#“it's okay to experience this - time will wait for you and you still much time to learn and grow” something like that. not verbatim but

[a13x-128]

Hi can you do please Lando as a single father story. How he’s struggling but then he meet Magui and she help him in with his daughter. His daughter is shy and she never wanted to go on race with him, bud Magui will help her with her fear and she with go for first time to F1 race (she will love the race, I was thinking about Silverstone) and also she will have a new friend (Lily and Oscar).

PS: sorry for all this hard writing, in my head it sounded easier 😅.

New experiences

Lando x daughter!reader

summary: Y/n never took a liking to racing and would much rather stay home, Lando struggles between racing and trying to see his daughter as much as possible at home. Eventually someone makes it easier to handle.

A/n: hello!! thank you so much for this request!! it was so fun to write and i enjoyed planning literally all of it. (yeah this took awhile...shhhh.)

Also feel free to request anything guys...I HAVE NO IDEAS.

taglist: @povreader4821

Warnings: EXTREMELY RUSHED AT THE END i just needed to post something guys 😭

Having a child while racing across the world was difficult. It would be easier if someone else was at home, someone who could help out or look after her all the time.

Someone who wouldn't also just be there for the race weekends then end up leaving exactly like he did.

It was hard. Incredibly difficult, the distance was horrible and hard to manage, especially when your kid refuses to go to any race at all. Not only has Lando's daughter never been to a race but she absolutely hated the fast cars and the sport in general.

Y/n had never liked racing. Not one bit.

Lando had tried to convince her through every way possible but no matter what, Y/n would always say that she never wanted to go and something Lando wouldn't do was force his child into doing something she didn't want.

"And you still don't want to come?" Lando was getting ready to leave, again. A suitcase was almost fully packed and his other bag was as well, he just hoped that maybe Y/n would eventually come along as well.

Y/n nodded in all the seriousness she could possibly muster up, "I want to stay home."

And that was that.

"Okay, Mira will be here any minute, alright? Don't be any trouble." He ruffled her hair and she giggled as they both walked to the door.

Mira was a babysitter. She'd come round every race weekend and take care of Y/n, even if the little girl would mainly hide away from her most of the time anyway.

"Uh huh." It was a struggle to leave her alone in Monaco so much. Every weekend he had to leave was worse than the last, it was never easy to just leave for so long.

Especially since Y/n was such a skittish girl, she easily got scared of people, barely even liked Mira being around so much and it made it hard to ever just leave her here.

"Y/n?" Lando looked at her for a moment before crouching down to her level and putting a hand on her shoulder, "you are completely sure you're okay with this?"

She nodded, "It's okay."

It wasn't, it never was.

Y/n wanted Lando around more, of course she did, and Lando would almost do anything to bring her with him everywhere. She was just too scared to do it.

"Okay."

The weekend went how it usually did.

Y/n stayed in her room, quiet as a mouse and refusing to say much to Mira at all. It wasn't that the woman wasn't nice but she'd much rather it was Lando with her instead.

She came out, sometimes, when she needed something.

The only time she really wanted to be out was when her dad called. He always did, before the practice sessions, after qualifying and the race. He'd always call on a night to see how she was and also when he was coming back.

It was their little routine.

A way of normality while he was gone for a little longer than she'd like, then he'd like. It was comforting and a way that they could both still interact even with the insane schedules and time differences.

He would always make time for that, even if he had just five minutes to have a small talk with the little girl who was always waiting at home for her dad to come home once again.

He always had time for that.

Now it was after a race, Lando talking through the phone as it propped up so he could see his daughter. He didn't mention the race, or the good result or anything about the car. He talked about the stuff she was interested in, funny stories that would hopefully make her laugh about him and Oscar, whatever things he had to record that weekend and the silly gossip or stuff fans were doing.

Usually it made Y/n giggle and ask more questions, actually get involved with it and it made Lando feel better. Maybe even if he wasn't home all the time, he might just be able to make this situation actually work.

Except this time, he got small smiles and nods. No asking about anything or laughing, not even asking about the silly things he had to record!

"What's wrong, squirt?"

Usually even the nickname would warrent some kind of reaction! This time she just looked away, swallowing the words she was actually going to say to him.

"Nothin's wrong."

Lando didn't push, maybe he should have, maybe he should've asked more questions or anything that possibly could've gotten her to confess. But he didn't, by this time he had to get going anyways.

They said goodbye, and he'd probably be home early tomorrow.

"And you're sure somethings wrong?" A woman's voice came from the phone, one that y/n certanly wouldnt have recognised.

"Yes im sure!" Lando quickly quieted down, hoping y/n wouldn't have heard him speaking so loud. "She's just acting different, not herself."

"And you don't know why?" She sounded annoyed? maybe slightly frustrated at the fact he was being so oblivious. "maybe it's to do with the fact your away so much? even when that babysitter comes round, it's not like she's always there either."

Lando hadn't thought about that way before.

Y/n never had someone there all of the time, not the same person anyways. Her mother couldnt exactly be there and he always was away, races, events, at the mtc, or something that always pulled his attention away from his own child. Mira was only ever around when he couldnt be there and he new that she didnt exactly enjoy being a round her a whole lot.

Of course y/n be upset, why wouldnt she be?

"I guess I thought shed be used to it." He whispered softly, realising that shed possibly be struggling as much as he has in the whole tug and war or trying to find enough time to stay at home with his own daughter. It was difficult to balance such a busy job and a homelife at the exact same time with no one else around to help him at all.

It wasnt fair. No one was ever always around for y/n and all Lando ever wanted was to somehow find a way to balance everything all at once. being able to bring y/n to races mightve been a great solution to spend more time together...if she wasnt ultimatley terrified of the cars, how loud they are, and the sheer amount of people being there.

And, once again, who would watch her? As much as Mira was a lifesaver, he didnt exactly feel like y/n would appriciate going into that kind of enviroment with someone she already didn't like that much.

"Magui?"

"please tell me whatever you're thinking isnt insane."

"No it's not. I think you should meet y/n."

The next two weeks were still just different, quiet and weird. Y/n was shy, that was fairly obvious to literally everyone, but around her own dad? That was different, she was usually like any other kid, loud and obnoxious but very happy. Now, she was actually like anyone else was taking care of her, just kind of there but not really.

Lando had warned her that someone was coming over, someone who actually wanted to meet her. She thought it would be like usual, like someone would come over and realise that she wouldn't really want to talk to them at all.

Either way the door opened, a woman came in and came over to little Y/n who was colouring on the coffee table in the living room.

"Hi Y/n." The little girl looked up, not saying anything and for a little moment Lando thought she would get up and leave already. "I'm Magui."

Magui? Y/n recognised that, Lando mentioned her maybe once or twice during the silly stories that he randomly told.

She paused, just for a moment. Like, stopped colouring and fully decided to just stare for a moment. Lando fully held his breath, only hoping that maybe his daughter wouldn't shy away for once.

Magui waited patiently for Y/n's response, she didn't walk away when she hesitated and Magui also didn't just decide that the girl wasn't going to be worth her time at all. She waited for her.

Y/n looked to the box of markers next to her and took a handfull of them, putting them on the table and suddenly looked at Magui, "Do you want to colour with me?"

She turned one of the colouring sheets towards Magui and the woman smiled, "I'd love to."

And suddenly everything changed.

Magui came over a lot, spent time with Y/n and actually payed attention. She respected the fact that the little girl liked her space and sometimes she wanted to just act like a kid.

She was around even when Lando was home, spent time with Y/n and made it known that she was there for her and Lando both.

Magui wasn't like Mira who was only there because she was being paid to, she didn't just scroll on her phone and not really care about being there at all.

She was there a lot. And actually wanted to be around Y/n more than not.

"Have you ever been to a Grand prix?" Magui asked, they were cooking. Kinda. Magui was actually doing it but Y/n had insisted that she would need help, mainly because her dad certainly couldn't cook, and it's not exactly like she would say no.

Y/n shook her head, continuing to stir while also speaking, "the cars are loud. And there's a lot of people."

That made sense. She was a skittish kid, didn't ever want to be around more than her circle of people and well...that meant no racing. She had met a few of the other drivers but never liked any of them. Max was too scary, she called george way too posh, Alex too loud, and Charles just too much.

It's safe to say she liked people that weren't so loud all the time.

"Yeah?" Magui glanced at her, "I've been a few times, it's not as bad as it looks."

"Really?"

"I mean the cars are pretty loud but they have headphones for it." She continued cutting something up, trying to act like she wasn't trying to convince Y/n into coming to a grand prix with her and Lando. Even if it was Lando's idea, she wasn't so sure it would actually work.

"And there's a lot of people but it's okay, it's not as bad as it looks."

Magui kept dropping small, comforting, clues that that Y/n should possibly go to a race with them. It had been ages since Magui herself went anyway and Lando really wanted his daughter going to his home grand prix, it would hopefully be great.

It was the monday before the race. Y/n and Lando were watching some stupid movie that even Y/n had started scrunching her nose at the parts that were clearly bad enough for a six year old to even point it out.

"Dad?" She asked, nervously. Like she was about to ask or say something ridiculous, like asking for a real unicorn for a birthday or something.

"What's up squirt?" Lando ruffled her hair to make her laugh for just a moment, just to forget about whatever made her nervous even if it was for barely a moment.

"Can I...can I come with you to the race?"

Lando was shocked. He couldn't convince her to ever go with him by himself but Magui? By some miracle she ended up saying just the right things to make her actually want to go for once.

"Yeah, of course you can."

By wednesday she was packing a suitcase and, while she was nervous, she was also a little excited. She watched the races with Magui, the cars looked cool, her dad won a lot of races and...well it just kinda peeked her intrest now that she actually saw it herself.

Lando even explained it to her...in a more simplified way so a six year old would genuinely understand tire strategies and whatnot but Y/n was actually intrested in what he did for once.

Walking into the paddock on friday was a little nerve wracking for Y/n. She was nervous and Lando new about it instantly.

Y/n was holding her dads hand quite tightly, walking slightly behind him and very much trying to already avoid every other single person that was remotely in her sight line because why on earth did so many people have to be here already?

"Where's Magui?" The little girl asked, she didn't like knowing the woman wasn't there. Magui had became a big comfort for her, someone who was a constant and didn't leave as soon as she could.

"She's coming a little later, squirt. I promise she'll be here before I get in the car." He squeezed her hand, promising that Magui would show up.

Getting to the garage, a few people said hello and started up conversations. Lando made sure Y/n wouldn't really have to speak to anyone, she waved if they said hi and that was the end of her conversation with any kind of conversation.

And eventually, Oscar and Lily had came over.

At first, they both had just talked with Lando. Lily had smiled at the little girl and Y/n had waved back but she wasn't really hiding this time.

It wasn't that they had ignored her, Lily and Oscar just clearly new that she was shy and being here was clearly just overwhelming.

The clock was ticking down for fp1, Lando was in his drivers room with Y/n, who was currently busy building lego. And still no Magui.

Y/n was distracted, that was a good thing. It meant that only Lando was stressing over the fact that currently no one was here to actually keep an eye on his kid. It was a slight problem.

No one was there and well...he couldn't exactly leave her alone.

knock

knock

knock

Lando opened the door and there was standing, "Lily?"

Y/n looked up, she noticed someone was there and almost instantly expected Magui to be standing there. Actually she was almost praying for the woman she'd become so close to would be here.

"I saw that Magui isn't here yet, I just thought maybe you'd need someone to watch over her?"

Lando sighed out of pure relief. Was it the absolute best idea to have Lily watching her? Maybe not but that didn't matter so much. As long as someone was there, Lando would be alright.

"Yeah— actually that'd be great." Lando warned her that Y/n might not really say much and would probably just keep to herself, Lily didn't mind.

They had been sat in the back of the garage for about a full five minutes before Lily had managed to get Y/n to speak with her. It wasn't about anything to do with the driving, just purely about whatever Y/n thought was interesting at the time.

It went from what she was drawing earlier, to how Y/n thought Lily's outfit was very pretty, to Lily talking about something that happened between Lando and Oscar.

Lily wasn't much, she was calm. And just let Y/n talk, she was nice to talk to and honestly? She made it easier to stay when it might've been a little too much.

By the end of the weekend, Y/n had a new friend, a love for racing and suddenly was asking to go to a lot more races.

[ihaznoclue]

𓂃۶ৎ Jinu doesn't like when you shy away while fucking you for the first time

MDNI 18+ Tags - P in V, Praising Kink, Pet names (as Usual), First time, Shying away from embarrassment for not knowing what to do, Just straight to the point, Missionary

a/n; I thought of doing this with every Saja boy but chose Jinu because I don't write that much of him, I do wonder if you want the rest of the Saja boys?

M.list

Jinu had you carefully and gently laid on the bed as you two still haven't broke from the make out session

Jinu just couldn't enough of your soft and sweet lips

He also couldn't get enough of how your body flinches at every touch he makes with your fragile and delicate smooth skin

Also the sweet sounds that came from your mouth as he swallowed greedily made him feral, wanting more from you, to hear more from you

When Jinu broke the kiss he could get a better look at you

Your face flustered red and your chest heaving up and down as you tried to catch your from the kiss alone

A little bit of drool just dropping from the corner of your mouth

Jinu bit his lip intently "God you're so beautiful" He gently whispered a praise that filled into your ears making you blush even more as you gave out a little whine from the praise

You never had a relationship before.. never kissed anyone before and never received any praise before until now

You felt special.. ever since you met Jinu he's always been so kind to you.. thoughtful to understand you more

Now here you are, underneath him while he hovers over you with such dominance

You didn't even know what to do.. where to touch or where to look

You didn't even know what to say in a moment like this

It went all unexpected but you didn't want this to end quickly as you wanted to experience it with him.. with Jinu

By the time when he was starting to undress you, all you could do with just blush in embarrassment

Instantly covering yourself as you felt self-conscious but Jinu wasn't gonna let that slide, not in his watch

So he decided to pull your arms away and pin them down beside your head "Don't hide away.. you look beautiful like this.." Jinu's hushed voice whispered into your sensitive ear

"Now let me do the work while you lay there and look pretty as you always do"

....

"Jinu—" You whimpered out his name, calling for him as he continue to slowly thrust into you

The pain soon turned into pleasure

"You look so pretty under me baby, so obedient and cute looking like this" He teased, a grinning smile plastering onto his face

Your hands went straight onto your face to hide your flustered face from him, causing him to scoff

"What do you think you're doing baby? I wanna see that adorable face—" He grabbed your wrists as he pinned them above your head making you squeak in surprise

"There we go~" He purred "Now I can see you" Jinu stared at you with such lust, making you look anywhere by his eyes

His eyes were too much to handle as if he was too look down at you with such intensity

"Ngh!—" You trembled, biting your lip as you tired to lower your nosies as Jinu continued to thrust into you, touching every good spot

"Fuck baby, let me hear you" Jinu pleaded with his eyes

You swallowed the build up saliva as you cried out his name "There's the pretty sounds"

"Jinu— I'm—" You tried to speak but you just couldn't as you felt a tight feeling in your tummy, not knowing what was happening

"Wait!— Ah!— S—Slow down" You cried out, your fingernails gripping onto his biceps as you tired to tell him to slow down

"Don't worry baby, you're about to cum, let it happen" Jinu kissed your sweaty forehead

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you hiccuped

Your legs trying to close around his hips, your back arching even more off the bed as you finally orgasmed

Jinu thrusted a couple more times until he finally came, letting out a slight moan mixed with a low growl

"You okay baby?" Jinu worried asked "I didn't go to hard did I?"

You were catching you breath, your eyes slowly blinking making you feel sleepy

"No" A small whisper came out of your mouth as you closed your eyes "Though you did make me tired"

He let out a soft chuckle "Rest then, sex can take a lot of your energy" Jinu explained

"What about you?" You asked, Jinu shrugged "Demon stamina.. Now rest, I'll be here when you wake up"

He caressed your cheek as you gave out a sigh, your eyes blinking a few more times until they fully closed

You were now drifting off to sleep as Jinu cleaned up trying not to wake you up

..

You woke up beside a sleeping shirtless Jinu and you were fully dressed

-A<3

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[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (9)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You came to Velaris under duress five years ago—pregnant, alone, and in hiding from something, or someone, too dangerous to even speak aloud. When your daughter begged you to go to school years after settling down in the apartment above a worn-down apothecary, you obliged her. But things still didn't feel safe. Azriel was going to do everything in his power to give you that safety. At least, he would try. 

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, references to an abusive family, death, and pregnancy, Azriel's POV and this guy is panicking most of the time

a/n: Hiii if you've been waiting for this series ilysm and we are to be married <3 I hope you like part 9!! I have no idea how many parts are left but I always love writing this series so who knowss ❤️

Series Masterlist (all parts)

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

A pause blanketed the room, and Azriel wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have stopped breathing. Because that couldn’t be right—you being Beron’s daughter. Beron had sons. He couldn’t remember how many right now. Azriel could hardly remember much of anything. 

His fingers squeezed yours. “What?” 

He watched you close your eyes for a brief moment, a deep breath collecting your thoughts. “Beron is my father. Biologically. I don’t know who my mother is—some unnamed Autumn Court woman that Beron sent away after my birth. I was raised under a Lord. I was supposed to be a secret until I served the court best.” 

Azriel took in each fact that fell from your lips. You recited them as if they were pieces of history you had learned in school—emotionally detached with a purpose. 

“When it became clear that Spring was…teetering, Beron found the opening. Our marriage announcement was also going to announce my lineage. He was going to play it off as some long-lost daughter trope and say he never knew until then. And then I would unite the courts in some twisted sort of way.” 

“And you knew of this plan?” Azriel softly asked. He still found his thumb brushing your hand in his confused state. 

You scoffed out a laugh, the first sign of emotion since you’d begun reciting your truths. “The entire family knew of it. My brothers—Beron’s sons—all knew. His wife knew, and I’m sure she hated me for it. It was all very theatrical behind the scenes. In public, I was just a court lady.” 

You pulled your hands from his to run them through your hair. Azriel caught himself reaching for you again, eager to calm some of your agitation, but he stopped himself. You needed a moment. You needed to think, and his touch might only distract you. Azriel tucked his hands in by his knees and fought against his shadows that reached for you. 

With a slight shake of your head, you continued. “I’d known that my father wasn’t really my father since I was 6 years old. That was the age they put me in lessons and refused to let me play with other children. And then I was 10 and they decided I was old enough to know my future and… be okay with it, I guess. I didn’t understand what it meant. I don’t think I actually understood any of it until I met the man I was supposed to marry and watched Beron look at me like livestock. I think that’s why I did what I did. I wasn’t thinking and—” 

Your face twisted as your words failed. Azriel felt something sharp slice through his chest as he heard your shaking breath catch in your throat. 

This was awful. 

Before knowing his mate, Azriel had cared for others. He understood how it felt to have empathy and worry and to experience the pain of another. He had thought his connection with his family meant he understood love and devotion to its fullest potential. He had thought he knew it most with Mor all those years ago, feeling so sure that he was in love with her and the gravity of what that meant.

But he hadn’t. 

Looking at you now—taking in the few tears that fell into your lap—Azriel knew that he had only scratched the surface of those feelings.

Through the bond, he felt your sadness and conflict, and it ate at him. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and hide you from anything that could happen and everything that already had. Azriel felt as though his lungs were failing him because it hurt to breathe to see you so upset. It made him angry and desperate, and he felt it all so deeply that it created a branch of emotions he hadn’t yet experienced, but thought he had. 

The echo of your voice was still there, reminding him of the pivotal truths you were revealing, but he couldn’t fight back the rampage of his feelings—his devotion to you. You could tell him anything, admit to anything, and he wouldn’t care. He never would have left you, even at the beginning. Even if you had told him of the most nefarious origins. 

The thought scared him, in a small sense, but then you dragged in another hiccuping breath, and that fear disintegrated. 

Azriel bit back his anger and the drive to protect you from the unseen, and he sighed out a breath. He unfurled his fingers from the fists he’d created atop his things and blinked several times to rid himself of his own haze. And then he turned to you once more, and he did what instinct called him to. 

“It’s alright, my love,” Azriel comforted, speaking his thoughts into a single word he hadn’t yet confessed to. He shifted his wings to bring you into his lap, leaning back into an overstuffed cushion and holding you against him. “It’s alright. Take your time.” 

Your hands had covered your face at some point, the action lost to his tirade of emotions. Azriel kissed the side of your head as you stayed there, and he realized, briefly, that barely any shock had registered at your reveal. He figured it might process later. 

Or, he might never actually care about anything other than you, Melanie, and the two of you being safe and near him ever again. 

He kept his lips near your ear as you settled, muttering things that he couldn’t recall even as he said them. He held you close, and it comforted him just as much as he hoped for you. Azriel understood then, in some small way, that as he came to know you more, the feelings would never stop. He would never be able to stop this growing canyon carving itself into his being. 

He was in love with you. 

But he knew that was inevitable. 

Eventually, you calmed enough to pull back from his chest and puff your cheeks into a final breath. Your hands had settled along your thighs as they rested across him, and you turned to offer him a bittersweet sort of smile. It looked like Melanie’s, he thought—when she was guilty and trying to play it off like she wasn’t. 

“Sorry,” you weakly laughed. “I try not to think about all of this. It’s odd, saying it out loud.” 

“You don’t have to—” 

But you were quick to cut him off—to interrupt his eagerness to make you comfortable. “No, Az. I’m basically done. I got through the worst part.” You ran your hands down your legs, looked to the ceiling, and then looked back down to him, your faces now only inches apart. “When the wedding date was set, I went to Eris. I begged him to make Beron see reason. Of course, that didn’t do much of anything at all, and Lucien was the only brother to actually listen to me, anyway. So…” 

You mumbled out the last few words, picking at the bottom hem of Azriel’s sweater as you spoke. His shadows wove themselves between your fingers, and Azriel had to ignore the puffiness of your face right now because it was making him upset again. 

“Did you know Lucien is here?” he asked, offering you distance from your retelling. 

“He is?” 

A spark of something other than sadness. Azriel clung to it. “Yes,” he nodded, brushing hair from your eyes. “Not all the time. But he’s part of the court, in a way. Do you think he knows what happened?” 

“Bits and pieces, maybe. But he’d left for Spring years before. I only ever got letters to him. Nothing back.” 

“Maybe I could bring him to you. To talk.” Something skeptical passed over your expression. Azriel quickly remedied it with another press of his lips. “His mate is here. In Velaris. You know him better than I do, but I can almost guarantee he has cut ties with Spring and Autumn completely.” 

“Maybe,” you nodded. “But he doesn’t know about Melanie. I don’t—” 

“She won’t be anywhere near anything unsure,” Azriel quickly assured, his voice becoming harder. “Melanie’s safety will never be a question.” 

You looked at him then, eyes low under your wet lashes. With a slight tilt of your head and a steady square of your shoulders, you said, “I knew a noble boy growing up. He–he had always been kind to me. He didn’t know who I really was, but I think he knew what I was fated for. He saw how I was treated and who I wasn’t allowed to talk to. When… I couldn’t get Eris to listen, I went to him. That same night. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and I didn’t think it would lead to this, but I had to ruin myself. I had to do something.” 

Some of Azriel’s missing shock found him now. “Are you saying you had only been with a man once before Melanie?” 

“I wasn’t allowed to speak to a man without Beron present. That was the first time.” 

“But, for you to get pregnant—As fae—” 

“I know,” you almost laughed. “Terrible luck, isn’t it? I didn’t even consider it a possibility. I told Beron what happened two weeks later when he set the date for me to leave for Spring. I figured it would buy time, but then I started throwing up every morning, and Beron was so angry. I thought I could take anything he threw at me, but when I confirmed I was pregnant, I wouldn’t allow myself to put her in danger like that.” 

“What was he doing to you?” Azriel croaked out, afraid of the answer even when it happened so many years ago. 

You shook your head slightly. “It doesn’t matter, Azriel. I just knew I had to protect her. I—I had to get out of Autumn and disappear, but it wasn’t that easy. Beron was watching me all the time, demanding to know who I had slept with—who had ruined me. I wouldn’t tell him. It wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t want that man killed, but I knew—” you paused, pressing your lips into a hard line. Your eyes dropped to a point on his chest. “You might hate me for this.” 

“Impossible,” he quickly replied, nudging your chin up between his fingers. “Nothing you could say or do would ever make me hate you. You and Melanie are my life now. That is not changing.” 

Tears returned to gloss your eyes. “I told him. I had to tell him to get away that night. I knew he would go after him, and I would be able to run, but that would be the only distraction that would work. My only opening. I don’t—Azriel, I don’t know if he’s still alive. I don’t know if I killed him.” 

Azriel fought the blistering urge to ask if you had loved this man. It would be an easy conclusion with how broken you looked, but… that didn’t seem to be it. You may have loved him, yes, but it was the thought of having him killed that was torturing you. 

So, Azriel pushed petty jealousy aside. 

“You did what you had to do. You needed to protect yourself. To protect Melanie. You didn’t kill anyone, angel,” Azriel assured you, rubbing his hands over your arms as if to warm you. 

“But it would be my fault,” you nodded, jaw quivering. “If he were dead. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into. And—and he might not be dead. I know Beron is still after me. They could be keeping him alive just to torture me and they could find Melanie if I ever tried to look and—” 

Azriel gently shushed you, bringing your face into his chest. He ran his hands over your hair and rested his chin atop your head, staring hard into the wall of your tiny home. 

There was very little Azriel could do about any of this. 

Very little without your permission to tell others—to tell Rhysand and get you guaranteed safety. 

Azriel wished Melanie was home.

He wanted to hold her, too. 

~~

You had fallen asleep after another hour. 

Neither of you had talked about your past any longer. It was clear the topic was wearing you out, and Azriel would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. The onslaught of your emotions paired with the helplessness he felt was overwhelming. He held you until you fell asleep, tucked you into bed with his lips against your ear, and then left—against every instinct telling him to stay. 

He needed to speak with Cassian. 

Hours prior, Azriel had shoved Cassian into the wall of the House with a thinly-vailed threat and gritted teeth. He had told him to keep his mouth shut and then flown off to find you before you fled Velaris.

He had calmed some when he found you still very much at home, but the fear still lingered.

He needed to explain himself. To some extent. 

Although you had given him a sort of permission, Azriel found himself completely uninclined to actually tell the Inner Circle about you. He had been begging you before, wanting your safety and to have you and Melanie be wholly connected to each part of his life. But, as time passed, he found himself more and more protective of the family he was creating. He still wanted you safe. He still wanted you to feel the love of those around him, but the desire to keep you both to himself was growing. 

He needed to get over that. 

He could picture you fitting so perfectly in his life, the support of his family surrounding you. Mel could grow up with Nyx, and you wouldn’t even have to think about Autumn again if you didn’t want to. You deserved the joy of connection. Of Velaris. Of feeling safe. 

He could start with Cassian. 

Azriel gritted his teeth and considered Feyre as a more preferable alternative, but Feyre was High Lady. A High Lady being your first introduction after all that you shared was not going to work. And it would be easier for you since you had already… met Cassian. An unfortunate meeting, but one that still happened. 

Azriel found Cassian on the roof of the House. 

His brother had finished training just recently, his shoulders still heaving as he unwrapped his hands and reached for water. Azriel saw Cassian tense slightly when he landed by the ring, but he only threw him an unimpressed glance following. 

“You here to sock me again? Because I didn’t deserve it the first time and I don’t deserve another one.” 

Azriel smirked despite himself. “You will always deserve a punch to the jaw.” 

Cassian scoffed out a laugh, wiping his mouth to clear the water droplets. “Yeah, whatever. You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

He wasn’t bringing you up. Cassian knew, of course he knew, and he was using discretion. Azriel felt a tinge of gratefulness spark for his Brother, something he had become familiar with dozens of times in the past. 

“That woman,” Azriel began, vowels forming into your name to remind Cassian. “She is my mate.” 

Cassian looked shocked, but only for a flickering second. Maybe not to scare Azriel off. Maybe to seem casual enough to get him to continue, because last time he took this seriously, you ran off and Azriel threatened his life. 

“Really?” Cassian tried, a hint of sarcasm heightening his tone. 

“I love her, Cassian.” 

“Oh.” 

Azriel wet his lips and moved back a step as Cassian exited the training ring. His wing almost got caught, but Cassian wasn’t looking. He wasn’t paying attention to anything but Azriel and the hard expression on his face. 

When Azriel couldn’t find the words to continue, Cassian filled in. “Why—how long have you known her?” 

“A few months. We met at the school.” 

“Months? Azriel, why haven’t—forgive me for asking, but why not bring her around? Why tell me to forget I met her? She is yours, Azriel. That makes her ours, too, in a way.” 

It was exactly what Azriel wanted to hear and exactly why he had kept you a secret. He’d known his family would feel this way, and he’d known that would scare you. He hadn’t realized just how frightening such a huge amount of affection would be for you until tonight, but he’d known enough. 

Azriel clenched his jaw as he replayed your story in his head. He watched your expression crumble and remembered how close you clutched Melanie each time you held her. 

“She’s private. She wanted to see if we would work out first. She has… obligations.” 

“You mean her kid?” 

“Cassian—” Azriel warned, but then stopped himself just as quickly. It wasn’t a crime to mention Melanie, but it felt like it was. To him. “Yes, her daughter. She didn’t want to introduce people to her daughter’s life if it wasn’t going to be long term.” 

Cassian eyed his brother’s clenched fists and raised his own hands in a small show of surrender. “Okay. Got it. So it’s long term now?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you want to introduce her to everyone?” 

“Just to you.” 

“Just me?” 

“And Lucien. When he’s here.” 

Cassian let a beat of silence pass. And then another just long enough for its weight to be felt. “I’m going to agree to that only because you’re being extremely weird and hostile.” 

“I am not being weird and hostile,” Azriel refuted. 

“Az, that combination of people is weird. You’re being weird. And you haven’t moved a muscle since you started talking about her. It’s like you’re thinking about beating my ass again but have to keep stopping yourself.” 

Azriel did not realize he was so easily read. With an insurmountable effort, Azriel relaxed his posture—about an inch. 

“Don’t tell anyone yet. I want to do this slowly,” Azriel said, looking down as a shadow alerted him of your still sleeping form. He wanted to get back soon. “Can you promise that, Cassian?” 

“Of course I can,” Cassian easily replied. “I just don’t understand—” 

Azriel did not let him finish. With the reveal of your past so new and raw, Azriel’s nerves were on edge and he knew he was being hostile. It wasn’t the time for grand reveals or even casual conversations with his brother. Azriel needed to get back to you before the bond chaffed any longer. 

“The hell is wrong with that guy?” Cassian muttered under his breath as wind kicked up in Azriel’s wake. Shadows relayed the message to a retreating Illyrian’s ear. 

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Casually Devoted. Part Five. "Mission Failed." Erik Campbell X FEM! Reader. NSFW.

Okay! Nearly a month between updates, I know, I know! But I did warn you this one would take a bit longer, my lovely and amazing beta reader and editor @28bohemianmoons has had a lot going on as of late, yet she still made the time to CRUSH this! She’s just that good. I hope the fact that this is over 18 thousand words makes up for it! So this is the fifth chapter of Casually Devoted, masterlist found here, and the halfway point! There are five more chapters to go! This is a big turning point, I hope you are ready to experience as many feelings as the idiots are! Without further ado, let's get into it! Oh, and happy Labour Day!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. (18.7K) (YEAH YOU READ THAT RIGHT!) Erik Campbell X FEM! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Friends With Benefits. Established Hook-Up Relationship. The Reader Has Some Established Sexual Past And History (Get On Board With It Or Don’t, I Ain’t Your Daddy.). Apologies In Advance To Dude’s Named Brody. Venting. Making Out. Complicated Feelings. Choking. Sex Toys. Edging. Begging. Orgasm Denial. Crying Reader. Dirty Talk. Talking You Through It. Vaginal Sex. Extreme Frustration. Raw Sex. Cream Pie. Banter. Comfort. Talk Of Virginity Loss. Almost Panic Attack. Mental Spiral. Talk Of Previous Partners. Cuddling. Feelings. Angst. 

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---

It’s midnight by the time he hits the pavement in front of your apartment building. His feet carried him back home at a slow but steady pace, accompanied only by the buzzing street lamps and the chirping of crickets. The day’s heat had dissipated significantly, and the sky was clear enough to see a few stars shining through the darkness. By all accounts, it was a nice night. He hated having to leave you so suddenly, but the shortbread you sent him off with softened the blow just enough. It was your token of reassurance that this amazing evening wasn’t soured by his hasty exit.

Not much time passed before he arrived at his front door. As quietly as he could, Erik unlocked the door and slipped inside before quickly locking up and making his way up the stairs. Thankfully, he managed to make it safely into his room without disturbing the peaceful hush that fell over the house at this late hour. He waits for a moment, hears nothing, and then exhales out a sigh of relief that he hasn’t disturbed anyone. Thank God. He quickly stripped before falling right into bed and shutting his eyes. He slept like a rock that night, understandably so after such a fulfilling time with you. 

The following morning, he’s sitting at the table in front of a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal when Julia enters the kitchen. She gives him a very pointed look and asks expectantly, “So, how was dinner out?” 

Expecting the question he keeps his cool, and suppresses his smile at the indirect mention of you. He keeps his tone disinterested as he responds evenly, “Told ya it was none of your business, Jules–” He takes a sip of his coffee before adding, “But it was fine, thanks.” 

Erik looks back down at his phone as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, avoiding Julia’s careful examination of him. She doesn’t press or bring it up again, but he can tell she won’t let it go, not anytime soon at least. 

It’s been one week since the ‘totally not a date’ that somehow ended up being a ‘totally not serious practice date’. He plays back the events of that night over and over in his head, which in itself, isn’t out of the ordinary for him. He usually thinks about your most recent escapades for days afterwards. However, he isn’t just lingering on the sex; great as it was. His mind instead drifts to other parts of the night, from how fun and flirty dinner was to the languid post-sex kisses you gave him in your bed. His scalp tingles at the memory of your nimble fingers scrubbing his hair in the shower as he recalls how passionately you talked up a show that he’s never seen, but would totally watch with you if you asked him to. Not only that, he’s also on his phone more frequently than usual throughout the day, checking for any new messages from you and responding back in record time when you do.

You are in a pretty fantastic mood for such an average work week. You attribute your stellar mood to two specific reasons; The first, of course, is your dinner with Erik last week; And the other is your plans set for this weekend. It was one of the last weekends in August left before autumn leaves replace gentle breezes and fluffy sweaters replace skimpy swimsuits. You and your friends were going to take advantage of this ‘Sunday Night of Summer’ and hit the beach. To make it even more memorable, you were also going to host them for a sleepover afterwards. It had been a hot minute since you’ve planned a whole day affair and you were ecstatic!

You had filled Erik in, your excitement infectious as you divulged how long it has been since you’ve done something like this, and he was happy for you. Tentative plans were made to see each other the following afternoon, and he was anticipating hearing all about it. 

Erik woke up a little before noon, a few texts from you waiting for him when he checked his phone. Still laying in bed, he reads your first message; Your usual chipper “Good morning!” followed by a set of pictures of you in front of your floor length mirror. He taps the screen to open the mini fashion show, both images are of you in your bikini from the front and back, accompanied by your exclamation, “Excited for fun in the sun!” Sure seems like it, and God damn it, you look good. It makes him feel like he can start his morning off right when he wakes up to pictures from you. He isn’t a huge fan of swimming, but suddenly he’s grasping at a slew of potential excuses to justify him seeing you in that swimsuit in real-time. 

Two hours after the first two pictures, you sent another one. This time it’s of you on the beach; you’re sitting under an umbrella with your sunglasses on and smiling brightly at the camera, which was clearly held by one of your friends when the picture was taken. There is nothing after that, but he assumes that’s simply because you’re busy having fun. Part of him wishes he didn’t have work so he could have joined you. Then he wonders, could he have tagged along? Have you even told your friends about him? Would it be awkward? Erik interrupts that train of thought to get out of bed and send a response. He compliments the pictures you sent before wishing you a fun time. 

The shop is very busy today. Erik passes the time fairly quickly with several walks-ins and a back tattoo that he finished up that afternoon that took a few hours. By the time he has a free moment to check his phone, the sun is setting. There’s no new messages from you. Sitting back in his chair at his station, he wonders if you’re on the way home yet but decides to send a short and sweet text for you to come back to. “Hope the beach was fun.”

Before he can pocket his phone again, it vibrates in his hand and he raises his eyebrows. He brings it back up to see a new message already. It was from you, responding to him with a simple, “It was…” before requesting immediately after, “Can I call you?”

His brows knit together in confusion. You must be home already, but why on Earth would you want to call him when you are supposed to be with your friends? He supposes he’ll have to just let you explain. He responds with one word. “Always.” 

His phone immediately starts to buzz, signalling your call. He gets up, heading out of the shop for some privacy. His lips quirk up at the sight of your smiling face and the word ‘FREAK’ emblazoned in bold across the screen before swiping to answer the call. He brings the phone to his ear as he greets you, “Hey, what’s up?”

Your tone sounds clipped as you respond, “Hi.” It’s strangely endearing that despite how annoyed you are, you still insist on a formal greeting. Before he can comment on your apparent frustration, you sigh audibly and ask, “Can I vent for a sec?”

This is a first; Usually he’s the one venting to you, so whatever’s on your mind must be bad. He settles into his spot, leaning against the glass window of the shop as he prompts you to continue, “Of course! Shoot.” 

After a deep breath, the words sweep through your parted lips like a tidal wave, “Okay, so like, today was fun. Super fun, actually! Everyone arrived on time to carpool, and there was no traffic on the way to the beach. We got a great spot with plenty of space, and the water was perfect. We had a picnic lunch with drinks-” Erik nods along, everything sounding pretty great so far. However, he has a feeling it won't be all sunshine and roses by the end of this. He lets you prattle on, “-blah blah blah, the beach was fucking great…You get it.” 

You pause to suck down another breath, almost bracing yourself for what you say next, “Eventually, it starts to get pretty late. So, we pack up and pile into the car, and I start asking everyone what we should do for dinner on the way back, right?”

“Right.” He parrots, and you say, “And then they all start chiming in, saying ‘Oh yeah about that, I can’t!’”

“Wait, what do you mean they can’t?” He asked, not following their logic at all. You say, “That’s what I said! And when I challenged them on it, they all started making up lame excuses to bail on the rest of our plans! And now I’m here with no friends, no dinner, no extended hang, and no sleepover.” 

You sound even more frustrated, as if that’s even possible at this point, but Erik listens as you lament, “I was so amped for today! I got everything ready, and they waited until the drive home to tell me… Ugh! Is it just me or is that a supremely fucking shitty thing to do?”

Erik is completely on your side, and is honestly kind of pissed at your friends right now. He agrees as he says, “No, you are absolutely right. That is extremely fucking shitty of them.” You’ve been hyped about this weekend, excitedly talking it up for days. Therefore, the fact that your best laid plans ended up trashed at the last minute by your sorry excuse for friends sucks, immensely.

You sigh again as you respond, “Thank you! I could have understood some of their reasons, I guess…But a heads-up earlier would have been nice. At the very least, it could have saved my expectations from being completely shattered tonight...” 

That would have been the bare fucking minimum in Erik’s opinion. Seriously. Who bucks an organized plan that has been set in stone well in advance, seemingly at the drop of a hat? Quite frankly, it’s rude. Furthermore, how could they balk at spending more time with you? He’s had numerous sleepovers with you over the past few months, and every single one of them has been obnoxiously fun. If your friends aren’t careful, they are at high risk of being diagnosed with terminal stupidity by one Erik Campbell.

You pipe up again, “Anyway, it’s whatever at this point. Thanks for letting me vent, and for confirming I’m not crazy for being upset about this!” 

Erik assures you quickly, “It’s what I am here for. Not only that, you always listen to me vent when I need it. Also, hell no, you are not fucking crazy. Your. Friends. Blow.” 

You insist, giggling lightly at his words, “Still, thank you.” Then you move on to ask, “So, what are you doing tonight?” 

He has no plans, really; or at least none that he can’t abandon for something better. With that in mind, he casually states, “Oh. Well, I was just gonna wrap up here at the shop, and go home. Then, I’ll get a bag together aaaaand head over to yours, I guess.”  

He pauses, letting you process his words fully. Before long you briefly ask, “What?”

He pushes himself off the glass and walks back to the front of the shop as he clarifies, “I’m coming overrrr. Did you hit your head?” As he steps through the door, your laughter rings out through the phone and you retort, “No, I didn’t hit my fucking head-”

He cuts in and says, “Ahhh so you just weren’t paying attention, got it. Here, I’ll do you a favor and make it easier to follow. You wanted a sleepover. So, you’re getting a sleepover.”

You prod, “With you?” He can practically hear the smile in your voice. He affirms, “With me.” 

“Are you serious?” You ask incredulously. Erik takes a page from your book and exclaims, “Yeah! Come on, let me salvage your night!” 

The grin you’ve been trying, and failing, to hold back fully spreads across your face at the sound of your own words echoing back to you, but you don’t mind at all. Already sold on the idea, you happily relent, “Okay, yes. Please, I would love that.” 

Erik tells you confidently, “Alright. I’ll be there before you know it.” 

You respond in earnest, “I’ll leave the front door unlocked for you.” 

An hour goes by before he’s at your front door. He raises one hand to knock while reaching for the doorknob with his other hand. He opens the door, calling out and stepping over the threshold into your apartment, “I’m here!” 

You call back to him. “I’m in the living room!” And like clockwork, he’s shucking his shoes and padding down the hallway to the living room he’s come to know so well these last few months to find you seated on the couch. You’re in your pajamas, and currently reclined against the arm of the couch. Summer may be on the way out, but you still look cute and comfortable in your loose cropped tee and matching short shorts. You drop your phone as soon as he enters the room, and turn to look at him with a wide smile. Leaning forward with your arms around your knees, you greet him warmly, “Heya music man.” 

He makes his way over to join you, dropping his bag next to the coffee table and declaring affectionately, “There’s my favourite freak.” before sitting down beside you on the couch.

You raise your eyebrows at his words, “Oh wow, I’m your favourite?” He nods, “Oh, fucking easily. Ack-” He winces in slight discomfort when he leans back against the cushions. You notice, concern bleeding into your voice as you ask, “You good?” 

He sighs, shaking his head as he tries to adjust in his seat. He dismisses your concern and explains his condition all in one breath, “My posture was fucking terrible working on a tattoo earlier, and I’m paying for it now. I’ll be alright, though.”

“You’re right. You will be.” You get up urging him to follow, “Come on.” 

“What? I just sat down.” He complained, confused about why you are getting up so soon. You say, “I’m gonna help you with your back pain, idiot.” You roll your eyes and hold your hand out. 

“How?” He questions you as he takes your hand, letting you help him onto his feet again. You lead him to your bedroom, reassuring him, “You’ll see! Fuckssake, you’re so impatient today.” 

Once in your room, you look at him, commanding, “Get on the bed.” 

“How many times have you said that with me in your room now? A hundred?” He jokingly asks, and you laugh, “Quite a few times, actually, but not even close to that many…Yet.” 

You give him a wink before rummaging through one of your nightstands, finding what you are looking for in record time. As you turn to face him again, you hide the object behind your back, and implore him to hear you out. “Okay. So. Promise not to freak out, alright?”

His eyes widened instantly. He shoots you a dubious look before responding anxiously, “Uhhh I dunno if I can promise that right no-”

“What? Why not?” You interject, and he scoffs, “You do realize that dragging me to your room after cryptically offering to help me out only to beg me not to freak out just guarantees I’ll do the exact opposite, right?”

“God, where is the fucking trust, Erik?” You give up and say next, “Fucking, fine, whatever.” 

You sit down on the bed and hold up a frankly massive wand vibrator for him to see. His jaw drops, and he exclaims, “Jesus fucking Christ!” 

“So this is ‘the beast’.” You jokingly introduce the gargantuan sex toy. He holds his hand out, gesturing for it and you pass it over. He tests the weight with a laugh, “Aptly named.” He settles on holding it with both hands similar to how one might hold a bat or a lightsaber. He comments with glee, “This thing is comical. Ha! It’s as big as your forearm!”

“Haha. Yeah, it’s real hysterical. Now, give it here.” You hold your hand out and he hands it over with a sigh, feigning annoyance. Erik asks, “How have I not seen this thing before?” 

“Because, weirdly enough, some guys can get pretty intimidated by a toy of this calibre.” You tell him sagely.

Slightly offended, he retorts, “I’m not intimidated by ‘The Beast’.” raising his fingers to form air quotes while addressing the hilariously named vibrator.

Picking up on his offence, you clarify, “I didn’t think you would be, necessarily. However, one look at this thing and any other guy would be driving me down ‘comparison alley’. Then all of a sudden we’re at a full stop at the intersection of ‘inadequacy avenue’ and ‘insecurity boulevard’.” 

As he watches you turn the wand over in your hands, he supplies, “Comparison is the thief of joy, or so I’ve heard it said.” 

You smile at that, “I agree. Comparison never ends well. It’s an exercise in futility.” You conclude, “Toys aren’t competitors, they’re teammates.” He nods in agreement before asking something that’s been on his mind since you pulled it out, “Do you actually use that?” 

“Yes, Erik, of course I do. Haven’t you come across any previous girlfriends’ bedside buddies? You mean to tell me they didn’t have sex toys?” 

He retorts, “Nowhere near as many as you have, and definitely not as heavy duty as this. If they did, well they sure as hell didn’t show me.” 

“Feeding into what I said earlier… Ass.”  You interrupt, insinuating that a previous girlfriend of his couldn’t trust him to react maturely to a little battery-operated help. Before he can react to the implication, you explain, “You know those jokes about what people say when their sex toy gets discovered accidentally? They’re all like, ‘Oh no, noooo. That’s just my uhh b-back massager!’ and they all laugh it off yada yada.” 

“Well yeah. Duh.” He nods along, and you admit, “Well, funnily enough, that’s not far from the truth. Some sex toys CAN be used as a back massager.” 

“So that is your bright idea? A back massage courtesy of ‘The Beast’?” He asks skeptically. You roll your eyes in response and instruct him to get comfortable, “Yes, now take your shirt off and lay down on your stomach.” 

“Aye Aye, Captain.” 

He salutes comically, causing you to fondly roll your eyes, then he is doing as you asked, tossing today’s band tee to the floor and laying down. You plug the wand into the wall outlet before kneeling beside him on the bed. He’s on his stomach, but when he goes to cross his arms to rest on them, you stop him by smacking his side lightly before chiming in, “Arms at your sides, I need full access to your shoulders.” 

He begrudgingly complies, adjusting your pillow under his head as he gets comfortable. You swing your leg over, perching yourself on his ass. Once you are sitting, you ask, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He sighs. 

He hears the click as you switch the wand on, and it’s loud; Distractingly loud. Erik wonders if this was why you never sent him any videos of you using this vibrator. You point the wide, cushioned head of the wand before pressing it to the top of his spine, sweeping with an even pressure down to the base of his spine and then back up. You make three passes up and down before you ask, “Tell me where it hurts?” 

He smirks to himself as he thinks, “Okay Nurse Freak.” But he eventually pipes up over the din of the toy, “Uh, lower back and shoulder blades?” 

You hum in acknowledgment, and adjust accordingly. You press the wand into his right shoulder, working the area in slow circles. You take your time, feeling his left shoulder for the knots you wanna blast next. Two minutes of you sliding the head of the wand against him, pressing and pushing diligently, and he folds. His body goes slack as he lets out his first groan of the night, “Oh my Goddd-” You smile smugly, continuing to work him with the toy.

“Good?” You ask, already knowing the answer. He responds meekly, “Uh-huh.” 

Although it would be justified, you don’t say ‘I told you so’. You spend a good ten minutes working his entire back until he is sufficiently boneless. Pleased with your efforts, you get off of him, turning the toy off and asking in a sweet tone, “So, how do you feel now?”

He sits up, rolling his shoulders and arching back. He keeps a hand on his lower back, expecting the ache from earlier, but when he feels nothing but loose muscles, he’s positively shocked. Erik admits in a perplexed tone, “Fucking shit, it’s like night and day!” 

“You’re welcome.” You say with a warm smile. He affirms, “I will never doubt you again.” 

You drop the toy on the bed beside you as you insist, “I’ll hold you to that, you know.” 

Erik carelessly flops onto his back, further confirming his renewed mobility as you prattle on some more. “So I dunno if you have a craving, but I could honestly go for some sushi-” He’s only partially listening, though. 

Erik is more than a little preoccupied with what was at first a fleeting thought, but has turned into a persistent nudge at the edges of his mind ever since your ‘fake’ date night. He wants to kiss you. 

This sudden urge, however, presents a minor problem. Erik is well aware of the routine by this point in your arrangement. There are only three instances that you ever kiss each other, and those situations are as follows: The lead up to sex, during sex, and in the fifteen minutes it takes to come down after sex. Beyond that, nothing. You don’t kiss hello or goodbye, either. So, if he’s going to kiss you like he so desperately wants to, then he needs to figure out how best to initiate it without breaking said routine. He can’t just go in for it in the middle of a conversation out of nowhere. That would be weird. He just needs to ease you into it, naturally, casually.

Erik knows just the thing, hopefully. He reaches out and picks up the wand again, whacking your arm lightly to get your attention before asking, “So how do you even use this thing?”

You don’t question his pivot to the subject and instead indulge him. You ask, rather amused, “Do you want me to show you?”

He shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on your mouth as he simply states, “No, I want to use it on you myself.”

Now it is time for your jaw to drop. He’s used your other vibrator on you, sure, but you didn’t expect him to suggest using this one. Caught off-guard, you ask, “Woah! Uh…Are you sure?” 

“Very.” He confirms, eyes shifting slightly to properly meet yours, before prompting you, “So?”

You reach out and show him, pointing to the buttons on the wand's body as you run through all the controls, “So this is the power button. This one turns the vibration up, and this turns it down. Now, if you hold that one, it will go into the pulse settings, and you press it again to cycle through them.” 

He nods along, watching closely as you demonstrate. When you finish, his thumb presses on the power button and it kicks on. Fuck, this thing really is strong. To get a sense of the power behind it, he cradles the head of the toy in the palm of his other hand and tests the strength of the vibration. Next he sits up on the bed, brandishing the wand in one hand while leaning his body closer to your lounging frame. You warn, “It’s so powerful, that direct skin contact is too much. So most of the time I use it through my clothes or over a blanket or something-” 

“Oh, okay. You mean like this?” He suddenly thrusts his arm out, pressing the wand between your legs unexpectedly; You tense immediately, inhaling sharply. He sees the sudden wave of intense pleasure wash over your face as you fist the blanket beneath you. You start to move away from him as you nod once, “Ye-yeah-” 

He’s definitely not having that. His free hand grips your throat firmly before gently pushing you to lay flat on the bed and pinning you in place. He keeps the head of the wand flush against you, the building pressure between your thighs from the consistent stimulation causes your mouth to fall open and you let out a wavering moan. 

“I thiiiink I understand now.” He teases in the way he knows makes you melt. Your eyes are unfocused, and you squirm under his hold. Jesus, this thing is having a crazy effect on you. Seizing the moment, he leans down to kiss you, revelling in the feeling of your lips sliding against his. Finally, the itch he couldn’t scratch was within reach. With one hand still on your throat, he works the wand against you with renewed vigour. In contrast, he moves his lips against yours slowly, savouring the taste of you and swallowing down your moans. Stalled by his sudden ministrations that overwhelmed your senses, your lips find their rhythm against his, feeding his craving even more.

Honestly, this worked out better than he thought it would. It was perfect, actually. He could thoroughly express his gratitude for easing his back pain and satisfy his urge to kiss the fuck out of you without worry. Making you cum has become one of his favourite hobbies to indulge in for the past few months, but if he’s not careful, making out with you might make it onto that list as well. And that would be a line even he doesn’t want to cross.

Speaking of crossing lines, a more pressing matter comes to the forefront; your rapidly approaching orgasm. The intensity of the wand on your clothed cunt, combined with his grip on your neck and his tongue down your throat, Erik is about to help you cross the finish line in record time. And he’s willing to bet that your orgasm will be intense if your barely suppressed whimpers and staggered kisses are anything to go by. Unfortunately, that means you will be out of commission for a while, and that just won’t do. He can’t let the fun end so soon, not yet. In theory, he could hold steady and try to wring a few more out of you, but at this rate, the overstimulation will be too painful to continue. No, he needs to do something to make the most of this, to stretch it out for as long as he can until he’s had his fill of you.

Oh wait, the solution is obvious, albeit diabolical. 

He pulls the wand away just before you cum, the tension in your body dissipated, making you sink into the mattress with a sigh into his persistent mouth. Erik continues to kiss you as he lets the edge fade, the fog of your impending orgasm receding as you begin to kiss him back harder. His thumb feels along the body of the wand, clicking the button you indicated earlier to start the pulse patterns. Maybe if the stimulation isn’t as consistent, he can stave off your climax even longer. After waiting another minute, he presses the wand back down onto you, causing your body to jerk as your choked sob is muffled by his greedy mouth.

Erik is enjoying his experimenting, but you, on the other hand, are struggling to maintain your sanity. It feels like he is breaking you down and threatening to outright drown you in pleasure from the outside-in. This is just so unexpected, and you love it. The situation went from zero to a zillion, completely throwing you off-balance. The wand is currently set on a pulse mode better known as the ‘wave’, which builds in intensity from the lowest vibration all the way to the highest over the course of twenty seconds and then ceases for five before starting over again. 

This mode is definitely fun to play with, but Erik is in the driver’s seat this time, so this will be sweet torture. He fiercely kisses you, lightly squeezing your neck every so often, a gentle reminder that he’s got you right where he wants you. Meanwhile, the vibration ratchets up, up, and up before finally stopping dead, your orgasm following suit most ruefully. This once smooth ride has now turned rocky with enough twists and turns to effectively distract you from reaching your destination. Erik is content to be that obstacle, forcing you to take as many detours as he likes, leaving you no real room to protest even if you wanted to. This precarious position you find yourself is frying your brain like an egg on the sidewalk on a hot day. You are already so desperate to cum, but this ride is far from over. After a few more gruelling minutes, the third edge creeps up your spine and you pray it’s the last climb you'll have to endure, but when Erik hears the whine at the back of your throat, he lifts the wand again. You sag in defeat once more, groaning into his mouth with mild annoyance.

It goes on like this for what feels like hours. Erik continues to invade your senses with his lips and tongue, while brutally edging you two more times with his trusty wand of doom, ignoring your mounting frustration. Then he switches the setting again to release a rapid fire of inconsistent pulses at different strengths, which builds the sixth edge nearly three times as slow as the last one. Your body is trembling weakly, sweat gathering behind your knees, and pain radiating from your knuckles from how tightly you are gripping the blanket. You are internally begging, praying this will be the moment he grants you your orgasm. Your train of thought is beautifully broken, your subconscious driven to near insanity, “So fucking close, nearly there, God! Please, please-”

When he lifts the wand again, your heart sinks, cruelly denied one too many times. The tension is too much for you to handle, and you need to do something. 

You could try to get his attention between kisses, but you doubt that would work. You’ve been whining his name and quietly uttering “please” for the past ten minutes on and off against his mouth, and he hasn’t so much as blinked in acknowledgement.

Drastic measures must be taken, so you turn your head, abruptly breaking away from Erik’s plush lips, and gasping his name loudly. That gets his attention, pulling back to look at you for the first time since he enacted his little plan, Erik finds himself at a loss for words. Fuck. You are utterly intoxicating, with your heart nearly beating out of your chest, your muscles pulled taut, and sweat on your face. However, the moment Erik looks into your eyes, his heart drops. Your eyes are shiny with unshed tears as you force yourself to mumble, “Please, Er-Erik, I-” You trail off, taking a shuddering breath in an attempt to compose yourself, before continuing, “I really, really wa-want to cum. C-can I, please? I dunno what you want me to d-do, b-but I’ll do it.” 

Erik’s hand is still around your throat as you grip his wrist weakly, trying to ground yourself and implore him to listen. You sniff and sharply inhale, resigned to what you think he is expecting from you. Abandoning all shame, the need outweighing any pride you may have had and beginning to beg, “Please, ahhh-an-anything you want, Erikkk. I mean it. Just let me cum and I’ll do it-”

He most certainly went too far. He got so carried away that he didn’t realize how much this would affect you. You are a wreck, about to break down in actual tears, begging so desperately for him. All for him. He can’t deny that ruining you like this has lit a fire in him that he would love to explore later, but right now he should be merciful and grant you your release. He won’t make it too easy, though. He teases in his signature condescending tone that drives you wild, “Awe, I’m sorry. I don't really need anything.” 

You whimper defeatedly, your lust clouded brain disheartened that bartering for your pleasure isn’t going to work. Erik’s thumb feels for the buttons and drops the fancy patterns, switching back to a consistent hum at medium intensity. He raises your chin to look at him again before piping up, “But…” You meet his eyes, aching for him to continue and he coos, “You were so nice to me earlier, so I should be nice to you now. It’s only fair, right?” 

He presses the wand between your legs again before you can answer, and you are in utter bliss. You see stars, your back arching, and your head tiling back as you let out a loud moan. You grip his wrist tighter as your other hand curls around the blanket again. He doesn’t kiss you this time. Sure, it was the catalyst for all of this and having you squirming and moaning against him is always a treat, but now he wants an unobstructed view. He holds the toy steady on you, taking in the sight of the wand working its magic. Erik watches as your eyes go hazy, the rise and fall of your chest crescendoing as you writhe and shiver from the pleasure. The litany of half moans you let out while exhaling breathlessly is addictive. 

In less than two minutes of squirming on the wand, your eyes shift to him and your begging begins anew. “Please, Erik, fuck! I’m so close-” You inhale harshly before rushing out the remainder of your pleading, “-please don’t stop this time, omigod-”

He laughs lightly, assuring you with a half-smile, “No more games, I promise. I won’t stop.” Leaning closer, he starts to talk you through it, encouraging you. “C’mon, I want you to cum. I wanna see it. Yeah, you’re close. I can fucking tell. Just a little more-” He presses the toy tighter on your obstructed clit, the extra pressure is all you need and you cum at last. Your climax tears through you, setting every nerve on fire and leaving you crying out pathetically in unadulterated ecstasy. 

His honeyed voice cuts through your obscene cries, your name rolling off his tongue as he adds hotly, “There you goooo. That’s ittt.” 

Christ, it feels like you are being crushed under the weight of all this pleasure, the feeling is indescribable. When it finally does come to an end, your hand slides down with trembling fingers wrench his hand back to lift the wand off and away from your overstimulated body. Your body relaxes against the bed as Erik releases your neck from his hold. Needing a minute to recover, you lay still, struggling to catch your breath. The only thing you manage to gasp out in that minute is, “Holy shit.” Thank fucking God, he decided to throw you a bone. 

Erik turns the wand off and holds it in his hand, considering it for a moment. That has to be one of the hardest orgasms he’s given you to date. This will definitely not be the last time he uses ‘The Beast’ on you, not even close. Maybe he could find a good position to use it while he’s inside you? Something to consider for a later date. He drops his newfound weapon onto the bed and nonchalantly asks, “You alright there? Still alive, I hope?”

You throw your arms over your eyes as you huff out a soft, “Barely.” 

“I’m just shocked you’re still conscious.” He points to the wand and admits, “I should have realized the second you plugged it in that it was going to be insane. I didn’t really see the appeal at first since you have similar toys…But I do now.” 

With a nod, you sigh in relief, “Good. I’m glad I don’t have to explain. It should have been obvious, Erik. Some jobs need a wrench and others need-” He cuts in dramatically, “-a fucking jackhammer?” 

You burst out laughing and he joins in. You lift your arms and bring your hands up to wipe your face. His stomach drops, slightly alarmed as he asks, “Wait, are you crying?”

You nod and admit, “Yeah, a little bit. It was just so intense-” You let out a shuddering breath, before continuing with a laugh, “-it was amazing. I think I really needed that, it wasn’t just a physical release but an emotional one too, I guess? I feel like a massive weight was just lifted off my shoulders.” 

“Really? So this was okay, then?” What he’s really asking is if you are okay. Even if the tears aren’t a sign of something more serious, as you’ve said, seeing you cry in any capacity just doesn’t sit right with him for some reason. He couldn't help but be a little worried about you. You finish wiping the tears off your cheeks as you nod with a smile. “Mhm. More than okay. Seriously, I feel better than ever.” 

He nods, making a mental note to add ‘edging you until you cry’ to his list of remedies for a hard day.

Your hands reach out, gesturing for him to come closer. He complies and with one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his shoulder, you drag him down the rest of the way to kiss him. He instantly sinks into you. Pulling back after a moment, you suggest, “You should lose those pants.”

“What about dinner? I thought you had craaaving for sushi?” He inquires, and you scoff, “We are gonna do dinner, just a little later.” Your hands run down his arms, leaning up to give him another kiss, and he obliges you. When you pull back, you ask, “You said you wanted to salvage my night, right? Well, indulge me a little bit.” 

He did say that and he fucking meant it. Erik doesn’t fight you on it further; He's here to help make you feel better and clearly you’ve got an idea that you are not going to shake anytime soon. He’s also painfully aware of his aching erection. After an intense make out session and your earth-shattering orgasm, can you really blame him? 

As you undress, you share a few light kisses and fleeting touches. Your legs are mostly out of commission, still trembling even now. Erik takes the lead and gets on top, his hands sliding under the backs of your knees, and dragging his shaft along your dripping slit with a confident swish of his hips. He lingers, grinding himself against you and letting his piercing catch on your extremely sensitive clit, as you fight back a gasp. Erik slips back and forth a few more times before you’re breathing out his name, pleading for him to fuck you. 

With that, he lines himself up and starts to slide inside, finding absolutely no resistance. Midway through the first stroke, he understands why you were so adamant about this. He releases a moan in shock, words spilling out of him unbidden, “What the fuck?”

You release a cross between a laugh and a moan as you agree, “Right?”

When he finally bottoms out, you are both transfixed, heads tipping backward and forward respectively as you and Erik exclaim in pleasure. He slowly fucks in and out of you before pounding in earnest. God. If he didn’t get the hint earlier, he definitely knew now.

Thanks to ‘The Beast’, you are unbelievably drenched and prepped for him. Your walls are hot, slick, and swollen; clenching so tight around him that your wetness leaks down your ass with every thrust. The squelching of your cunt and the obscene noises leaving your parted lips turn him on even more and it all just feels different. Erik forces your legs further back to press against your chest, effectively folding you in half, your ankles resting on his shoulders now. When he thrusts into you again, you squeeze your eyes shut and cry out his name, the head of his cock hitting your G-spot with enough force to make lightning flash behind your eyes. Jesus, you are already struggling to hang on to your sanity. 

Every sound, every clench, and every drag of his cock inside of you spurs him on. He picks up the pace, fucking into you harder, and breaking you apart bit by bit. You shudder and gasp with every thrust, taking a few hiccupping breaths in between when you realize you are going to cum, and fast.

Erik doesn’t think he is going to last much longer, either. Without warning, your second orgasm rockets through you at break-neck speed, your body shaking and your nails biting into your palms. He’d taunt you for your failed attempt to stifle your moans if he could, but he isn’t fairing much better than you at the moment. Your contracting walls are milking him so good, begging him to fill you and leaving him helpless to the steady climb of his own release. He manages to get you to a third orgasm with startling speed before he joins you over the edge. When he comes, it’s an otherworldly bliss that completely overtakes him. His arms collapse from the intensity, his full body weight pressing into yours. As his cock is forced even deeper from the motion as he cums inside, you let out a strangled sound that he wishes he could play on a loop.

He stays inside of you for a moment, his hands still pinning your legs to your chest as you pant in unison. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, but neither of you are quite sure what to say after such a mind-bending experience. The only thing you can think to do is unhook your ankles from his shoulders, with his help, and reach for the back of his neck to pull him down for another kiss. He plans on enjoying every last second of it, fully aware this might be the last kiss he gets from you tonight. When it does finally end, your head falls back as he slowly untangles himself from you. He pulls out, sucking his teeth in overstimulation and allowing your combined juices to leak out onto the blanket.

He breathes out, “You fucking wrung that out of me.” 

It’s his fault for prepping you so heavily, really. “An hour of edging with the cadillac of wand vibrators will do that.” You sigh with a vague gesture to the wand still laying nearby on the bed. 

“It was not an hour, but is it really considered top tier?” He scoffs and asks in one breath. You confirm, “Well, it felt like a fucking hour.” You add in your head, “Best hour of my life…” before continuing, “Yes really, European engineering is next level insane! They take their sex toy technology very seriously, I swear!”

“Sex toys from fucking Europe? So the Freak has expensive tastes…Noted.” He quips as he settles on the bed next to you. You make a sound of acknowledgement as you roll to face him, pressing your body closer to his and complimenting him heavily, “Seriously, that was fucking phenomenal! You need to get me in that position again sometime.” 

Erik puts an arm around your shoulders, fondly squeezing them as he hums out, “Gladly.” He admits, “That felt pretty unreal for me, too.” You smile, relieved that he is down for a repeat of all of that. Now curled into his side, you let your eyes slip closed for a minute, enjoying the closeness. You could fall asleep right now, you were that comfortable. Or you would have until he decided to chime in and ask, “So, were you still thinkin’ sushi for dinner?”

Your eyes peek open once more as you groan out, “God, yes!”

He places the order on his phone while you both are still tangled up in bed. You gingerly point out what you want as you discuss your respective favourites. You tell him, “Get the salmon.” He replies with a scoff, “Like we are gonna order sushi and not get the salmon?” 

Once you’ve regained some strength, you toss your sweat-soaked clothes into the laundry hamper and get into fresh new pajamas. Erik pulls out his chosen sleepover attire from his bag, a loose fitting tank top and black sweatpants, sans socks. When he’s dressed, you walk out of your bedroom, asking him, “You want a drink?”

“Absolutely.” He follows behind you as you head to the kitchen. When you open the fridge, he asks curiously, “Beer?”

“Better.” You promise, taking out a pitcher and closing the door with your foot before turning to place it on the counter. You grin and announce as you turn to get wine glasses out of the cabinet, “Sangria.”

Erik inspects the pitcher as you do so, seeing the condensation already forming as the ice clinks against the glass. Inside, the sweet wine and peach schnapps swirl around the fruit slices invitingly. He can tell it’s going to be good. You quip, “I made it last night for me and the girls, but I guess it’s for you and me now!” 

“Their fucking loss, honestly.” He says with a shrug, and you agree, setting two glasses down and pouring a hefty amount for you both. As you take the first sip, you find yourself relieved to be sharing this with Erik and not your friends. They simply don’t deserve something this good for flaking out on your plans in the first place. The sangria came out absolutely perfect; It’s sweet, refreshing and full of flavour. Erik is equally pleased as he exclaims, “Wow, that is so fucking good.” 

“Thanks. Figured it would be a fitting farewell to summer with this being the last real weekend of it and all.” You retreat to the couch and he joins you. You settle yourselves down, and you suggest, “So while we wait on the food, let’s decide on tonight’s entertainment.” 

You place your glass of sangria on top of the coffee table, reaching underneath it to the lower shelf, and pulling out one of your DVD binders. You unzip it and flip it open when he comments matter of factly, “Seems you’ve already decided on that.” 

“Have not, your input on which movies we watch is important to me.” You scoot closer until you are hip to hip and spread the binder over both of your laps. You add, “I do have some suggestions, though.” 

You flip to the sleeve you know it’s on and point down at the disc you had in mind. “How about The Sleepover?”

“Watching The Sleepover AT a sleepover? Isn’t that a little on the nose?” He inquires, and you smile, “Hardly, it’s the perfect time! Plus, it’s such a fun movie AND the cast is stacked.”

He still seems doubtful as he asks, “Who’s even in it?”

You reach over for your glass as you list out the cast for him, “Alexa Vega, Steve Carell, Jane Lynch-” 

Erik cuts in jokingly, “Oh yeah, she was like the best part of GLEE.”

You abandon your drink mid-sip, pulling the glass back and turning your head to look at him in disbelief, “You’ve watched GLEE?!”

Erik wipes his face with his free hand in mild embarrassment, sighing heavily as he admits, “Julia had a phase, and she may have pulled Bobby into that fucking phase. But, I think he mostly joined in because he thought it was funny how much I hated that fucking show.”

You laugh, leaning closer as you ask, “Oh my God, are you serious?” 

He takes a drink before responding, “Very. Regrettably. Sometimes I was left in charge while the parents were out, and it was less painful to just let ‘em watch the damn show than to fight them on it every time. When I did have to suffer through it, I admit Jane Lynch was the only saving grace for me.” 

“So me adding that GLEE song to the playlist I made must have been ultra traumatic for you, huh?” You think aloud, and he laughs, raising his eyebrows at you, “Oh, you have no idea. What else ya got?” 

“Alright, but just so you know, this isn’t helping you beat the theatre fan allegations. So if ‘The Sleepover’ isn’t your speed, how about…” You flip forwards a bit, “John Tucker Must Die?”

“What’s that one about? Is it a horror movie?” He asks, and you tell him, “Nope. It’s about four girls forming an alliance to destroy the man that fucked them all over.”

“Sounds like riveting cinema. I’m guessing the guy deserves it?” He asks, and you nod, “Oh totally, he’s a cheating scumbag.”

“Hmm, maybe another time.” He hums, and you sigh, “Alright, I won’t even ask if you wanna watch ‘Stick It’. So let’s pivot from the girly nostalgia genre.” 

“What’s ‘Stick It’ about?” He watches you flip through a few pages as you automatically answer, “Jeff Bridges gymnastics movie.” 

“Is he doing the gymnastics?” He laughs, and you say, “No, no. He’s the coach.” You flip some more pages and admit, “I don’t want to be here all night, so I am giving you three dude-bro comedies to choose from. Wedding Crashers, Blue Mountain State, or Superbad?”

“All amazing films, really.” He deadpans. You playfully poke his side before explaining, “Picking a ‘so bad it’s good’ movie is the whole point of a sleepover, Erik! It’s not about award winning flicks; It’s about something you can laugh at, laugh with, or BOTH while snacking, talking and whatever else we wanna do.” 

Judging by the theme of tonight and what he reaffirmed earlier, he was going to go with the flow, for you. He swats your hand aside as he concedes, “If that is what you want then I trust your judgment. Pick whatever you think is right for the occasion.” You adopt a lower vocal register as you joke, “Yes, trust me: the keeper of ancient sleepover lore and conventions.” 

He cracks up as you flip to a new page and slide a disc out of its sleeve. 

The sushi arrives some time later. You lay it all out on the table, filling your plates as the opening credits for ‘EuroTrip’ begins to play. With your first bite, you are immediately gushing over how sushi was the right choice. A joyful moan around fish and soy sauce, “I could eat sashimi once a week for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.” 

“Reading between the lines of what you just said, I got ‘buy me more sushi more often’. Am I way off, or?” He teases as he nudges your shoulder, and you shrug, praising him, “Awww! You are such a great listener.” 

You engage in more light conversation as you eat, mostly ignoring the movie still playing in the background, until the graduation party scene rolls in and the main cast are in frame. You pipe up excitedly, “Oh my fucking God this song coming up is like one of the best songs made for any movie ever-”

Slightly confused, he asks, “What song is that?” You gasp before enlightening him, “Scotty Doesn’t Know! Hello??”

“That’s from this movie?” He asks in disbelief, and you say with a point of your chopsticks, “Yeah! The main guy, Scotty, is the Scotty from the song!” 

He starts, “Wait, so what, the song is just played in the movie or-?”  

You take the opportunity to cut in, beginning to talk out the lyrics to the song before it starts to play to explain, “Well see, Scotty, doesn’t know, that Fiona and ‘him’-” You point to a very alternatively made up Matt Damon singing on stage as you continue, “-do it in ‘his’ van every Sunday. She tells him (Scotty) she’s in church, but she doesn’t go! Still, she’s on her knees and-”

He rolls his eyes and groans as he realizes what you’re doing, finishing the lyric, “Scotty doesn’t know.” You cackle as he jeers, “Oh my God, you dweeb. Okay, I get it. It’s literally fucking spelled out.” 

After briefly collecting yourself, you agree, “Yeah, the song is pretty clear at laying out what happens. It’s catchy as fuck, and that guitar? Ugh, obsessed.” 

Erik asks then, “So this is how Scotty finds out his girlfriend’s been cheating on him for who knows how long? From the guy she’s been screwing behind his back performing this song at the fucking party?” 

You laugh again before you exclaim, “Yes! How fucked is that? Like how terrible would that be, especially if the song is such a banger. I’d die of embarrassment!" 

In a gravely serious tone that you know is genuine, Erik blanches, “I’d probably crawl into a hole and die.” 

Initially, he was pretty indifferent to the idea of watching a bad movie for entertainment value. Sure, he’s ripped on a movie or two with friends, but it was nothing to write home about. However, with you, it feels like a whole different experience. Despite the obvious pitfalls and irreverent humor the movie may have, you find a way to enjoy them anyway. Your enthusiasm and attention to every detail is infectious and he can’t help but be swept up in it with you. At the very least, the hilarious commentary and jokes that spawned from watching this movie was very entertaining so far. For example, the character Jamie is onscreen getting a blow job that’s apparently so good that he all too willingly hands over his belongings to a man who's robbing him at gun point, and is far too engrossed in the immense pleasure he’s receiving to care. 

You sigh out, “Okay, if someone tried to rob me while you were going down on me, I would definitely pull a ‘Jamie’.” Erik laughs into his wine glass, before tipping his head back against the couch, incredulous, “Seriously?”

“Oh my God, yes! You are insane at it! If I was in Jaime’s position, I’d pass over all my worldly possessions without a second thought! I doubt I’d remember my own name if I were pressed for it.” Despite your laughter, he can tell you’re being honest and your compliments hit home just as they were surely intended. The ease with which you not only find common ground with a character in the movie, but also proudly announce his mind-blowing cunnilingus ability is a skill he can respect. He is more than a little flattered by your praise, as he takes in the comfortable sight in front of him; You sitting close, legs thrown over his lap, and your glass of sangria still in hand as your eyes are glued to the TV. Yet again in his presence, you look happy, and it throws him off, but he also can’t help feeling like this is how tonight was supposed to go.

He gives your knee an affectionate squeeze and admits, “I wouldn’t be much better. Fuck, I wouldn't even need the gun to my head. When I’m in your throat, I feel fucking helpless.” 

“Careful Erik, with all this romance, I might melt.” You joke before you muse softly, glass at your lips as they curve up into a fond smile, “But I must admit, you, helpless and at my mercy has so much appeal. One of my favourites, actually. Can’t get enough of it.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He chimes in lightheartedly.

A few more scenes to comment on and joke about, and the movie is over. Erik’s relieved he trusted you, completely sold on whatever other movie you suggest tonight. After EuroTrip, drinks are refreshed and the leftover sushi is put in the fridge. You pull out a charcuterie board for you and Erik to graze on for the rest of the night. 

You pick Van Wilder next, claiming it’s great because, “Not only does it have a really fun vibe, BUT ALSO it features Ryan Reynolds before he got too up his own ass, and Kal Penn pre-Harold and Kumar.” 

“Oh man, PRE-Harold and Kumar? Be still, my beating heart.” Erik bats his eyelashes playfully with a hand over his chest. You flip him off as you place the disc into your DVD player. While the previews run, you announce, “I want to paint my nails.” 

You go to the bathroom to retrieve your box of nail supplies you keep handy, coming back and settling down on the couch again in a flash. After making some space on the coffee table to set down the box, you start digging through it, choosing the perfect colour. Erik inspects your extensive collection of nail polish before asking, “You want some help?”

With a small laugh, you ask, “What, you want to paint my nails for me?” He shrugs as he responds, “I mean, sure. That is another sleepover activity, isn’t it?” 

You fire back, “It sure is! Does this mean that you’ll let me do yours?“

“Man, it has been a while since I’ve had mine painted. Fuck it. Sure, why not?” He sits up from his extremely relaxed position, and you are pleasantly surprised. You had previously thought he’d look good with his nails painted, but had no idea if he'd actually go for it. You ask, “So you’ve had them done before?”

“Psht, I have a younger sister. Of course I have.” He declares as if it should be obvious before gesturing to himself, alternative aesthetic and all, and adding “And I mean come on. Look at me.” 

You laugh loudly, your hand slips into the box, and you ask, “What do you think then? Black?”

“Awww, you wanna match? How nauseatingly, disgustingly adorable of you.” He comments, placing his hands on his cheeks and pouting at you jokingly. You hum happily at the idea, and something warm and fond curls around the inside of his ribs as well, suspiciously close to his heart. 

You and Erik sit on the floor side by side, tools of the trade laid out on top of the coffee table, and your legs stretched out underneath it. Amidst the commentary and idle chatter, you take turns painting each other’s nails, watching the movie in between brush strokes. He does yours first, cradling your hand in his, and smoothing down the colour in even sweeps. You quite enjoy being the subject of such care and attention.

Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, you bring up something that has been lingering on your mind. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it more, and I definitely want to get a tattoo. Soon if you’d still be interested in doing it, that is…” You trail off hoping you didn’t miss your chance.

His pauses, lifting the brush off of your pinky finger. He inspects his work before meeting your eyes. “Seriously? You’d want me to be your first?”

You nearly snort at his choice of words, and when he hums in annoyance it only makes you laugh harder. He drops your hand dramatically as he bites out, “Oh, you know what I mean, you fucking dork.” 

With an apologetic grin, you say, “I know! I know, forgive me! I don’t know what came over me just then. It was unexpected, I swear.” The next part you say next more sincerely as you maintain eye contact with him, “But yes, I am serious. I would love for you to do my first tattoo, really.”

He holds his hand out, palm up, and you slip back into his touch. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. He asks quietly, “What do you wanna get?”

“I still need to figure that out, actually.” You admit, and he offers, “I can draw up some ideas. If you like something in particular, it can be a jumping off point. Then we can tweak it from there?” 

Honestly, the chance to see his artistic side and work together to create something to go on your body, permanently, is a very appealing prospect, indeed. You happily agree. “Yeah, I’d love that. I trust you.” 

Although it should be a given at this point, the words hit him just as hard as the first time you uttered them so plainly. His eyes drop to continue working on your nails as he tries to ignore the soft warmth settling in his ribs again. When it finally subsides, he responds,“Alright, I’ll get started on the concepts soon.” 

Ryan Reynolds’ pithy comments from behind the wheel of his golf cart start to penetrate the bubble of comfortable silence you found yourselves in as Erik worked diligently on your other hand. 

When he gives you back your hand, signalling he finished your nails, you inspect his work. You happily note that all the colour is confined to your nails, not a single smudge in sight. You praise him incredulously, “Hot damn Erik! They look fucking phenomenal!” 

Erik asks in a peeved tone, “Wait, what’s with the dumbfounded look, huh? You thought I’d fuck ‘em up didn’t you?” You scramble to defend yourself, “No, no, just-”

“You are taking too long to answer, Freak. I’d smack you with this pillow right now but I won’t be the reason my hard work is ruined.” He sighs dramatically, gesturing to your still drying nails. You say, “I’m sorry for being a little surprised, alright?”

“My forgiveness is entirely influenced by how well you paint my nails.” He insists. You take heed of his terms, planning on making it up to him the second your nails dry. You are confident you can pull it off, no doubt about that. 

You have been painting your own nails about once a week like clockwork for years, so you comment on the ridiculousness of the current scene playing out in front of you while laying down the first coat of polish with ease. Tara Reid’s character is getting poorly fucked, by her  dry ass pre-med boyfriend in an agonizing way that has you both doing an even poorer job of hiding your laughter. While you are painting his thumbnail, you practically squeal in response, “I cannot get over this fucking scene! I mean, can you imagine fucking someone, and they are narrating their bodily functions the entire time?! Put her out of her misery already!”

He honestly can’t picture experiencing that firsthand; The image is too insane. He’s having a hard enough time trying not to smudge your work from his unexpected laughter to think very hard on it. Until you mimic her boyfriend’s voice and deliver his line at the same exact time to a fucking ‘T’, “Oh, I am fairly confident I’m going to ejaculate.” Erik breaks, devolving into a fit of laughter that you chime in with.

When you finish his nails, he admires your handiwork. Giving you a coy sideways glance, he compliments you, “Not too shabby, Freak. I suppose this means I can forgive you. This time, anyway.” 

“Phew, thank God! Suits you, by the way. I dunno why you don’t paint them more often.” You admit, and he says honestly with a shrug, “I get lazy, what more can I say?” 

“Well, how about I do them whenever you ask? No need to return the favour.” You offer, and he counters, “Oh fuck that pro bono shit. Of course I’ll paint yours too.” When he sees your questioning look, he adds casually, “Well this certainly won’t be the last sleepover we’re gonna have. And, it is a classic sleepover activity.”

You definitely can’t argue with that logic. You absolutely love it.

By the time the movie is done, there is no more charcuterie left on the board and your nails are bone dry. You suggest watching one last movie and moving onto another sleepover staple; playing UNO. He readily agrees. 

The beginning of Accepted starts playing in the background while you two are sitting cross legged and facing each other on the couch. You shuffle the deck as you insist this movie’s unique spin on the American education system is a palette cleanser for Van Wilder’s extreme pro-college message. “Plus, Justin Long is in it, and he’s always a treat.” 

“How is it that you have so many opinions on movies I’ve never even heard of or seen before?” He asked. You respond simply as you deal the cards, “I love movies. Good, bad, doesn’t matter. The way I see it, every movie has some merit. I just think about all those people it takes to make a movie, working hard towards a common goal. It’s pretty wild.” 

You make a very compelling argument; One that he felt like he could get behind. Sure, like any job, some movies are made for a pay check, but others are made because the people behind it believe in the vision, in their own way. 

Commencing the game, you pivot the topic as you announce, “Alright, it’s gossip time! Anything juicy to share with the class?”

“Interesting gossip from my job? Hardly. My workday is, thankfully, pretty drama free. Then again I don’t talk to my coworkers all that much.” He sighs, and you sigh dejectedly, “Aww, figures. Hmm, I’ll just have to come up with another interesting topic then…” 

You hum to yourself as you rack your brain for an idea, and eventually it hits you. “Ooh! Okay, let’s pull out the time capsule! How’d you lose your virginity?” 

He widens his eyes in pure shock, “I am genuinely shocked you haven’t asked me this question sooner. I underestimated your level of self-control, it’s fucking impressive.” You both inspect your cards as you press, “Yeah, yeah. I have the patience of a saint. So spill! I am dying to know.”

Leaving no more room for him to protest, he drops the first card, divulging the ‘dirty’ details. “What’s there to tell? It was in high school. It was with one of the few girls who actually gave me the time of day in my not-so-charming years. I liked her enough to ask her out. It happened in the back of a car on a late night. You?”

Slapping your own card down over his, you tut, “Oh, I’m sure you were plenty charming, even back then. As for me, it was also in high school. It was with a guy friend. We were at a party he was hosting. I offered to stay behind and help him clean up afterwards. We ended up on the couch in his basement. Needless to say, not a lot of cleaning got done that night.”

You fire another question before he can, “How quick did you cum?” He laughs lightly as he responds,“Very quick, as is the standard. Yourself?” 

You retort easily, parroting him with a shrug as he puts another card down, “I didn’t, as is the standard.” 

“Tragic.” He groans in genuine sympathy, and you say, “I wasn’t expecting to, honestly. Didn’t with anyone else for a while after that, either.” You press him for more, “Come on music man, you gotta give me more details!” 

With a roll of his eyes and a fond smile, he regales you with his less than glorious origin story. He tells you about this girl he had a crush on for a few months, and then out of nowhere she finally noticed him. They hung out and then went for a late night drive. Before they knew it, they ended up in an empty parking lot and it happened. He remembers how she kept her skirt and knee-high boots on but nothing else, running her fingers through his hair while riding him. He admits that yeah, he came pretty fast, but he focused on her while he recovered. They went for another round that went better. 

“Bet you lasted a whole minute longer for that second round.” You tease with a grin but admit, “Still pretty hot, though.” 

Erik snickers and retorts affectionately, “Yeah, of course you would think that, cuck. So go on, tell me all about yours.” 

You proceed to fill him in, not nearly as much build up needed on your end. You briefly talk about the party, flirty banter included. Then there were a few weak attempts at cleaning, but eventually you both fell onto the couch and made out before getting naked. “The guy was a good friend, and an okay kisser. He made sure I was comfortable, and listened to me, making it as painless an experience as possible, thankfully. We didn’t hook up again, but that was fine.” 

“I cannot stress this enough, that is tragic.” He gravely reiterates. He can’t really picture you back then, meek and inexperienced, not knowing what you want let alone going after it with that ferocity that rivals his own. Erik supposes everyone has to start somewhere; Lord knows he wasn’t a pro straight out the gate. 

You pipe up with, “So we can agree that the first time is never good, right? So riddle me this; When was the first time it was actually good for you?” 

“The first time it was actually good, eh?” He repeats, and you confirm, “Yeah. When was it noteworthy; like legitimately really enjoyable.”

He starts with, “You know, I would have to say it was honestly the first time I actually got to go down on a chick–” You cut him off with a shocked gasp, “You didn’t go down on the first girl you fucked?”

“The car definitely was not ideal conditions for eating pussy, so fingering had to fucking do, okay?! Now, can I finish?” He asks, brow comically creased in annoyance, and you giggle, “Yes, okay. I’m sorry, sorry! Just can’t imagine a time when you weren’t on your knees practically drooling and ravenous for pussy. But, go on.” 

He says, “It was summer, and this girl and I were getting hot and heavy outside a drive-in movie theatre, the car seats pulled back this time. She looked me in the eyes and the way she asked me to go down on her just made me want to so badly. So I jumped at the chance, really.” You listen intently as he continues, “The taste was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. Not to mention the reactions I got from her were so hot. God, and the sex after was crazy. I was hooked on that feeling; so wet and sensitive; It was addicting.” 

You eat the story up with gusto much like Erik’s eating out, spilling a dramatic gasp at the admission. “The cunnilingus connoisseur caper, my God! You could make that a movie, and it’d be my favourite flick to date.” 

“Jesus, you’d own it on Blu-ray and everything, wouldn’t you? Damn, it’s times like these that remind me why your nickname is Freak.” He shakes his head, smirking as he turns the tables on you, “Okay, so what about you?” 

You know just what to say, “Well, there was this guy in college. Yeah, I’d say the hookups I had with him were the first time sex began to feel genuinely good for me.” 

“Was he a boyfriend or a one-night stand?” He asked with a quirk of his brow, and you say with a laugh, “Neither, actually. He was my first friend with benefits. We screwed around for a few months.” 

Huh. Funny how that notion didn’t even cross Erik’s mind until just now. It’s as if the fact that he certainly wasn’t the only friend with benefits you’ve ever had just eluded him. He knew logically that you’ve had sex with other people and probably casual hook-ups or one-night stands, the same way he has. However, a dedicated friend with benefits is not your run-of-the-mill arrangement, now is it? Maybe he’s just curious because he is your current friends with benefits. He’s sure a few more details will help put this distorted picture into focus and quell his curiosity, at least that’s what he tells himself to quell the odd gnawing in his gut.

Before he could question his own mental state, he’s already asking, “What was so great about this guy?”

You pause at his words, feeling slightly awkward as you ask, “Uh, are you sure you want more details?” He asks incredulously, “Uh yeah, you asked for more of the gory details of my ‘pussy-eating origin story’, so why wouldn’t I do the same for your ‘sexual awakening story’?”

“I dunno, isn’t it, like, gauche to talk about one of your old fucks with your current one?” You tease, and he scoffs, “Haven’t we already been doing that? I think I can handle it, Freak. Are you gonna answer the question or not?” 

You supposed that you did start this whole thing, it’s only fair to give him what he wants at this point. If Erik says he can handle it, you just need to trust him. With that, you concede. “Well, he was the first person I realized sex didn’t have to be this intimidating, serious act; That it could be fun. No complicated emotions or drama. Just sex. With him, it wasn’t a performance, it was just two people getting nasty but having fun with it!” After a moment, you divulge casually, “He was also the first person apart from myself to make me cum.” 

Now that was unexpected. 

Erik’s answer was much more simple; Honest yes, but simple all the same. The first time he’d considered any sex he had to be noteworthy was nowhere near as complicated as yours. He must admit, it did somewhat suit you from what he knows about you. You are an unapologetic, go-getter who is less concerned with outside opinions on your own life. You are taking another sip of your sangria, and now he isn’t as fussed about playing UNO with this new nugget of information you just graced him with. He was wrong, asking his follow-up question did little to quell his curiosity. In fact, it just made it more persistent and ravenous. He doesn’t even try to question this hyperfixation on the finer details of your sexual past. It’s to figure out more about you, he tells himself as he carries on with his line of questioning, “How did that happen?”

“Oh now you want my origin story, hm?” You ask as you place your glass back down, he says quickly, “Obviously I can’t be the only one bearing my fucking soul here.” 

“You haven’t been the only one sharing, drama queen, but alright then. So, me and the guy-” You start, but he cuts in, thinking a name might shed some light on this guy’s character, which shouldn’t matter but it does to him in that moment, “Who issss?”

“Me and Brody…” You start over with a sigh, filling in the blank. God he wants to roll his eyes and all he’s heard so far is his name, thinking bitterly, “Fucking Brody? Yuck.”

“Anyway, we met in freshman orientation, gravitated to each other ‘cause we didn’t know anyone; Just a very obvious ‘new to college and away from home for the first time’ kind of bond. But we actually really got along.” You continue to tell him, “In our second semester that year we were having drinks, and talking about how stressed we were. Deep in to the talk, we got to this point-”

You remember that conversation well. You explain that you were both hanging out in your dorm room. Your roommate was out and you were both lounging on your bed, lamenting your sexual frustration when he had an idea. What if you just messed around with each other? You both were desperate for experience, had things, decidedly kinky things, you wanted to do and wanted to work out what you liked and disliked sexually. I mean why not? You were both attracted to each other and single. It seemed like a no-brainer. And so, you laid out a few ground rules: listen to each other, be honest with each other, give good feedback and pass zero judgment. The story is not even that explicit, but the vague synopsis is enough to grind Erik’s gears for some reason. Why should he care what you did years ago with some random guy. It’s not like Erik’s expecting all of your experiences before him to be horrible. That would make him a massive hypocrite, but he’s clearly just losing sight of the main goal of this conversation which is to learn more about you, not about Brantley, Benji or whatever-his-name-is.

“So you and this Bradley guy agreed to help each other sexually experiment?” He throws down another card, the first one he has in the last five minutes, and you clarify, “Brody. And, basically yeah, purely for experience’s sake. Long term; we didn't want to totally suck for our future serious partners, and short term; we wanted to relieve our own sexual tension.” 

He can only imagine and, unfortunately, he’s in too deep to not imagine it. “And apparently it worked like a charm.”

You admit, “Not at first, but we were a well oiled machine fairly quickly. I cannot tell you how much I needed the release. We both did, really.” 

You needed it… At some point in your life, you turned to a ‘Brody’ to help you out. Were the pickings at your college that slim? Fuck, that realization felt like an elephant sitting on his chest. He could have put an end to this conversation right then, he should have thought better of pressing you for more, but he just pushes and pushes his luck it seems, “Oh yeah?”

You give him a slightly curious look; It feels like you’re going too far, but maybe you’re overthinking it? So instead, you chose to proceed with caution, focusing on your growth from the experience. “He let me give him so much head. I spent afternoons figuring out my deep throating technique on him. And on his end, fingering? The difference was like night and day by the time we stopped hooking up.” 

Why is this so hard to hear? What is wrong with him? He asks what might be his stupidest question yet, “And he was really the first guy to make you cum?”

With a bright smile, you laugh and Erik internally sighs in relief. He didn’t seem to make any waves with that one, luckily. You respond, “Yes, he really was. See, here’s the best way I can explain this: You, and I assume most guys, cum like every time you hook up with someone, right?”

“Basically.” He admits with a shrug, and you continue, “Yeah, well us vulva owners? We’re not so lucky, unfortunately.” You are quick to clarify, “I had sex with like three people before Brody, and none of them even got me close. Having sex with someone who not only listened, but actually wanted to get me off for the sole purpose of my genuine enjoyment, and not to inflate his ego was a complete game changer!” 

He’s not an idiot, this all makes sense to him. Erik doesn’t care you’ve fucked other people. He’s been around the block more than a few times and fucked plenty of people in his time before you, and he doesn’t expect everyone you’ve been with to pale in comparison to his sexual prowess; Far from it. Even if Brody was one of the good ones, who is he to judge? He would never slut-shame you, he loves your unabashedly fiery sexuality, so why is it so hard to think about Brody and you without feeling like he’s being shoved into an active volcano? In the midst of his internal debate, Erik manages to top his last question with an even more ridiculous one, making him question his sanity. “How did he make you cum that first time?”

“After we finalized our arrangement, we gave it a go, deciding there was no time like the present, ya know. We made out pretty heavily, then he got a hand between my thighs and between kisses I gave some direction. And that’s when it happened.” Despite the admittedly tame details, your answer doesn’t clear the fog in his mind, but instead makes it worse.

So his first time fooling around with you, Brody managed to achieve what all your previous partners couldn’t. And he even managed to improve so well during your time together that it was, and he quotes, “Like night and day.” How good did he get, exactly? How many times did he finish you off before your clothes were even fully off? How often did Brody kiss you breathless? Did you let him mark up your skin so much you had to cover up the hickies for class the next day? Did you let him fuck you raw as well?

Before he can ask another mind-altering question, with a thoughtful hum, you tell him, “I think what did it, as well, was the feeling of… Security. Privacy. I mean with all of the high school shenanigans, there was always the fear of getting caught that loomed over our heads. I didn’t find perceived exhibitionism hot back then like I do now, so fully letting go was, like, impossible.” 

What’s gotten into him? What is wrong with him? You are being earnest and vulnerable with him. You’re recounting your experiences and exploring your initial struggle with sexual satisfaction, how you navigated that, and how you figured yourself out; in college no less; fucking years ago. Why is he struggling to concentrate on you right now, like he’s been doing the entire night? Is the heat creeping in from an open window somewhere? His body is boiling hot. Then his limbs felt heavy, and his breathing feels strained, like he just cannonballed fully clothed into a scalding sauna. 

Before he can stop himself, something else claws it’s way up his throat to torture him further as he retorts through gritted teeth, “Anything else notable to say about dear old Brody?” You offer, unaffected by his awkward demeanour, “Nothing too glamorous, really. He was pre-med, played hockey, was in a frat–”

Erik realizes then and there that he fucking hates this guy. He laser focuses on the last piece of information before it is even fully out of your mouth, “What fraternity?”

“I dunno, fucking Alpha Kappa, who gives a shit? All I know is that the parties were fun.” You laugh, and he forces out a weak chuckle in return. On the inside, his mind conjures the image of you and the douchey jock, and wannabe doctor, laughing it up at some frat party and that threatens to fry the last strands of his sanity. He imagines you in some criminally short skirt, parading around the place with Brody’s arm around your waist, the pair of you drinking and dancing, before staggering back to his bed at the end of the night. 

He needs to end this, now. So, he tries to skip ahead, “So what made you stop?”

You oblige him, explaining how you saw each other for the remainder of that semester, took the summer off at home, and then got back to it first semester sophomore year. It came to an end shortly before Christmas Break. Brody went on a date and told you that he may have met the girl; the one that he wanted to take to the next level. He called it off not long after, and you were fine with it, more than happy for him. 

Seemingly recalling a funny memory, you chuckle and admit, “He actually felt so bad for ending it so suddenly that he got me a goodbye present.” 

“A parting gift? For ending it as fuck buddies?” Erik paled at the thought of whatever it might be, and you say, “Yeah, he bought me my first vibrator. Wrote me a corny card that said ‘Since I can’t do you anymore, here’s a little something so you can do you instead.’ I think I still have it somewhere-” 

“The vibrator?!” He nearly shouts in indignation, you laugh assuming he’s joking and playing along, “God no! I wore that thing out fucking years ago! I meant the card. I think I still have it.” 

Filling him in further, you say, “I thanked him profusely for putting me down that path. I swear, there is a sort of magic that you tap into the first time you use a vibrator. It was under a hundred bucks; a cheap little thing, really, but it got the job done! It’s such a particular kind of sensation, and having that power in your hand; having the ability to take control of it so easily-” you sigh wistfully, “-mind-altering.” 

This whole experience you’ve so kindly laid out for him was clearly significant. It shaped you into the person he knows today. Someone who would willingly send salicaceous pictures to a total stranger, start up an anonymous sexting relationship with them, and then turn that online arrangement into irl friends with benefits. Someone who is down for the kind of sexually freeing, casually devoted bond that he has gotten fairly attached to these last few months. It shouldn’t affect him this much, it’s just a piece of your past, a series of clumsy firsts that are part of growing up.

He tries to piece together his frayed strings of coherent consciousness with his favourite balm, poorly placed comedic relief, “You’re singing this guy’s praises to the heavens tonight, Freak. Why don’t you just marry the dreamboat and call it a day?”

You visibly gag in disgust, hand placed on your chest in mock offence. “Ugh, marry Brody? No way. Even IF I wanted to, which I absolutely Do Not… Someone else is beating me to the punch next spring.” 

Your outwardly disgusted reaction to the notion of marrying the golden boy provides him some comfort, enough to navigate his way back to himself again. He happily takes the chance to pivot to safer waters again, “Who’s the lucky gal, then?”

“The girl he broke off our arrangement for, believe it or not. They invited me to their wedding too. Hey! Maybe you can be my date!” You say excitedly, and he is more preoccupied with the fact that not only are you still talking to Brody, but are also happily willing to go to his wedding. 

“Wait, so you’re still friends with him?” He asks and you confirm, “Mhm. We live a few hours apart, but he actually has some family in town. We usually meet up for brunch when he comes to visit them.” 

You still talk to him, still call him friend, and you get fucking brunch with him?! He can just picture the ridiculous affair, you talking and laughing about old times while smiling over your mimosas and french toast like you didn’t fuck each other’s brains out for months. He quiets his mind long enough to ask, “And you’re close enough to be invited to his wedding?” 

Too casually for his liking, you confirm, “Yeah, totally.” 

Erik’s erratic emotions are still flaring, but he manages to keep the accusation out of his tone as he asks evenly, “And it isn’t weird? Being friends with an ex?”

You dismiss him with a laugh, “Oh my God, Erik! Please! We aren’t exes. We haven’t gone on a single date. We just fucked for a few months.” 

“Oh right, how could he forget. This is all making sense. Brody was the first fuck buddy you had. And now he’s the shiny new toy. Hmm, wonder how long before he’s just someone you ‘fucked for a few months’?” Erik muses to himself as you continue to explain.

“-And it isn’t weird at all. I mean, the bride to be knows our history, and she’s fine with it. In fact, she even thanked me when we all got drunk one night. Said she knew that Brody was only a pro at eating her out because of me.”

That is the most off the wall, impossible thing he’s ever heard you say. He is pretty sure only you could pull off saying something like that like it’s as easy as breathing. Before he can dig himself a deeper hole, you halfheartedly press him, “If you’re so curious, do you wanna see what he looks like, too?”

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t, but you shouldn’t be humouring him either. So he chimes in, “Yeah, obviously.” 

“Hmm alright.” You grab your phone, cards forgotten for a moment as you tap away at your screen. After the longest half a minute of his life, you turn it around to show him a picture. The picture is a selfie, featuring a younger you and Brody, clearly at a Halloween party; probably one of those frat parties you mentioned. The pair of you are in costume standing close together. He isn’t wildly handsome, nor horrifically ugly. He’s just a normal looking guy, and for some reason that irked him. Couldn’t this chucklefuck be some stupidly handsome Chad with washboard abs or maybe even an ugly toad? Would either of those images have softened the blow? He’s not so sure right now.

The casual, almost smug way he’s got an arm around you, as if it belonged there. The fact that you’re leaning into him does little to quell the tender almost painful pang in his chest. It reminds Erik of how you touch him; So natural; An easy intimacy that reinforces everything you’ve told him. You stall the runaway train that is his mind right now by commenting, “Costumes are dumb as hell, huh?”

He was so consumed by every other detail, he didn’t even notice the costumes. He gives your outfits a once-over but he still doesn’t get it. “What are you even supposed to be?” 

You lean in, pointing to Brody who’s donned board shorts, flip-flops and swim goggles, complete with a snorkel. His summer attire is so out of place for October. With a coy smile, you supply, “Muff diver-” You point to yourself next. You’re clad in a ridiculously tight white and yellow dress adorned with red and orange feathers, the lollipop in your hand your only accessory. With a giggle, you give the final piece to the puzzle, “-Cock sucker.” 

Finally, he lets out a genuine laugh, the absurd display breaking his internal tension instantly. He breathes out between chuckles, “Those are the fucking stupidest, most dumbass college costumes you could have come up with.” 

“Eh, we wanted to match and thought it’d be fitting considering.” You defend with a shrug and tuck your phone away. 

You offer after a beat, “Are you stuffed already? Because I have the ingredients to make a s’mores dip if you want?” He could do with another distraction, and a sweet one at that. But he teases you first, “More food?”

You inform him cheekily, “It’s like a third of what a sleepover is, Erik. We eat, talk, and then we add some activity to do while eating and talking.” 

He relents, “Fair enough, that tracks. Yeah, that sounds great. Go ahead and make it.” 

You toss your cards aside since the game was a wash, getting too caught up in your sexually adventurous conversation to continue it anyways. You pause the movie as you pipe up, “Cool, I'll get it going now.” 

“I’m just gonna use the bathroom.” You both shuffle off; you to the kitchen and Erik to the bathroom. 

Once he’s safely inside the bathroom, he takes a minute to decompress. He runs his hands through his hair before letting them slowly trail down his face, leaning against the sink and staring at his reflection in the mirror. What. The. Fuck. Erik? His mind flashes back to that damn photo. Why did he agree to seeing Brody? He should have known the photo you’d pick would be one of you both together. I mean it was fucking obvious how friendly you still are with him. You were friends, what did he expect? That’s just it, he wasn’t thinking, he was too busy feeling. His mind pours over all you said tonight, and the worst part is that every blank space in the narrative is now being filled with images of his own design; Of that first time Brody made you cum, for instance. Flashes of you breaking the kiss to breathlessly ask Brody to shift his fingers inside you, and then of you moaning louder when he complies. 

His mind is rich with images of you twisted up in pleasure but now that knowledge bleeds into this tortuous web his subconscious is weaving in real time. He can picture your sensitive body responding so well to Brody’s hands, shivering needily and clinging to him endearingly. Before long this expertly constructed scene has him pondering all the questions he held back from asking throughout the night. Did he even notice how your breath hitches right before you tumble over the edge, did he even realize that he got to be the first to see it? God, did he fucking appreciate it at least? More flashes come; one of you babbling happily like you do when the sex is so mind-blowingly good; another of you praising Brody for his fruitful efforts; and lastly of Brody smugly smirking at you as you admit to him with stars in your eyes, “No one’s ever made me cum before-” The words echo in his mind like a prayer, mocking him.

He feels horrible. The knots in his stomach have his soul in a vice grip as he thinks about what you could have been up to that Halloween. He imagines you and fucking Brody breaking off from the party to head upstairs so he can spread you out on the nearest flat surface to go down on you like the ‘muff diver’ he is.

Fuck, he needs to stop thinking like this. 

Erik finally snaps out of his manic state enough to think clearly. He must hold onto reason, it’s the only way to claw his way back up this cliff he’s dangling from. He thinks long and hard, coming away with one plausible explanation. This all has to have stemmed from the fear of the unknown. That nagging feeling isn’t something childish like jealousy, but concern and fear that like all good things, this amazingly fun arrangement with you will end. That is the source of his sudden insecurity. You saw Brody for a few months, and you’ve been seeing him for a few months now. He’s just seeing a pattern and coming to a perfectly rational conclusion about it, that’s all. It’s the idea that you could get bored of him, or that you could meet someone you can finally settle down with like Brody did that has him in a tizzy. Simple. He could work with that.

He decides, right there in your bathroom, that from this day on, he’s going to make it his mission to become better than Brody. He vows to the determined set of blue eyes staring back at him in the mirror that he will be the best damn friends with benefits you’ve ever had, so much so that you’ll never want this arrangement to end. With a nod of finality, he steps out of the bathroom silently thanking the heavens that you’re still in the kitchen, and that he didn't take long enough to be conspicuous. He settled himself back down on the couch just before you came back out with a tray of steaming deliciously that smelled amazing. 

The dip you made was extremely good. It had everything a good s’more would have; melted chocolate, gooey caramelized marshmallow, and graham crackers. With UNO abandoned and you both running out of things to do other than watch another movie, Erik attempts to clear the lingering dark clouds over his head from his bad mood. He manages to get back some semblance of normalcy by listening to your running commentary and chiming in where he could. 

By the time the movie was over, you were both tired. You quickly set to work cleaning up and winding down, then moving to your bedroom to turn in for the night. In the quiet of your room, lit only by the lamp on your nightstand, you're slipping in between the sheets before you get his attention, “Hey Erik?”

He hums in question as he removes his tank top before fixing his gaze onto you. Looking into his eyes for a moment, you voice your gratitude. “Thank you for coming over tonight. I…I really appreciate you stepping up when my friends flaked like that.” 

“Of course. It’s the least I could do since your friends woke up and decided that today was the day they’d totally fucking suck.” He lays down on the left side of the bed, the spot he usually takes whenever he sleeps over. He turns onto his side to keep looking at you, noticing your bodies are laying close enough that if he moved even an inch more, you’d be flush against each other. Before he can dwell on the heat of your body nearly engulfing him, you respond, “Yeah, they really did suck today. But thank you again, I mean it.” 

Erik shrugs as he tells you sincerely, “It was my pleasure, honest.” You roll over to turn off your bedside lamp and now in the dark he adds on, “What are friends for?” 

He reminds himself, almost reverently, before he can stop himself. “Yeah, friends. Just friends.” 

Despite his body’s exhaustion from the day’s activities, his mind is restless, the remnants of his conflicting emotions about everything threatening to consume him as he attempts to fall asleep. Funnily enough, the only thing he can seem to fixate on is the gentle rise and fall of your sleeping form as your steady breaths hit his collarbone. It’s only when he turns away from you and raises the comforter up to his chin that sleep finally claims him.

A few hours later, Erik stirs awake to your still dark bedroom, his mouth as dry as sandpaper and desperately needing a drink. He pushes himself up and out of your bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake you. He quickly shuffles to the kitchen, turning on the hood light above your stove top. Then he grabs a glass out of your cabinet, filling it at the sink and chugging it down, before filling it again and repeating the action a few times. When he’s had his fill, he places the glass into the sink, flicks the light back off and drowsily makes his way back to your bedroom. The comforter and sheets are still warm when he slips back under them, since he only just left them.

Erik settles back down on his side, his back to yours, and prepares to fall back asleep in no time, since he’s tired as hell. His eyes drift shut when he feels you shift behind him, your body rolling over. He absentmindedly assumes you’re just getting comfortable when suddenly he feels your arm hook around his waist, scooting your body closer until your front is completely flush against his back. 

Erik freezes. You place your hand over his heart, your legs tangling with his, and your clothed chest pressed snugly against his bare back. He feels and hears you exhale a soft pleasured sigh of happiness against his shoulder blade. Your lips brush over him in the ghost of a kiss before nuzzling into the comforting warmth of his body until he’s unsure where you end and he begins.

He listens for the tell-tale shift of your breathing to signal you’re awake, but you are still fast asleep. You probably never even woke up, he guesses. Erik lays still, now fully awake and his mind now racing with questions. The quiet hour makes that much easier for him to dwell on every little thing that pops into his skull unannounced. The loudest thought of them all is, “When was the last time I was held like this?” 

He certainly can’t remember. Honestly, he never let himself admit this, but he missed it more than he thought he would. The soft comfort of your arms feels so nice, especially after everything that he’s been through mentally tonight. But at the same time, it stirs an aching longing in his chest that he’d rather not parse at three thirty in the morning. 

He breathes deeply, trying to match the pace you are currently setting against his back while you sleep peacefully. As he attempts to slow his rapid heartbeat that you, had you been awake, would’ve surely felt under your hand on his chest, he briefly wonders what your actions in the throes of sleep could mean. He settles on the reasonable explanation that they most likely mean nothing at all, choosing not to overthink whether or not this is a normal thing for you. Nor does he ponder the amount of other guys you’ve done this with, pointedly ignoring the notion that Brody could have been one of them. Instead, he chooses to revel in the comfort of your warmth, making the conscious effort to be present in this soft moment with you. Now he embraces the quiet, no lingering thoughts to ruin it as he basks in the feeling of you spooning him on your bed; in your room; hours before you need to get up.

This time, with how comfortable your spooning made him, sleep overtakes him with surprising ease. He gradually wakes, roused by the feeling of your fingers skating over his skin and running through the patch of hair on his bare chest. He looks down to see your moving fingers, nails still freshly painted and shiny black, and then his own hand splayed on the sheets pooling at his waist. 

At that moment, his first thought of the day formed, “We match.”, the quiet observation calming some deeper part of him he can’t quite pinpoint. 

Alright, no more dwelling. The vow he made to himself in the safety of your bathroom coming to the forefront of his mind once again. He is going to be the best friend with benefits you ever had. Erik is going to blow fucking Brody out of the water. 

Erik speaks first, “Morning.” You sigh sleepily, your fingers still traveling along his chest, “Good morning.” 

“Sleep well?” He inquires, and you agree, “I did, I passed out hard. You?”

He only half lies when he states, “Well enough.” He lays with you for as long as possible until the odd pang in his chest stirs once more, spurring him to ask, “Breakfast?’

“Hell yeah, breakfast.” He silently mourns the loss as you untangle your limbs and pull away from him. God, it hurts when you hold him and when you leave him. What the fuck is going on right now? He pipes up, “I could make something.” 

You pause, looking down at him shocked before asking. “Are you being serious?”

Indeed he is, which leads you to the position you are in right now; still in your pajamas, sitting at one of the kitchen island stools, and cradling the cup of coffee he just made you. Your eyes are fixed on Erik, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips as he moves about the kitchen, surrounded by the ingredients you helped him pull out, and making pancakes. It's quite a sight to behold. He claims that these pancakes are not just any pancakes; that they’re, “-cinnamon bun pancakes. The best you will ever have.” 

“You know how to make cinnamon bun pancakes?” You ask skeptically, and he says, “I do. A specialty of mine, you could say. See, my dad always told me that you should know how to make a few things to get by, right?”

The logic makes sense, so you nod, “Right.” 

“But on top of that, you should know how to make ONE thing for each meal of the day really well. This is my showstopper breakfast, I make this the best.” He concludes. You respond as he’s whisking the batter, “Well, your dad sounds like he’s very smart.” 

Erik assures you that he is. As he continues to make his ‘showstopper’ breakfast, he divulges how the tradition got started. His parents would sometimes go on overnight trips; date nights, weekenders, and anniversaries when he was old enough to be in charge of watching his siblings. And every time, they'd ask for a pancake breakfast. He conceded and regular pancakes are good but he figured he could do better. And thus, the ‘cinnamon bun pancakes’ were born. 

“I still get asked to make them constantly, by the way. They make every excuse under the sun to get me to, really.” He sighs, and you press, “Like what?”

He is measuring out the cinnamon as he explains, “Okay, perfect example from this summer. Bobby comes into my room on the morning of July 27th announcing, ‘Hey Erik! Did you know July 27th is International Pineapple Day?!’” 

“I didn’t even know that.” You admit, and he responds, tipping a tablespoon of cinnamon into a secondary bowl, “Well, it is. And Bobby thought that was a good enough ‘holiday’ to request my showstopper pancakes that morning.” 

You set your mug back down as you laugh, worried you’d spill it if you didn’t. “So I said ‘Bobby, if it’s International Pineapple Day, shouldn’t we, oh I dunno eat some fucking pineapple instead of cinnamon bun pancakes?’”

“And what did he have to say to that?” You ask with a smile and Erik responds, “He was all like ‘uhhh I mean, Man can’t just live on pineapples alone, right?’” Shaking his head over the amusing memory as he continues, “I told him if he agrees to go buy some pineapple for us to eat later, then I’d believe he was serious about fucking International Pineapple Day.”

“Did he do it?” You ask, leaning on your elbows with your hands under your chin, totally enthralled. Erik retorts, “He did, and then I made the damn pancakes.” 

He’s heating up the frying pan when you ask a very important question, “How was the pineapple?” 

With a sideways glance, he admits, “Pretty fucking good, actually.” 

The whole ordeal is very sweet. In fact, Erik has been pretty sweet recently. From wanting to salvage your night and giving you a mind-blowing experience with ‘The Beast’, to indulging your favoured sleepover activities and now making his special pancakes for you right now. You watch the light shine off your black nails drumming against the counter, and then on Erik’s matching nails as he flips the pancakes.

You think about the conversation you had last night over UNO as well. You hadn’t planned on talking about Brody, and it’s been a minute since you’ve really thought about him. Then again, you’ve been so caught up with all the fun you and Erik are having recently. But still, getting to be open and candid about what a positive experience that was with Erik was pretty nice. However, it has gotten you thinking, namely about the fact that things with Erik are so much better than they ever were with Brody. From a sexual standpoint, Erik runs laps around Brody, no question about it; but from an emotional standpoint, you feel like Erik is an even better listener, and a kick-ass friend.; One that you find yourself missing when you’re apart and wishing the times you spent together would last just a little bit longer. There is something else as well; an ineffable feeling that pops up every so often, that you’ve been struggling to pin down and define. 

As you watch him work, your mind wanders, thinking about how nice it is having him here. You feel like you can trust him with nearly anything and rely on him whenever you need him and you don’t want this feeling to end-

Suddenly, the first plate of freshly made pancakes is placed in front of you. It pulls you from your thoughts, and onto the sweet smile Erik is giving you right now. Shit, you had gotten so caught up in your thoughts that you completely lost track of time while he was cooking. 

He prompts with a tilt of his chin and a quirk of his brow, “Well go on, fucking dig in. Don’t wait on me. Gotta eat ‘em while they’re fresh.” 

He watches in anticipation as you pick up your cutlery before cutting into the small stack of steaming, and frankly, amazing looking pancakes. You bring your first bite up to your mouth to taste the fruits of his labor, and holy shit. The pancakes are thick, blissfully warm and soft cakes that are absolutely bursting with flavor. They have this sort of crunchy brown sugar and cinnamon swirl studded throughout that gives them a texture, reminiscent of a real cinnamon bun, and topped with sweet melting icing instead of syrup. You release a genuinely delighted moan as you chew. You exclaim behind the hand covering your full mouth, “What the fuck? You could make these this whole time?”

He returns to the stove to make his own pancakes, letting out a laugh before retorting, “Now you know how I felt about your secret bartending skills.” 

“I apologize, thoroughly. I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness later. After these are done.” You waste no time cutting into your pancakes again, desperate for more, and before long you devour them. 

The rest of breakfast passes by easily, the routine ebbs and flows of conversation naturally passing between you as you proceed to destroy your respective plates of pancakes, and he whips up another plate that you split. 

After breakfast, you tag team the dishes. Before you know it, Erik’s dressed and you see him out the front door, but not before hugging and thanking him again for coming over. Once he leaves, you decide to clean up the remnants of last night’s activities. As you gear up to do laundry, you find yourself thinking about Erik again and all that transpired between you. Your mind pours over how hard you came, the sex afterwards, then dinner. You find yourself laughing over the movie commentary and deeper conversations you had, something you’ve been doing a lot today. You’ve also been fixated on how much closer you feel to Erik after last night. Your mind drifts to the look in his eyes and the smile on his face as he held your hand in his and carefully painted your nails. You recalled his offer to help collaborate on your tattoo, the feeling of you cuddling with him in your bed, and how happy he looked while making you his showstopper pancakes. 

Then, all of a sudden it hits you. The feeling can be best described as a glass shattering moment. No matter what you do now, it can’t be avoided, nor can it be fixed or altered in its current state. The dam of feelings welling up inside you has far too many cracks in the concrete, and the immense pressure of this realization is threatening to burst it wide open. 

After pondering your thoughts about Erik and your time together, the feelings seeping through the dam in your heart have proven too great to ignore, and only one simple fact remains; These feelings you have for Erik are anything but platonic. 

They are far too intense, burning far too brightly and vibrantly to be anything other than infatuation. You don’t just care for Erik as a friend or a fuck buddy, you have spun out into uncharted territory now. With Brody there was a line you never crossed, there was never any real emotion there, just baser needs and the love of having a good time. With Erik, however, there had always been more, just in increments. Cooking for each other, cuddling with each other, ongoing texts, calls, and even fucking routine sleepovers!

Somewhere along the way, this casual fucking had developed into something you never thought possible, but now it’s clear as day.

You are, without a doubt, falling for Erik Campbell.

[writer-in-wonder]

I gonna go with number 6 because the thunderbolts are a team of six 😌

6. “You’re actually awful.”

found family thunderbolts! yelena and alexei

a/n: ugh i love them 😭

"Come on!”

"Alexei, stop." She groaned as he pulled her hand, making her lurch forward from where she sat. "I am trying to enjoy the one day a week I can bed-rot." A small sliver of light was making it’s way into the bedroom, but it was still dark enough to fall back asleep in seconds, that is, if a certain man with a booming voice wasn’t there trying to yank her out of bed.

Her disagreements didn't register to him as a grin was still on his face while he tugged once more. "Come! No rotting of the bed."

Yelena almost sighed. "It's more that I’m the one rotting." This explanation made Alexei’s nose wrinkle a bit in mock disgust. Or maybe genuine disgust. She couldn't tell. "That is worse."

Just then, she felt her hand go limp and fall back at her side as his muttering to himself started to sound further and further away. Before she could realize what he was doing, the harsh overhead lighting flashed to life, making her squeeze her barely-open eyes shut tight as a sound of pure annoyance left her mouth. “You’re actually awful.”

Alexei walked back from the wall and yet again took her hand, nodding in passive agreement as if he was trying to reason with a rambunctious toddler. “Yes, yes, I am horrible. Now let’s go!”

Yelena swung. And missed.

Just then, Ava popped her head into the doorway and took in the chaotic scene playing out before her. "Is she coming?"

"Yes!"

"No." Her hand was now free once again as he was distracted by the Brit’s entrance. Yelena then scooted back against her headboard and covered herself again with her comforter. "She's not." The super-soldier shared a quick look with Ava. This obviously wasn’t going according to plan.

The brunette just gave a small smile and shrugged in response, sending a quiet, “We’ll see you there,” before continuing to walk down the hall.

Yelena noted the footsteps from where she was safely nestled away from the lights. Maybe he would finally take the hint and just leave her be-

"Come on Lena, let's do something. Get some fresh air.”

There it was.

"I got fresh air yesterday." Was the mutter that followed from beneath the heavy duvet.

"You need fresh air everyday! Now come on."

She felt her arm get seized again even tighter than before.

"Alexei!"

"Lena!” She hated how much she had to fight back a smile at how he matched her whiny tone to a T. The blanket slipped off her head and she was staring right at him, undeniably one more hand yank away from actually getting mad. “Seriously. What is your deal?”

He let out a sigh at that and she suddenly felt a pang of guilt at how she seemed to actually be disrupting his idea. "Look, I-..I made breakfast, okay? Is special. Trust me."

Something in his eyes was expectant. Hopeful? And way more alert than normal at this hour-oh. He was up to something. Maybe it was another team bonding effort. Or maybe a breakfast experiment he needed test subjects for. Or maybe he was lonely and just wanted to spend time with everyone and-

Wow. It was too early to think sad thoughts.

Deciding that it was better to just get it over with - whatever it was - she let out a huff and moved to sit on the edge of the bed before reluctantly standing up. "Fine. But this better not take more than five minutes."

He cheered. She smirked.

What she didn’t expect was the scene that awaited her as they got to the kitchen. The others already gathered, a small, neatly frosted - and definitely bakery-made - cake on the island with a few gifts surrounding it. And a “Happy Birthday” banner on the overhead stove vent to tie the whole thing together. The blonde turned to the beaming Russian man who had just finished leading the others in a uniform “Surprise!” She couldn’t really believe this was happening.

"Wait…you know my birthday?"

Alexei’s eyes softened a bit as his mirthful grin came down to a more sincere look. "Of course I do. I know it has been some time…but I never forgot it.”

She had just turned six, and her biggest wishes were a party with her whole soccer team and a half-chocolate half-vanilla cake that was frosted in purple and doused in sprinkles. With a unicorn cake topper somewhere there. Back then, Alexei remembered the rush of getting everything together with Melina. It had definitely seemed like a double-test of sorts. On the one hand: plan a birthday party fit for a normal family that was definitely not made of a bunch of undercover spies and assassins. And on the other: give a good memory to a girl who had unexpectedly grabbed their hearts in the few months that they’d known her. Somehow they’d succeeded, a photo in his room from that day of her face covered in frosting to prove it.

And even though that was over twenty years ago, there was still a chance to make new memories. He was just glad she’d given it to him.

Taking in her thoughtful face and tear-rimmed eyes, he wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I think it’s time we got caught up. Happy birthday umnichka.”

okayy this one 😭 ugh i love their dynamic so much and i’m glad i finally wrote a fic about it!

umnichka: russian term of endearment meaning “clever girl” or “smart girl”

i hope you all enjoyed it! Jesus loves you, and may God Bless you all!

request a mini fic here!

[fluffyblue-multifandommess]

see the thing with Doctor Who is, it's always been a bit stupid, but it's often stupid in a silly way. maybe I'm biased because I Dislike (understatement) moffat, and so I'm extra critical of the seasons he was in charge of bc I know he was in charge of them, but it just feels like his seasons arent silly stupid, they're just stupid stupid

[jils-things]

this feels too soon to say because its still not well over a month that i started uni but like...

im quite happy by how things are going now- it doesn't feel all too restrained unlike my past school years. and apart from that, i feel a lot more independent being able to travel miles away from my home which has been my biggest anxiety as i got older. just the fear of getting lost spooks me a whole lot! even if i'm travelling through a planned route, going all by myself is probably the bravest thing i did this year and i say this as an introvert who doesn't go out all too often

[psychopomp-namine]

you don't understand how much I felt the slow saline drip of gaining interest in a character, and instead of going, "oooh. interesting. new blorbo?" I instead went, "...really. that guy? oh. oh no."

<- guy with a li tianchen icon ends up blorbofying liu xiao. alas, I have played myself 😔

[thebluebygracieabrams]

wow when i think about it maybe this year wasn't that bad

[undistortedworld]

*voice of the mc from starmyu* I DONT KNOW HOW TO GIVE UP ON MY DREAMS!!! :D

rekindled my passion for theatre costume and refuse to give up despite failing to get contacts and a job out of uni and some of my teachers convincing me i was shit and the elitism of a lot of the costume industry ;^; it was my dream for so so long!!!! i tried so so so hard!!! why should it be too late!!! i am STUBBORN and DETERMINED it is my best and worst trait and i cant believe it failed me for a while BUT NOT ANYMORE

[crest-of-gautier]

got the badges for gone fission evp 400 + evp 600 yesterday! .52 gal, l-3 nozzlenose, dread wringer, and squiffer make for quite the synergistic team!

my peak was EVP 810 (appx 300-310% HL). my high score of 151 eggs was obtained somewhere in evp 300...? i'm pretty satisfied with how it went, even if i didn't get HLM or 9s.

some thoughts/reflections on good freelancing teams/traits to develop when trying to rank up in evp under the cut:

i think grinding this rotation was pretty fun- all of the weapons have excellent mobility and i think they cover for each other really well! the l-3 was not my favorite weapon going into it but i think i really enjoyed the accuracy and mobility of it, so it's a bit more favorable for me now :)

i ended up reaching a skill wall in EVP 760-780 where i could not get past wave 2 or 3 (usually for quota related reasons, the quota is BRUTAL! we'd miss it by like 4-5 ish... ofc this partially relates to how well bosses are handled).

the grind for evp was a mix of freelance and grouping up (freelance for 230 -> 440s, grouping up for 440 - 750~, and then testing myself in freelance for that last bit).

i enjoyed the bits of freelance i did, and from my playtime i think these were some of the key traits/practices that indicate "good salmon run skills" to me:

players that know their weapons role(s) and target the appropriate salmonid (but also being willing to break that when priority targets haven't been taken care of)

knowing when a teammate needs help (with a boss or being revived) or when the teammate has a situation under control (e.g. someone's already on the fishstick, you can do something else)

proactive use of specials when problem targets appear, preferably with no overlap (e.g. tri-strike and inkjet activated on the same flyfishes is not the best)

using specials like booyah bomb, triple splashdown, and reefslider to clear basket area in the last 30 seconds to help eggs get in (especially important past evp 600)

teams that paint the walls first thing (especially whoever had the dread wringer). all interior walls for fission can be painted within the first 10 seconds imo

forwarding eggs closer to the basket after splatting static bosses (throwing one egg, and then swimming up with one)

players with good judgment; knowing when to lure (mostly for initial boss spawns), and knowing when to leave the big shot cannon

being able to figure out which directions snatchers come from and what eggs they can help you collect

i think these practices all stem from having good awareness and being able to collect information about the shift. it helps with making snappy quick-fire decisions, and it just gets more important the higher up in EVP you go. camera positioning/control is essential for this (you can't figure out where bosses/teammates are if your back is turned to them).

for me, every 7-10 seconds, i like to rotate my camera around to the opposite side of where i'm currently looking to make sure there isn't any bosses i'm missing. i'm hardly in one place longer than 5-10 seconds and i try to always be on the move. the spawn direction where salmonids come from are always changing, so it's essential to rotate around the map proactively rather than reactively. i think this also helps a lot with shotcalling in groups too (since you can be someone else's pair of eyes).

other than boss spawns/teammate locations (for revives), i think it's also important to notice when certain bosses haven't been taken care of for prolonged periods of time too, so that a special can be popped. to me it's usually a sign that someone whose ill equipped to deal with that boss has been forced to deal with them because the people with the "right" weapon are focused on something else... (no fault to them, of course, everyone has different priorities and you can't always communicate clearly in freelance)

in situations where squiffers were chased by a pack of scrappers, perhaps a booyah bomb or splashdown can be popped to help if you don't have the time to stun and splat them manually. maybe the fish sticks were left unattended by the shooters, so a triple inkstrike or a crab/inkjet shot can help clear them out.

awareness also extends to meeting quota, which imo involves paying attention to the timer + where eggs are located. i find that it's nice to check in with the timer/quota at 50s and 30s respectively so that you can start forwarding eggs closer to basket. and when everyone's going crazy about quota not being met i try to make sure i'm not overstepping anyone else's egg pile so that no one goes "wait no thats the egg that i wanted to pick up fuck i have to go back and get a different one."

i think this is why sometimes playing in groups is easier. if you have more sets of eyes that you can communicate with, it alleviates the need to have awareness of "everything" (provided that you can comms effectively). someone can be attuned to different things (e.g. my friend always tells us where snatchers come from and if they're good, i'm personally attuned to where people need to be revived, etc.). you also know what specials you have access to, unlike in freelance where you're not sure what others have until they use them.

the other part of completing shifts successfully (to me) is being mechanically sound with your movement, mostly in regards to how you use the terrain (walls) to get around the map and escape situations. the more you play a map the more you'll figure out how you can move around on it.

some examples, using the location callouts from salmonrun.ink: there were a few times i'd go on the harbor but i could escape any salmonids in the bridge area by climbing the walls there and squidrolling out as needed. sometimes on high tide i would swim from the perch to the left plat.

sub-strafing is also good to know too, especially when you want to rapidly collect the basket eggs at the end. i still need to integrate it into other parts of my gameplay, but it's helpful!

uh. this was way longer than intended because i have WAY too many thoughts about salmon run. TL;DR: The key to succeeding your shifts is having good awareness which comes from good information collecting practices, and having the mechanical skill to act on that awareness without hesitation.

there's definitely a lot that goes on in sensory overload the game™, so it will take time to build these muscles and reaction times. i think while at every rank of salmon run you may face a wall of "i'm overwhelmed by the bosses," the exact fix needed to get past it usually varies, so it's important to figure out what information you were missing or what actions you could've taken (more efficient movement or special usage, usually).

or if you're struggling with quota, try to practice forwarding eggs or take a look where snatchers come from (even if people splat them, it's still a good practice 2 develop for later evp. source: i don't fucking do it and it's biting me in the ass)

and most importantly, recognize when you're in the midst of a loss streak/skill wall, so that you can take a break and focus on other things that energize you! even if there's a certain goal you want to meet, grinding for higher levels of EVP and getting better at the game can be a very exhausting process. you can always come back to the grind later, whether if it's after a 30 minute break, or just a different rotation!

[sageblus]

learning that maybe i am not the best teacher. in some ways

[weaselle]

had an interaction with a cat at my mother's friend's house (we dropped by to feed her while my mom's friend was out of town) and my mother said "i was surprised how much that cat liked you, she doesn't usually let people pet her but she followed you around and let you pet her a lot"

and in explaining to her my interaction with the cat i put into words a thing i'd never put into words before, having always automatically understood what i was doing. But once i put it into words my mother said she'd never thought of that and it felt like something worth sharing here.

This cat did a typical cat thing where she sniffed my fingers i was holding out, and then acted like she wanted me to pet her, but then when i started to move to pet her, moved her head away slightly to prevent it.

I instinctively understand this interaction, and stopped trying to pet her and moved back to a neutral position and waited to see if she would re-initiate an interaction.

Because this is basically a consent test. This is how a cat can assess "how closely are you paying attention to what i'm telling you" and "how respectful of my boundaries are you".

If i am responsive to her yes/no game, moving to pet her when she indicates i can, stopping immediately when she seems to change her mind, then she knows she can trust me to understand her, and also to respect her choices. That's what i did, so then she knew she could trust me and relax around me and enjoy my company. She was actually a very friendly and social little cat, who clearly wanted to make friends with me.

But if i had insisted on trying to pet her when she seemed to change her mind instead of simply understanding that she didn't want to be pet in that moment, she would have known she couldn't trust me to understand or respect her, and she would have treated me like she has to treat 90% of the people who visit that house, evidently.

I work mostly with dogs these days, but i grew up with cats too, and am generally good with animals. Many shy animals will also do this same "sniff sniff okay touch me nope just kidding" routine, especially if they've had experiences with people that make establishing that kind of communication and trust important to them.

And in fact, a lot of animals will do some version of this kind of consent test in a whole variety of situations. When well socialized dogs do that thing where they are rough housing and then they both stop suddenly for a moment until one of them play bows or makes a little pouncing motion and then they fly back into rough housing mode, that's what they are doing, they are doing a consent check-in, like "whoah this is getting wild, are you still in? are we still playing, is this still a good time for you?"

anyway, that's why this lovely little cat followed me around asking me to pet her the whole time we were visiting that house, because i showed her that i understood her signals and respected her boundaries, which is something i see a lot of both men and women not doing when interacting with cats and dogs.

[sc3ptre]

Can you do smut with clark Kent, he is so big so he goes to deep and has to take you to the er, even though he hurt you he is very proud of him and his dick

Three inches from heaven

Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938

A/n: as you can tell i'm really enjoying posting weekly extras

Summary: Every inch counts...especially when he knows how to use them.

Classification: Smut +18 | safe vaginal sex, praise, use of X-ray vision in a sexual context, depictions of bruising and visit to a hospital/ER, including unprofessional or comedic remarks from medical staff. Clark is extremely caring but also hilariously anxious, tending toward over-the-top worry and protective behavior but yk...it's Clark.

Word count: 3,7k

Divider by me ;)

“Kinky” wasn’t the word you’d use, it was more “adventurous” than anything else. You’d never had a partner you could trust this much before, so when you and Clark became official, naturally, you wrote a list of everything you wanted to try sexually. It was a long one, scribbled out with the kind of excitement you’d been too shy to ever act on before and Clark had been just as eager, if not more, to work through it with you. 

He treated it like a mission dossier, equal parts thoroughness and enthusiasm, even adding his own notes in the margins sometimes. You were getting close to “Sitting on Clark’s face” which he underlined and punctuated with five exclamation points, as if to make absolutely sure it wasn’t skipped, but tonight’s experiment was prone bone.

The night began like any other with a modest dinner, small talk, him cleaning up while you lingered on the couch, a soft kiss here and a brush of fingers there. You never planned when to cross something off the list, it always came after you were already warm, flushed and at least halfway undone from the way he worshiped you and tonight was no different. 

Two orgasms in, when your muscles were loose and your mind was humming, you finally asked for it.

Face down on the couch, you gazed out at the glittering skyline of Metropolis through the wide windows of Clark’s apartment. Your chest rose and fell in steady anticipation, your body already tingling. Behind you, Clark shifted into position, his knees bracketing your thighs as he bent over you while his lips brushed soft, reverent kisses along the damp trail of your spine.

“Are you sure?” he asked for the second time, voice low while his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.

You hummed your answer but he wasn’t satisfied with just that.

“You can stop me at any time. Don’t wait until it hurts. Even if it’s just uncomfortable, you stop me. You hear?” His tone was firm but gentle, a voice that left no room for doubt.

“Loud and clear,” you whispered, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He tilted your chin up and kissed you languidly, sealing the promise between you.

When he pulled away, he slid a pillow under your hips, lifting you just enough and adjusting you until you were perfectly angled. The cool air brushed your heated skin and then came the warmth of him. Clark’s tip nudged at your entrance, before he pressed forward with care, the stretch was immediate and the invasion enough to pull a groan from your throat and press your forehead hard into the cushion beneath you.

He stilled instantly. “Baby, you okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice tight, before lifting your head to make sure he knew. “I’m okay.”

And you were. The position was intense, restrictive and it made him feel impossibly big inside you. He knew it too, you could hear it in the rough sound of his groan as he pushed deeper, every inch claiming you in slow increments. The way your body clenched down on him, walls fluttering tight around his length, had both of you struggling to catch your breath.

He inched forward until he was nearly bottomed out…nearly. You didn’t have to say a word before he was already checking with that telltale pause as he used his x-ray vision to confirm your body’s limits. His tip brushed your pelvis and he still had a few inches left, but he wasn’t about to risk hurting you.

“We’re gonna go nice and slow,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your hip, reassuring you. His voice was steady but there was an edge of strain beneath it, like it was taking everything in him to hold in his release.

All you could do was nod, gripping the couch cushion as he began to move with careful precision, every thrust calculated and every pause a silent check-in. The city lights spilled across the room as his warmth enveloped you from behind, you felt at once completely overwhelmed and utterly safe.

Clark’s chest pressed fully to your back now, the heavy weight of him both pinning you and shielding you. Each deliberate thrust came in that slow, scooping motion and you felt it all, in the best way possible. The way he carved himself against your velvety walls, the way his hips rocked to angle deeper and the way his cock seemed to drag and nudge at every tender ridge inside you until your entire body shuddered.

“Uhhh–fuck, you’re…so deep,” you moaned, voice breaking on the words. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You’d thought maybe after two orgasms your body would be less sensitive, that you’d float in the afterglow but the opposite was true. Every nerve was heightened, raw and open and all you could do was cling to the moment. Your focus narrowed until all that existed was him, the ridges, the veins and the delicious weight of his cock stretching you. Your nails dug deep grooves into the leather cushions, desperate for anchor, while your blurred gaze caught only fractured streaks of city lights beyond the window. Your mouth hung open, letting small hiccups of sound escape each time he rocked into you while the pleasure bubbled uncontrollably.

His lips brushed the damp curve of your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your skin. He murmured into you like he was kissing a secret there. “You’re taking me so good, baby. So darn good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping forward and you whispered with ragged need, “F–faster.”

He stilled just enough to ask, his voice still low and careful, “Are you sure?” Even now, even with the control it must’ve taken for him not to simply give in, he waited. He needed your confirmation.

You nodded quickly, desperately so. “Yes, Clark. Please...I- I need more.”

The change was immediate. He wasn’t ruthless, he never would be but the shift was enough that your body reeled. His pace picked up, hips rolling with heavier intent and faster, until your moans tumbled free with no control at all. Your back arched further, chest pressing harder into the couch while the tension in your body snapped tighter with every thrust.

“Mmmm–you’re so big…filling me up so good.” you cried, the words ripping free, unfiltered. You didn’t care how shameless it sounded, didn’t care if it made his ego swell, the only truth in that moment was the stretch, the fullness and the overwhelming pulse of him inside you.

He groaned against your skin, his voice dark and low as his arms locked tighter around your middle. “You’re taking it like a champ, baby.”

“Mmmmyeah?” you gasped, the syllable fractured by a sharp intake of breath.

“Mhm,” he hummed, warm and rumbling against the shell of your ear, his thrusts never faltering. His breath was hot, heavy, every exhale ragged. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit you almost as hard as the pleasure itself, leaving you trembling in his arms as the rhythm of his hips drove you closer to that unbearable edge.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long before your bodies found a rhythm that bordered on devastating. It was steady, hypnotic and deep enough to leave you dizzy. Clark’s pace never faltered, never reckless, yet it carried a precision that left no part of you untouched. The air in the apartment grew heavy and humid with the sharp mix of your moans and his groans, the slap of skin against skin filling the darkened room until it sounded like the walls themselves were trembling with you.

Then his hand slid up, warm and broad, wrapping around your throat with a pressure just firm enough to make your head spin. He squeezed lightly, careful yet commanding and your eyes immediately rolled back. 

“Fuck…I’m…Uhhh–I’m coming. Yes–” You choked.

The sensation tipped you over the edge with startling force, your orgasm tearing through you in a whimpering, broken sound that was equal parts whine and cry. It might have embarrassed you if it had come from anyone else’s touch but with him, there was only trust and relief. Only the gentleness threaded through every inch of his strength.

The pulsing of your release gripped him tight, milking him until he groaned loudly, burying himself deep as he spilled into the condom. The sound he made, low, guttural and raw, vibrated against your spine as his forehead dropped to the top of your back. Both of you were shuddering, caught in the tail end of the storm, your breaths ragged and uneven as the room gradually quieted again.

You stayed there like that for a while, two minutes, maybe more, bodies heavy and languid in the aftermath. When he finally pulled out, the absence was met instantly with the comfort of his arms wrapping you close.

As it always did with Clark, the intensity of sex melted seamlessly into tenderness. Aftercare came like instinct, his lips covered you in soft kisses while his voice murmured reassurances, his laugh breaking into warm little chuckles when you did too. There was something almost comical in the way he padded across the room, completely naked, just to grab the list and dramatically cross off “prone bone” with a grin.

You both ended the night in the shower, washing each other with lazy strokes and shared smiles, before collapsing into bed tangled together. His arms caged you gently, his warmth draped around you like a blanket and the last thing you heard before sleep was his quiet, content hum against your hair.

You slept peacefully for about three hours before the unease started creeping in. First a little shift here, a toss there and then the ache bloomed sharp enough in your lower stomach that you curled around it, clutching the spot. The mistake was letting a tiny wince slip out. It was soft, barely audible but of course, nothing ever got past Clark. He sat up so fast it nearly startled you more than the pain.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent and already thick with worry.

You tried to brush it off, rolling onto your back with a weak laugh. “You and your superhearing. I’m fine, Clark. Go back to sleep.”

But “fine” had never once been good enough for him and you should’ve known better. He flicked on the light from his bedside table, casting a warm glow across the room, then promptly pushed the blanket off you.

“Excuse you!?” you protested as he straddled your hips and tugged up the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him. “What do you think you’re doing? Hey, pervert–”

He didn’t even look at your face, his mouth twitching in something dangerously close to a grin. “Funny, you didn’t call me a pervert earlier when I was inside you.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “Well, that’s–”

But your retort cut off when he began pressing gently on your lower stomach, carefully as well as methodically, watching your expression like it was the most important readout in the world. The second you winced, he reacted like you’d been scorched. He practically leapt off of you, hands fumbling for some sweatpants as though fabric could shield you from whatever he’d just confirmed.

“Clark–”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he rushed out, voice strained as he guided your legs into the pants and tugged them up with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re bruising. I can’t see clearly how bad, so…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before helping you sit up, his hand splayed against your back.

The soft sound you made as the motion tugged at your stomach almost broke him completely. His jaw tightened and you realized his eyes were frantic. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said firmly. “We’re making sure it’s not too bad. No arguments.”

His statement was only half a lie. Clark could see perfectly well but his mind had already jumped ten steps ahead, imagining every possible worst-case scenario.

You blinked at him, both touched and exasperated. Superman, absolutely unshakable in every other way and here he was, pale and rattled over the thought of accidentally hurting you.

“Okay then, but Clark I can dress myself,” you said as he tied the drawstring of your sweatpants, trying to act casual even though the subtle brush of his fingers against your skin sent heat racing through you.

He nodded rapidly, eyes soft but frantic. “I know, baby,” he murmured, cupping your face and pressing a string of gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve been more careful. I just—Well, it’s you and I–” His hands lingered as he slipped off your sleep shirt.

“You didn’t. I mean, not really… hard to tell when I was cramping around your dick,” you said, letting your voice take on that teasing edge, “but you know… details.”

He froze for a second, brow furrowing. “Are you… smiling? Why are you smiling?”

“Sadistic, right? Thought so,” you said with a small grin, the corners of your mouth tugging up as you watched him fumble with a clean shirt for you. “I’m trying to keep it in, but… you look really hot when you’re worried.”

Clark’s lips twitched into a nervous chuckle as he pulled the fresh shirt over your head. “Arms…I’m glad you find my worrying hot,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and self-conscious pride, before moving on to dressing himself. “But this really isn’t the right time.”

By the time you both got into the car and drove to the ER, your stomach still ached with cramps, but for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t stop giggling. Half from discomfort and half from the absurdity of it all. His anxious nature made it almost impossible to keep a straight face. 

Clark hovered over you in the waiting room like a hawk, pacing slightly and muttering under his breath about how no one seemed to understand the urgency of your “condition.” He leaned over the receptionist counter, using his most serious, authoritative voice.

“My girlfriend was… uh… injured,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s a… pelvis situation, very sensitive. We need a doctor, immediately.”

The receptionist blinked at him, confused. “Uh… okay… do you have an insurance card?”

Clark flinched, muttering something about bureaucracy slowing down life-or-death situations, then spotted a nurse strolling by, who he waved over frantically.

“Excuse me. Nurse!” he called, his voice full of desperate urgency. “She’s… giggling but bruised. Lower abdominal area. Pretty sure she needs professional evaluation. Stat.”

The nurse stopped and raised an eyebrow, taking one look at Clark’s intense, almost panicked expression and then at you curled slightly on the chair, clutching your stomach with a mix of pain and giggles.

She tilted her head, lips twitching. “Uh-huh… yeah, that tracks,” she said dryly, her eyes flicking back to Clark like, no wonder. “Room 3. You can wait there.”

Clark practically scooped you into his arms and carried you to the room, muttering apologies for the dramatic scene while simultaneously shushing your giggles. You could barely stop yourself from laughing at the sight of him tiptoeing as if the entire hospital were a crime scene.

Once you were settled on the hospital bed, Clark hovered like a shadow, wringing his hands and muttering, “I told the lady at the front desk, twice. I–”

“Clark, it’s a bruise,” you whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “People don’t come to the ER for bruises.”

His brow furrowed as he leaned down, lowering his voice. “People also don’t wake up in the middle of the night wincing. What if it’s not just a bruise? What if it’s a fracture? Or an internal bleed?”

You blinked at him. “You think you broke my pelvis?”

His ears flushed red. “...It’s possible.”

The nurse who had come in to take your vitals, clearly overheard and had to bite back a smile as Clark rattled off every symptom you didn’t have. “No fever, no nausea, no weakness in her legs but she winced three times on the way here and–”

“Clark,” you interrupted softly, pressing his hand, “I think I can handle answering the questions.”

“Sir,” the nurse said patiently, one hand on her hip. “She’s going to be fine. You can take a breath now.”

You tried to muffle a laugh. “Yes, do that before you get hospitalized,” you whispered, still clutching your stomach.

Then the doctor finally arrived, striding in with her clipboard and scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Clark, frozen mid-pacing next to the bed, pale and panicked and she immediately let out a soft laugh, as well as letting out a quiet comment on how giant your boyfriend looked perched in the corner, hands clasped like he was waiting for news of a life-saving surgery. 

“Oh… yeah. Okay. That’s the problem,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. But you?” she nodded at Clark, “Anything wrong with you besides the clear panic attack?”

He shook his head dramatically. “I’m completely worried, normal, casual about this and utterly terrified. All of the above…minus a few, maybe.”

“I know for sure ‘normal’ doesn’t belong on that list,” the nurse muttered. You laughed so hard your stomach pulled uncomfortably.

“He’s just…large,” you managed between chuckles.

“Unreasonably so,” she agreed, with the solemnity of a medical observation as if physics itself should’ve intervened.

Clark flushed bright red but didn’t back down. “I’m concerned. This is a… a delicate… very delicate situation.”

The doctor shook her head, smirking. “I can see that. Let’s get her checked and maybe… keep the heroics to a minimum?”

“He’s never been very good at that.” You snickered, letting your head fall back on the pillow. Clark gave you a pointed glare but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face as the doctor started her exam.

Even in the ER, Clark’s mix of worry, pride and ridiculous intensity made you laugh between groans and you both knew this was going to be a story retold many times, much to his chagrin.

The doctor, still suppressing a grin then gestured for Clark to step back. He hovered reluctantly, arms crossed over his chest like a storm cloud, peeking over her shoulder anyway.

“Alright,” she said, leaning over to examine you, “let’s see what’s going on here.” Her fingers pressed gently along your lower abdomen and pelvis, eyes flicking up at you with professional focus but her gaze couldn’t resist darting to Clark, who had gone completely pale.

“Uh… I’ll just… stand right here,” he muttered, inching closer than strictly necessary.

“Yeah,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “This is… exactly what I expected. Very… inflamed,” she murmured, glancing at Clark. “Not from an accident, I take it?”

Clark stammered. “Uh, no! I mean–well, technically…yes? It was consensual, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“She wasn’t,” You mouthed.

The doctor tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was solving a puzzle. “It happens. It’s nothing permanent. She’s perfectly fine, just bruised.” she said, letting out a small laugh.

You laughed weakly from the bed, covering your face. “See? Told you I’m fine.”

Clark froze. “Well you know I don’t like that word.” His cheeks burned red but there was no hiding the mixture of pride and embarrassment.

The doctor handed you some ice packs and gave Clark a pointed look. “Ice, rest, maybe a bit of over-the-counter pain relief and you,” she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “next time, dial it down to… human levels. Got it?” The doctor joked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clark said solemnly, almost saluting, though his lips twitched into a grin.

By the time the nurse finally waved you both out, Clark was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had insisted on carrying you to the car to make sure you weren’t in pain, occasionally glancing at you like he might tackle anyone who even looked at you wrong.

“So…” he began as soon as you were buckled in, voice quiet but intense, “maybe we should… reevaluate the list. Make sure nothing on there…physically overpowers you again.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the seatbelt pressing across your midsection a sharp reminder of the last few hours. “Yeah… no way, I’m not gonna do that. God forbid I actually enjoy the stretch! You have a big dick, Clark, get over it! I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I wrote that list and trust me…I’m loving it so far.”

He blinked, trying to look stern but failing spectacularly. “I… okay. That’s more sincerity than I expected and I’m…very proud of you.”

“Been working on it,” you said with a playful smile.

Clark nodded, his expression softening. “I can see that. I still need to make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, tugging gently at your hand that rested on your thigh.

The doctor had insisted on rest, no activity, just to let the bruises heal but your mind had already wandered. “Which I’m sure you’ll enforce, Superman,” you said, pausing with mock seriousness. “Umm… so, about this whole resting thing…”

“Sweetheart–”

“How far are we taking that? Face sitting doesn’t really count, right?” you asked, smirking. “I mean, technically…”

Clark froze mid-hand squeeze, his eyes widening. “We’re still in the ER parking lot and you’re thinking about sitting on my face?”

“Yes,” you said, trying not to giggle. “It’s literally zero impact on the bruising. The doctor said no activity, but… come on, Clark… that face is begging for it.”

He blinked slowly, then cleared his throat, releasing your hand to push up his glasses and discreetly, or not so discreetly, readjust himself. “We’ll… uh… we’ll see,” he muttered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as his mind raced.

“Will I… get an answer by morning?” you asked, glancing at the darkening sky where the first hints of sunrise were creeping in.

He started the car, eyes flicking to you with that mix of exasperation and mischief only he could pull off. “Baby, you’ll get an answer when I stop… leaking into my underwear,” he muttered, voice tight with effort. “Then I can think straight.”

You bit back a laugh, trying not to let the growing smile take over your face. “Will that be… soon?”

He shot you a glance, one brow quirking and lips twitching as if he were fighting his own amusement. 

“It’s unlikely,” he said flatly, though his eyes betrayed every ounce of delight and torment you were causing and you understood then, with a devilish grin, the absolute importance of depth. 

Clark clearly took it very seriously and you intended to test every inch of it.

A/n: If you had to write your own list, what are the top three things you’d put on it? I'll go first! 1. Having the guy wear a ghostface mask, motorcycle helmet or literally anything that covers his face while we... yk, 2. Cockwarming, 3. Watching my partner jerk it *bites finger* (If you judge me you'll have diarrhea for a month straight) Anyway!!

Thank you lots for reading, reblogging, commenting, requesting and following guys! love interacting with you all. See you later this week! 🫶

[torncwpid]

Top Donator (1)

Summary: Johnny is tuned in like always, until the guest moans and he realizes he knows exactly whose cock you’re drooling over

Cw: smut (mdni), voyeurism, sex work (camgirl), masturbation (male), age gap, unprotected sex, fixation/obsession tone, brief ideation of MMF threesome

Word count: 985

Younger!camgirl!reader having a special guest in her live stream, one of the streams where she invites the top donator of the previous month, where the guest is never fully visible to the camera, their face is always just perfectly cut out of the frame even though everything else is kept on full display for the thousands of viewers while they are either being used like a dildo while you fuck yourself dumb or they are fucking into your needy holes like a fuck machine.

This time the special guest was the latter. So incredibly rough yet so obviously caring towards you, something you never experienced before with the other guests — they only ever wanted to use you and that was it, no care or feelings involved. But this guest had no trouble manhandling you into whatever position he wanted you in right before grunting out a “This okay, luvie?”

That wasn't the only difference the viewers could spot between this guest and the previous ones, though — this guest is so much older than you. It was obvious even without seeing his face. His body was enough to give it all away — all solid weight and deliberate movement instead of the frantic show-off energy of the other guests. His hands were larger and rougher, and moved in a way that spoke of age and experience. Above all, the audience could feel it in the way he handled you. Every touch was controlled and full of the kind of authority only a man could have. He held your hips up when your legs gave out from how cock drunk you got, he kissed your spine between thrusts when he took you from the back, he held your jaw and forced you to stare at him when he could tell your focus was going somewhere else. Even through the screen, they all knew this was someone who would ruin you and still make sure you drank water when he was done.

Of course older!Johnny is tuned in for this stream just like he was for all your previous ones. He has never missed a single one since he found you only a month into your camgirl career. It's almost pathetic how he has unknowingly Pavloved himself into being half hard before you even go live. Now he's fisting his cock with the same mix of lust and jealousy he always falls into when he watches you moaning for another man. But this time it's different, it’s not some cocky little shit between your legs, it’s a man, one who’s clearly around Johnny’s age, maybe even a little older. Watching you being fucked by a man like that twists something low in his gut.

He hates it. Hates how much it turns him on, how good you look taking it from this guest. But worse than that, he hates how much he gets off on it. On how hot it is that you're making such pretty noises — that aren't fake like with the others — for someone who looks almost similar to him. It makes him want even more to be the one stretching you open, whispering praises into your hair while thousands of viewers beg for more. All he can do is watch, stroke himself raw to the sound of your needy little noises, and hope that someday if he just donates enough, tips the right way, waits patiently like a good fucking boy, you’ll finally let him be the special guest.

It takes less than five minutes for Johnny to get completely lost in pleasure as he watches this man bounce you on his lap with a tight grip on your waist, changing positions easily just to fuck you from the back while forcing your face down into the frilly pillows (never hard enough to keep the viewers from hearing your blissed out moans and gasps, though).

But it takes Johnny almost the entirety of the stream and two back-to-back orgasms to get out of his haze enough to realize it. He feels his breath catch in his throat and his hands come to a stop as his eyes are suddenly stuck on the arms that hold your body up. His eyes go wide when he stares and confirms that he does know the exact tattoos that cover this guest's arms and chest.

Now he hears the guest moan instead of the vague muffled groans from the start of the stream. And of fucking course the second that voice spills out clearer, cooing something soft and filthy down at you in that familiar brute British drawl, Johnny freezes. Every muscle goes tense, his grip going still at the base of his cock as recognition slams into him like a punch to the stomach.

He can tell the discovery should have pulled him out of the lustful haze he’s been drowning in since the stream started, but he can feel his cock twitch at the sight of his Lt. forcing his favourite — only — camgirl to take his cock down her throat. The camera captures just right the way Simon has your jaw stretched wide, your eyes glassy, your throat bulging with the thick shape of his cock as he slides it deeper.

Johnny should look away, he knows that. But instead, his hips buck up into his fist like they have a mind of their own and his eyes are locked to the screen.

He can’t stop watching and imagining what it must feel like to fuck his cum into your dripping cunt while Simon’s hand fists your hair, with his calm, ruined voice pouring praise and filth into your brain, his cock shoved down your throat like it belongs there. But fuck if he isn’t still stroking himself anyway, cock twitching with every wet choke and every smug little groan his lieutenant lets slip.

Oh, he'll have fun with this information.

Reminder that my asks are always open!

@141ce @g1v3meabreak @scoobywrites690

[disturb7a]

“i haven’t been kissed in six months.” you mutter, flopping dramatically onto gojo’s couch and fake a cry. your best friend, satoru gojo blinks at you from his spot on the opposite end of the couch, his long legs kicked up on the coffee table, one hand holding a half-eaten bag of chips, the other flipping through tv channels.

“that’s a tragedy,” he says, grinning. “a crime, even. someone could to go to jail for that.”

“yeah, well, welcome to my dating life. one tragic disappointment after another.” you sigh. it’s not like your always searching for a relationship, but god, 6 months!???

he tilts his head, that pretty face of his breaking into something evil and borderline mischievous. “maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places.” you roll your eyes and look at him through the corner of your eye. he chuckes. “satoru, don’t start. i already know what you’re gonna say.”

he raises a brow and places his hands on his chest, mock offended. “me? i’m innocent. i haven’t said a thing.” you snort out a laugh,“you’re practically thinking it. no, i’m not downloading tinder again. i’d rather die.”

satoru chuckles, that low, deep and amused sound that always makes your stomach flutter just a little, though you never admit that part. he’s been your best friend since you guys were five. he knows every dumb story, every secret, every time you’ve cried over someone who didn’t deserve it.

and still, he looks at you like you hung the moon. “okay, so no tinder,” he says. “no bad dick. no make out sessions. what do you want then?” you bury your face into a throw pillow and mumble, “i don’t know. something. someone.” he turns his face, his piercing blue eyes analyzing your face and he hums, soft and lazy. “you know,” he says slowly, “we could just kiss.”

you freeze. “satoru.”

“what?” he says, all innocence, as if he’s not offering to casually kiss you like it’s just another thursday evening. “who says we can’t kiss as friends?”

you sit up, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “uh, society? normal social boundaries?” he shrugs. “never cared much for those. you bite your lip. “you’re not serious.” his grin widens, lazy and dangerous. “deadly. come on, you’re hot, i’m hot. we’re both suffering. it’s just a kiss. for science.”

“for science?”

he nods, all playful charm. “yeah. a friendly experiment. no feelings. no expectations. just you and me. and our mouths.” you try to glare at him, but your lips are twitching. “this is the dumbest idea ever.”

“so that’s a yes?”

you hesitate, your heart’s pounding. it’s just a kiss, you tell yourself. it’s just gojo. you’ve known him forever. he’s always been touchy, flirty, a menace with a heart of gold. he’s held your hand when you were scared, carried you on his back when you twisted your ankle in college, made you laugh when you thought you’d never smile again. maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. you sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you glance back at him. “fine. one kiss. one.” his smile turns devilish. “scout’s honor.”

he shifts closer, your heart beats in anticipation, and suddenly he’s right there, in your space. his knees brush yours, his fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you sure?” he murmurs, and there’s a flicker of something softer in his voice, something that doesn’t feel quite so casual anymore. you nod, “yeah. i’m sure.”

his hand cups your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw, and then he leans in, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, but you don’t, you meet him halfway.

his lips are warm, soft, and good and feel way better than they should be. he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he knows your mouth, like he wants to know more. it’s not a hesitant kiss. it’s deep, teasing, with just a little edge of cockiness that makes your toes curl and your stomach churn. his other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly you’re not even thinking. your hands are in his hair, tugging a little, and he groans into your mouth, low and hungry. you gasp at the sound, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips.

your body reacts before your brain does. you’re flush against him, heart racing, hands trembling slightly as the kiss deepens. you pull back eventually, both of you a little breathless, your lips tingling, your skin hot. “…jesus,” you whisper.

gojo’s staring at you, eyes half-lidded and glowing with something unreadable. then he smirks. “see?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “doesn’t hurt to kiss your friends”

heyyyyy 🥸🥸 a bitch is back hehehehe, i love bestfriend!gojo he’s so hot 🤸🏽‍♀️🤸🏽‍♀️🤸🏽‍♀️