Then you heard the front door open and close.

“Shit,” you whisper. Caleb is confused by your shock because you never told him what you and your dad talked about before he left. You completely forgot about them coming back and now, you have no clue how you’re going to quietly get this naked ass man off of you and back in the guest room before either of your parents get upstairs.

With no plan in mind, you accept your—well Caleb’s—fate: Your dad just might actually beat him with his damn cane.

Tags 🏷️: @honeymoonfleur (you said you wanted to be on my caleb tag list and i wasn’t too sure if you meant in general or just for the ex-husband fics. just let me know!)