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sourhaneyart · 8 days ago

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The World is Not Enough

pairing: Zevlor x fem!Tav

summary: we know when to kiss and we know when to kill... if we can't have it all then nobody will. when everything around you is burning, when the forces of the Absolute close in from all sides, and when your life will never again be as calm and steady as it once was… the world is not enough but just his touch his touch is all it takes to remind you what living truly means.

notes: english isn’t my native language, so apologies for any weird phrasing! Since this is my first fanfic written in English, please be merciful like Gale with bad poetry xD also, I kept Tav’s details vague(ish) so you can imagine your own, but yeah—she’s a curvy half-tiefling who lives in dresses (Part 1) (Part 2 - here)

content warning: nsft, 18+ MNDI, smut, p in v, swearing, dirty talk, bound/being in control, age gap, kinks, tiefling-specific traits, slight angst, not proofread (maybe huh) songfic: The World is Not Enough (Garbage) word count (this part): 3,800

She could feel his gaze on her. But she certainly couldn't see him - in the drunken chaos of the celebration, it was hard to focus on any one thing, to catch someone's attention without outright asking for it. Say what you will, but tieflings sure knew how to throw a rager: wine and rum flowed like water, refilling again and again the souls thirsty for this fleeting respite.

But it wasn't enough. Tonight - Tav's thirst couldn't be quenched so easily. And she was beginning to understand why.

Damn tiefling blood! Tav only had about a third of it, but she'd gotten the full package: ringed horns, a tiny vestigial tail, and claws more akin to a hawk's talons than human nails. At least nature had spared her the fangs - small mercies and all that.

Tav shook her head and exhaled loudly, slowly sipping wine from her glass. Blindenstone rosé - that horribly tart fruit swill her father would've called "vinegar" and she herself wouldn't have deigned to smell. Having grown up in vineyards, Tav now filled her glass with bitter amusement.

Irony had haunted her ever since that nautiloid ship snatched her en route from Waterdeep, capsizing the entire crew and gutting her servants like rotten fish. Then - only darkness. After - the Wilderness, companions, the Grove. And now here they were: a daring band of fearless adventurers, and townsfolk celebrating this fleeting victory with them.

Kitsch. Had there been any point in studying all those sciences and priestly scriptures she'd wasted so much time on? Her father had wanted to mold Tav into a noble lady, heir to his Tashalar estates and vineyards. Eventually - to arrange a profitable marriage, an alliance that would elevate their family's status even further. To prove to everyone that descendants of "filthy goat-faces" could make something of themselves without connections. To renounce millennia of Malkhorandi heritage just to become proper members of society, to blend in with the "prime-born." Even if their family's features would always betray the truth.

The truth. Tav swirled her glass, pensively biting her lower lip. The truth was that despite Tashluta's size and tolerance toward all races passing through its port, only three tiefling families resided there permanently. And only one of them - Tav's own family - was wealthy enough to move in the city's highest circles. It was... complicated. Always. From early childhood, Tav had felt different. Like she didn't belong. And if she ignored appearances, she now understood why.

For the first time, Tav found herself surrounded by so many tieflings. They were loud, sharp-tongued, hot-blooded, gods damn it. Like bright sparks from Avernus had broken free to color this fucking black-and-white world. Tav stood apart from them too: she took after her elven mother in looks, though the difference wasn't nearly as stark as with the "prime-born" she'd spent most of her short life among. And yet...

The men and women - these tieflings - looked at her differently. Not as some exotic oddity, some perverse fantasy. But as... an equal. In their eyes, Tav was simply an attractive young woman of marriageable age. Their gazes held no unease, no morbid curiosity, certainly no disgust. Her "tainted" blood meant nothing here. She was among her own.

Lost in thought, Tav didn't immediately notice the change. She lifted her gaze, scanning through the fire-dancing crowd, the drink-laden tables, the camp's shadowy corners. But... nothing. The gaze she'd felt since the celebration began had vanished.

"Devil take it," Tav cursed, then immediately bit her tongue. Not the wisest words to throw around, especially given their circumstances.

Her eyes soon caught on another sight: Roland, having clearly noted her "lonely" state, was watching her over his goblet's rim with poorly concealed interest.

Tav licked then pursed her lips. Roland was... interesting. Egocentric, loud, quick to flare when plans went awry. But also clever, a gifted wizard, and decent enough as tieflings went - one who cared for his family above all else.

Yet... not what she craved tonight. One persistent thought had hammered at her skull since they'd reached the Grove.

She hadn't recognized Zevlor at first - in the battle's chaos below, there'd been no time to identify who'd rallied and blessed their party. But when Tav, warg-blood crusted from head to toe, finally stood face-to-face with him, she'd known exactly who stood before her.

Commander of the Hellriders.

Tav's father was a second-generation Baldurian who'd migrated to Tashalar to build his vineyard empire. But his grandfather had been born and raised in Elturel, where some of Tav's kin still dwelled... until recently.

The Hellriders, or Knights of Elturel - an elite cavalry unit serving as Elturel's primary military force throughout the 14th and 15th centuries. They'd helped establish and maintain civilization in that harsh region. Among Faerûn's most renowned martial orders, this city guard could outmatch entire nations' armies. Tav had visited Elturel but once with her father, witnessing a Thirteen-Warrior Patrol clad in gleaming crimson-and-white plate bearing inverted crescent moons. Their Commander - a tiefling astride an armored bay charger - had been the sole mounted figure. The memory stuck not just for the patrol's spectacle to her child-eyes, but for how that tiefling, cutting across the square on his light warhorse, had stirred something deep in her young heart. He'd radiated certainty and protection.

Tav exhaled sharply, ignoring Roland's now-pinned attention.

The Descent into Avernus was considered a horrific tragedy that marked even tieflings beyond Elturel. Tav never expected to find refugees in this Grove. The discovery unsettled her. Despite her own struggles and diluted infernal blood, she'd resolved to aid them. Her plan was nearly complete.

"Oh, there you are!" came the interaction Tav had dreaded. Wine-fueled courage propelled Roland toward her, grinning roguishly. "Might I ask why our savior heroine spends this celebration alone?"

"Hmm?" Tav met his gaze with deliberate calm, offering just enough smile to avoid misinterpretation. "Dear Roland, look at this crowd. How could I possibly be alone?"

The tiefling's drink-glazed eyes searched hers, parsing flirtation from rejection.

"Well, I meant... never mind. Perhaps," typical Roland deflection followed instantly.

Tav tilted her head slightly, studying his expression - more prickly hedgehog than hellspawn now. Likely he'd imagined her leaping into his arms post-greeting. Amusing, really. Even had she fancied him, Roland would've needed to work far harder for her attention - an effort he clearly wasn't accustomed to making.

Hesitating, Tav took a sip from her goblet, noting with dismay how quickly the wine was disappearing.

"Roland, tell me..." She paused, uncertain whether to even ask. "Do you know if Zevlor's still here?" Catching his questioning look, she immediately plastered on a foolish smile. "I wanted to discuss some route details while there's still time."

Roland narrowed his eyes - some calculation clearly occurring behind them. Then he snorted, took a large swig of his drink, and shook his head with an exaggerated exhale.

"Dunno. Saw him heading toward the quarters with Tilses a while back." He stepped closer, and Tav caught the full bouquet of alcohol on his breath. "Though I could suggest far more interesting diversions, Tav. No maps, no plans, no fretting about tomorrow." His hand moved toward her forearm but froze mid-reach when she fixed him with a sobering, icy stare.

Clenching his fist, he retreated that same step and cleared his throat.

"Most kind, Roland. But not tonight. Apologies." Keeping her expression neutral, Tav offered a deliberately polite smile. She downed the remaining wine in one go, then strode past the visibly displeased tiefling toward the drink tables.

The selection was dismal, but her searching eyes spotted a bottle of Ashaban Dusk - Zevlor's preferred vintage, if she recalled. After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the bottle and marched decisively away from camp, deeper into the Grove. Better to regret action than inaction.

Tav stood before the stone door of Zevlor's private quarters for ten full minutes, unable to knock. Her thoughts tangled and scattered. Worse, she'd only just realized the Commander hadn't left the celebration alone - Tilses was likely with him. Truth be told, the female tiefling shadowed Zevlor constantly despite his repeated protests about not needing a bodyguard. Tilses clearly had other ideas.

"Well then." Tav exhaled sharply and shook herself. She adjusted her skirt, checked her corset, and tugged at her shirt collar to straighten the stubborn fabric. The last motion made her wince - during the skirmish, a goblin bolt had struck just below her collarbone. The pain had been excruciating. Shadowheart had tended it promptly, yet the wound still wept stubbornly. Before the celebration, the cleric had applied a healing poultice, promising it would mend by morning.

Tav rolled her shoulders, frowning. Her thoughts kept fracturing and reforming. Zevlor was no longer that imposing paladin in armor gleaming with Amaunator's Gift. Now he seemed grounded, weary, almost lost - a mere shadow of the Hellrider she'd once seen in Elturel. But... Tav didn't care. She knew what lay beneath that cracked exterior.

A strong, intelligent, diplomatic, damn grown tiefling who'd been plaguing her fantasies for days. Every movement, every restrained smirk, every furrowed brow... Blinking hard, she shook her head as if to regain control. In all their time at the Grove, he'd shown no personal interest. Understandable - with a bloodthirsty goblin army at their gates, carnal pleasures hardly took priority. Yet...

That morning, while debriefing the camp cleanup, Tav caught herself staring at her object of interest for an embarrassingly long time. He’d seemed to notice. And… had something just passed between them? She couldn’t say for certain—just fleeting sensations, guesses. A glance, a brief touch, tension in the air. Some might call it pheromones at play, and perhaps there was truth to that. But… could she really ask him for something like this?

Tav snorted to herself. After all, tomorrow they’d be gone. One evening—no big deal. Even if he refused, there were plenty of ways to avoid him until departure to spare herself further humiliation. And since when had she become so insecure?!

She swallowed dryly, feeling the lack of wine in her bloodstream. A decision had to be made. Steeling herself, she stepped forward and triggered the door mechanism.

Zevlor stood with his back to the entrance, hands braced against a table strewn with maps. Nearby, Tilses bustled by the bookshelves, packing items into one of the numerous bags lining the wall alongside burlap sacks and crates.

They’d apparently been mid-conversation, because as Tav entered the corridor leading to the "office," Tilses let out a loud scoff and threw up her hands.

"Oh please, she’s practically a child! If you’d seen how much time she wastes on..." She cut herself off, whirling toward the hallway and reaching for her sword.

"At ease. Just me." The alcohol had dulled Tav’s sense of decorum, so she flashed a grin, raising the bottle in a half-salute and adopting an air of playful innocence. "What, couldn’t stand the party? Or is our company not to your taste?"

Zevlor straightened slowly, turning toward his uninvited guest. His expression remained calm, more amused than annoyed. So her presence didn’t irritate him.

"Oh, Tav. It’s nothing like that," Tilses said, eyeing the girl with scrutiny before shifting her gaze to Zevlor and back. "The Commander and I just had some last-minute preparations. I’m surprised anyone noticed we’d left."

"Fair point," Zevlor finally spoke, turning his full attention to Tav as he crossed his arms and perched on the edge of his desk. Under his piercing, appraising gaze, Tav felt goosebumps cascading down her spine. A faint tremor shot through her legs, and she swallowed hard, unconsciously worrying her lower lip.

"Tilly..." Zevlor addressed his aide again, "I realize it was selfish of me to pull you away from the festivities for such trivial tasks. And it's grown quite late. Return to the celebration—you needn't stay. I'll handle the rest."

"But..." Tilses hesitated, fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword.

The tension in the room was palpable enough that no special perception was needed to sense it. Tilses clearly disapproved of Zevlor being left alone with an outsider—though Tav was neither a mere stranger nor, strictly speaking, even human. Yet Zevlor himself remained ice-calm. Perhaps he trusted her? Or, more likely, he understood that if Tav had meant to kill him tonight, Tilly would've been an obstacle at best—and collateral at worst.

"Tilses. That's an order."

When he turned to his bodyguard, Tav could easily picture his expression: weary sternness accentuated by the hellish glow of his pupils and the sharp cut of his cheekbones. There was nothing frightening in it—just cold, unshakable certainty. This tiefling was clearly accustomed to command. And more importantly, to being obeyed—without question, and without delay.

"Yes, Commander. As you say." Tilses removed her hand from her sword and fixed Tav with a long look. "Pleasant evening." Tav shrugged and offered an awkward smile as Tilses brushed past her and left. The stone door groaned open, then shut.

They were alone.

For a moment, silence hung between them. Some tieflings carried an unsettling presence—like being stalked by a predator, or the creeping sensation of something skittering across your skin. A primal instinct warning of true infernal influence. An involuntary inheritance, a side effect of lineage tied to the Nine Hells, or at the very least, a human bloodline tainted by infernal pact.

Tav endured the sudden weight of it in silence, the pressure manifesting the moment Tilses departed. She expected him to speak first, but he only studied her in quiet appraisal, as if waiting for her to act.

Only now did Tav notice he wasn't wearing armor: the tiefling sat in his usual leather trousers, but instead of his cuirass, Zevlor wore only a simple dark-gray shirt, unbuttoned to mid-chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The kind of attire suited for relaxed storytelling around a fire, passing flasks between companions. Likely, he'd meant to finish his work quickly and retire. Tav huffed a quiet laugh—she'd never seen this much of Zevlor's bare skin before. And in her wine-hazed mind, it sparked undeniable interest.

"So," he broke the silence at last with a rough exhale, dragging a hand down his face, "To what do I owe the honor of your visit this evening, Tav?" He tilted his head slightly, teeth grazing his lower lip in thought. The words could've been sarcastic, but his tone remained even. "And yes, I apologize for leaving the celebration early. And for the mess—I wasn't expecting guests tonight." A brief smile flickered as he shrugged.

Tav stepped forward without waiting for an invitation. Perhaps it had been implied.

"Oh, I..." She began vaguely, as if unprepared for the question and still unsure how to navigate the conversation, "Drinking and dancing are fun and all... But sometimes you just want quiet company." She drifted absently around the room, pretending to examine the stone shelves of books and packed crates. "Fewer loud noises and grinning faces. If you take my meaning."

"Mm." The tiefling gave a short nod, watching Tav with interest. "Better than most. Well then. I’d be glad to assist in this... trying endeavor." Finally, he smirked, his gaze dropping to the bottle she still carried. "I see you favor Ashaban Dusk as well?"

"Sembian red—simple yet daringly bold. ‘This wine may surprise you,’" Tav recited the vineyard’s slogan with theatrical flair, grinning at his raised brow. "Oh, don’t look so shocked. I grew up on Tashalar vineyards. Memorizing merchant slogans was like a nursery rhyme. Saying it aloud now feels absurd." She shrugged, laughing softly as she offered him the bottle. "Care to do the honors?"

Zevlor’s eyes lingered on her fingers curled around the neck, then traveled up her arm to brush over one bared shoulder left exposed by her shirt. Tav felt the weight of that look like a physical touch but held her ground, waiting.

With a faint smile, he nodded—first accepting the bottle, then circling his desk.

"Of course," on the shelves behind the workspace, a pair of unpacked silver goblets were found, and the tiefling swiftly dealt with opening the bottle and pouring the wine into them.

He uncorked the bottle with practiced ease, pouring as the tart grape scent unfurled in the air, raising goosebumps along Tav’s skin.

"To a quiet evening, then," he handed her a goblet, lifting his own in a brief salute before drinking, "and tolerable company."

Tav watched him over the rim of her goblet, wrestling with her desires.

That damned table had been haunting her. For two days straight, she couldn't think of anything else but that gods-forsaken stone slab—or rather, the fantasy of pinning Zevlor against it, straddling him, riding him until his voice gave out and he begged for release.

But there was another version too. One where she wouldn’t mind being the one bent over that very table, pressed into its cold surface by the Commander’s weight, taking his hard, desperate cock as deep and rough and long as they both needed to burn this cursed place from their minds.

Tav let out a sharp exhale right into her goblet, startled by the vividness of her own fantasy. The wine, which had just touched her lips, splashed in all directions, spilling past her mouth and trickling in quick crimson streaks down her chin, threatening to stain her white shirt.

"Damn it all!" Tav cursed reflexively, grinning at her own clumsiness. She set the goblet aside, licked her lips, and swiped the back of her hand across her chin to save her clothes from ruin.

When she looked up, she was met with a burning gaze that stole her breath.

"I turn into such a clumsy fool after a few glasses," Tav smirked, opting not to mention that "a few" had long since escalated to bottles. "My apologies, Commander."

"N-no. It's fine, don't apologize," Zevlor muttered in a low, rumbling voice before clearing his throat and looking away. Tav noticed his tail flicking behind him, tapping an uneven rhythm against the chair legs. "And... drop the title. Especially that one. You've done far more for us than I ever could."

She frowned slightly, tracing the rim of her goblet with her fingers. Zevlor sat at his desk, occasionally sipping from his glass, his gaze now distant as it drifted over the map. Tav, meanwhile, sat across from him, on the opposite side of the table. The conversation had stalled.

She sighed and brought the goblet to her lips again, taking another sip. The movement must have caught his attention, because out of the corner of her eye, she noted him stealing glances her way.

"Tav, you've got..." The moment she lowered her glass, Zevlor spoke—or rather, tossed out an unfinished remark before reaching toward her face, his thumb brushing the hollow beneath her lip, likely wiping away the remnants of spilled wine. Judging by the shift in his expression, he'd acted first and thought second.

His next reaction seemed to be to pull his hand back and apologize, but Tav didn’t let him. Her fingers closed around his wrist, and she leaned forward slightly, pressing the faintest, most delicate kiss to the pad of his thumb without breaking eye contact.

He swallowed hard, but his hand didn’t tremble, nor did he recoil. The tiefling just watched her through narrowed eyes, jaw clenched, his tail lashing restlessly behind him. His entire posture radiated tension. Had she pushed too far?

"Does this... bother you?" Playing the fool once more to ease the mood, Tav tilted her head slightly, peering up at him with feigned shyness. But she didn’t release his hand—instead, she nuzzled her cheek against his open palm before kissing it again, this time trailing lower, toward the pulse point at his wrist.

"By the Hells' sulfur—" His voice cracked into a rough baritone, his gaze burning into her with unblinking intensity. "This isn't unpleasant, Tav. And you damn well know it. But..." A low exhale as his eyes dropped to her lips. "By the Nine Hells, girl. You have no idea what game you're playing."

Tav barely suppressed a smirk, thrilled by his reaction. His defenses were crumbling. She was on the right track.

"A game? I don't know what you mean," she murmured, nuzzling his palm before pressing a kiss to its center. "I'm just... enjoying the evening."

Zevlor exhaled sharply, his amber eyes locked onto her.

"You're complicating an already precarious situation," he growled, his frown deepening as he licked his lips, unable to look away from her ministrations. "Tomorrow, we—"

"Tomorrow can wait." Still gripping his wrist, Tav rose from her seat—the wine in her veins fueling a reckless boldness beyond her usual audacity. She leaned across the table, closing the distance until they were nearly nose to nose, flashing a daring grin. "Tonight, we celebrate what we've already achieved, Commander. Haven’t we earned a few hours of respite?"

Zevlor tensed but didn’t pull away. His gaze traced her face, his heated breath ghosting over her skin.

Tav snatched his goblet—hers was already empty—and took a defiant swig. Then, with a firm push, she forced him back against his chair and planted one knee between his thighs, dragging his hand back to her mouth.

Without breaking eye contact, she parted her lips, tongue flicking out to trace a slow, deliberate path up his inner wrist before grazing her teeth over the sensitive skin, sealing it with a kiss. She felt it—the shudder that racked him, the muscles in his arm coiling tight, the way his stare darkened with raw hunger.

A smug huff escaped her. Testing further, she caught his index finger between her teeth, biting down gently at the knuckle. The sharp inhale he couldn’t stifle told her everything: He liked it rough.

Tav exhaled hotly against his skin, lavishing his fingers with slow, wet kisses—tongue, teeth, lips in a torturous rhythm.

Zevlor’s nostrils flared, jaw clenched so tight the tendons stood stark. When his hand twitched, Tav paused, quirking a brow. He remained silent, lips pressed thin, but didn’t push her away. Good.

"Mm? Oh, forgive me. If I’m... unwanted in this capacity," she purred, feigning innocence as she released his hand and stepped back from his chair. "Well. I apologize for my forwardness. We can always blame the wine, hah?"

She’d barely taken a performative step away when Zevlor seized her forearm and yanked her back—except something went wrong. White-hot pain lanced through her shoulder and left arm, stars exploding behind her eyes. A choked cry escaped her as the world tipped sideways, consciousness flickering... -

- ((( Shall we turn up the heat on part 2?^^ Say please~ ))) Want tag alerts for Zevlor fics by me? Comment below 👇

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earako · 11 months ago

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A/N: idea from @goodtimeswithluigi thanks for the flangst fuel ^^

-/-

The thing that sucked about having memories erased and then coming back is that only some of them decided to be polite and slowly trickle in. Waddles, the kids, those memories poured in like the gentle trickle of water from a watering can. More immediate memories like Soos and Wendy slowly flowed in and filled the small pond in Stan's mind that was probably labelled 'family-' not that he'd ever admit it outloud.

Then there were the older memories. The ones that made it feel like Stan had just rammed his head in a brick wall for hours on end. Older memories usually. Stuff like high school, Glass Shard Beach, Ma's perfume, and Pa's suffocating cologne that even the memory of made Stan's head hurt.

Then...then there were the memories that made Stan want to curl up in bed all day. Those...those were usually memories of his grifter days. Or the science fair incident. The combination of having to live through the worst moments of his life, feeling all the hurt and pain and heartache and having to go through the emotional rollercoaster that was his late teens to early 30s over and over and over again. The late nights, the portal, the journals, slapping on a fake smile as Stanlely desperately tried to keep a con going long enough to pay off the house and loans because he'd be damned if his brother didn't have a house to come back to.

This morning was a memories that made Stan want to rot in bed kind of day.

His oh so wonderful brain decided to wake Stan up with the phantom feeling of gaping wounds where wings were supposed to be.

And here Stan had thought he was just born without them. An anomoly type thing, like his brothers fingers.

The searing phantom pain in his back said otherwise.

Stan tried to ignore it. Bit the pillow and tried to will himself back to sleep.

The pain pulsed again.

Stan huffed an irritated sigh and slowly pushed himself up, rolling onto his side with some difficulty and managing to sit up.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," Stan hissed to himself as he slowly got to his feet. "Sweet Moses, phantom pains a bitch," he murmered, slowly making his way downstairs to either the kitchen or the living room. He'd decide later whether the phantom pain required a t.v distraction or a food distraction.

"Stanley?"

"Ford?" Huh. Guess tonight was gonna be a brother distraction. Stanley ambled his way over to where Ford was hunched over the kitchen table, a mug gripped tightly in his hands.

Stan's back twinged again. He tried to hide it, grit his teeth, hid the pained gasp with a groan as he sat. Ford raised an eyebrow.

"And you're up because?"

"Hey, back at ya, Si- Poindexter," Stan replied, taking mind to avoid using the name the isoceles bastard had tainted- and how dare he, how DARE he! That was Stan's name first, that was the name Stan gave his brother to keep away the bullies and the bad thoughts that thought having one extra finger made someone an unlovable freak- if Stan had another chance to deck the discount dorito he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"You first," Ford grumbled, sipping what better not be coffee cause the last thing Ford needed on top of the stress of everything was more caffiene. Stanely narrowed his eyes at his twin.

"I asked first."

"Respect your elders."

"By fifteen minutes-ack!" Where Stan had been aiming for playful banter, his back decided now would be a good time to remember having muscle and sinew twisted, ripped, cut, then for the hell of it, tied into various knots. All while past Stan's screams were ringing into current Stan's ears.

A chair scraped, a cup clattered onto the table. Six fingered hands settled themselves on Stan's shoulder and were he caught up any further in the flashback Stan would have pushed the hands away.

Thankfully his phantom pain addled brain was in the present enough to recognize the six fingered hand was his brother and brother meant safe.

Stan violently squashed down the part of him that remembered holding up a hand for a high six only to get the curtains closed on him.

"Stan? Stanley?"

"Phantom pains a bitch," Stan mumbled, breath hitching and stifling down another pained groan. Without needing to be asked, cautious hands slowly made their way to where the base of where Stan's wings used to be and pressed down a bit. Stan shuddered.

"Hurts?"

"God no, do that again," Stan sighed as his twin began to chase away the pain and exhaustion radiating out of his back with nimble fingers. He hissed a few times.

Silence. Fabric rustling as Ford rubbed firm circles on Stan's back.

Ticking of the grandfather clock.

The sink dripping, Soos said he's fix it tomorrow.

Stan's exhales as Ford worked the tension out of his muscles.

It would've been nice, plesant even if it weren't for the worry nibbling at the corner of Stan's mind.

Ford was going to ask, wasn't he.

He was going to ask about the wings, moreso Stan's lack of wings, and then Stan was going to have to remember that memory and the spots where his wings seemed to be just would not stop throbbing! Ford's fingers were doing a good job of easing some of the pain the scars still screamed.

"Hey...Stan..." his twin began. Stan internally braced himself. He didn't want to talk about it but if Ford asked...

"Yeah?

"Ah, it's...nothing. I forgot what I was going to say."

Ford was always a shit liar.

And with the silence that followed Stan almost wished his twin had just asked instead of trying to spare his feelings.

-/-

""Ah, it's...nothing. I forgot what I was going to say." Ford clumsily lied, returning his focus to easing some of his twins pain.

He managed to distract himself for 5 seconds before his brain finally latched onto the issue bothering him.

His brother didn't have wings.

Ford's brother didn't.

Have.

Wings.

Now, that wasn't to say that being wingless never happened. Similar to his own polydactyly, some people just weren't born with wings.

Stan wasn't one of those people.

Ford remembered feathers brushing up against his own, large, proud wings curled protectively around him as Stanley told Crampelter and his gang to go suck an egg.

He remembered gentle hands going through his feathers, fixing them up and getting rid of old ones.

Ford remembered flapping his wings happily then instructing his twin to turn around, it was Stan's turn for preening.

Ford remembered how big Stanley's wings would puff up when he was angry or defending Ford from bullies.

And Ford remembered Stan's wings wrapping around himself whenever he accidentally caught their father on a bad day.

Stanley had wings, Ford knew Stanley had wings.

When Stanley was kicked out left he still had his his wings, Ford remembered them shaking, then drooping, and then puffing up again in hurt and anger.

And now Stan's wings were gone. He didn't have them anymore.

At first Ford had thought Stan was hiding them, similar to what Ford did with his own wings. He had thought his twin was just keeping his wings tucked away and safe beneath his clothes.

Then the fearymid happened.

And the clothing switch.

If Stan still had his wings Ford should've still been able to see them in his periphery when he reached behind his back to hand Stan his sweater, coat, and gloves. But he didn't.

And Ford had hoped that it was just because his brother was keeping his wings tucked close to him. He hoped he just couldn't see his brothers wings and tried to ignore the persistent voice asking what if Stan didn't have wings anymore? What if something happened to him?

Stan should have been fine, he was the personality, the free spirit.

Stan was supposed to be fine.

He wasn't.

And when Ford had switched clothes back with his now empty of all memories twin he was met with a cold, painful truth he could no longer deny.

Stan no longer had wings.

Ford's baby brother, his younger twin, had no wings.

Long, angry, jagged scars were all that was left of where large, dark brown, thick feathered wings should have been.

Someone or something had taken his brothers wings. And with how the skin looked Ford could only assume whoever or whatever had taken Stanley's wings yanked them out the same way a person would pull out a weed from a garden.

Ford didn't say anything, didn't want to add the pain and trauma that was obvious from where he was rubbing circles on Stan's back. That, on top of trying to help Stan regain his memories, it would have been too much. Stan would have been overloaded, asking about the wings while Stan was still regaining memories would have done far more harm than good

But Stan knew now, at least Ford assumed he did. Stan said phantom pains. Phantom pains were from injuries or lost limbs.

Stan knew he lost his wings, he must have. And Ford wanted to know, he wanted answers, targets, a hit list. He wanted to kniw the stories that hud beneath the skin where he could feel knotted sinew, muscles, and nerves.

He truly did not like the story the raised ridges and bumped on his brothers skin told.

Ford's hands began to press harder.

"Ford, FordFordFord ease up!" Stan yelped, squirming under Ford's hands.

"Sorry! Sorry," Ford said, taking his hands off Stan's back as if he had burned him (and he tried not to think of the brand just behind Stanley's right shoulder-)

"I didn't say stop, just ease up," Stan grumbled with no real heat or annoyance. Ford flexed his fingers, tried to ignore the, what he couod only describes as dried gore beneath Stan's skin, and returned to easing up his twins phantom pain.

He had to ask.

He needed to ask.

But he didn't know how and the silence that started out comfortable was turning oppressive and it would just be awkward at this point, what with Ford starting to say something and then saying he forgot.

Stan wasn't buying it. Out of the two of them Ford never got the hang of lying, at least not as well as Stan.

The questions sat in his throat, but Stan was so vulnerable with Ford at the moment, showing more trust in him now then he in the past weeks since Ford came back. Even while temporarily amnesic Stan was still fairly closed off and guarded, the fact that he hadn't told Ford to leave, that he was even letting Ford try and help with his pain?

Stan was like a wild animal when it came to his pain. He hated showing weakness, even to his own family and it only got worse as they grew older. Ford didn't want to break the delicate trust being placed in him at the moment by asking a boneheaded question or saying something that Stan would take the wrong way and causing him to march back upstairs, phantom pain be damned.

"Ford, I know you want to ask already so just say it." Ford jolted, hands momentarily stopping their movement. Stan leaned back, silently begging Ford to continue.

How much pain was Ford's twin in for him to be actively seeking out help? Stan hated asking for help.

He continued rubbing his twin's back when he felt Stan press up against his hand a second time.

"...How long?"

"You wanna be more specific?"

"I- when you- 30 years ago I thought you were just. Hiding them. Like I was." Stan's shoulders quaked with a low, humourless sounding chuckle.

"Nah, old things were gone long before that, si- poindexter." It was Ford's turn to wince.

That was always Stan's name for him. That name, only Stan was supposed to call him that yet Bill had to go and taint it and he didn't even come up with that nickname to begin with how dare he-

"You stopped again." Stan commented. Ford apologized but Stan just shrugged it off.

"S'fine now." Stan leaned away from Ford's hand's, rolled his shoulder's, then started back towards the stairs,

"Wait," Ford called, quickly grabbing Stan's wrist to stop him. His twin turned around and raised a brow in question.

"Are-whoever- you'd tell me if they were still alive, right?" Ford asked, the hand not holding Stan's wrist hovering over where wings used to be, where strong roots for strong wings were now just planes of ugly, angry, broken and mutilated skin.

Ford had never felt so angry in his life when he saw those scars. Not even when his perpetual motion machine broke.

"Even if they were, they're good at hiding."

"I'm good at seeking."

"Ford, drop it." The command lilted upwards at the end, sounding more like a question instead.

"Stanley. Your wings."

"Ack, they've been gone for more then 40 years now, what can ya do."

"Help with phantom pains apparently, and you will let me help you with them in the future." When Stan opened his mouth to protest Ford added, "Either you let me help you with your phantom pains or I dig into your past, find everyone who had ever hurt you, and interrogate them until one of them confesses to taking your wings."

Stan stared at Ford for a solid three seconds before answering. "Jesus, okay, okay, I'll let you know when the phantom pain acts up again."

"I will know if you're hiding it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Ford." Stan turned around again and went to head up the stairs but paused at the base of the steps for a moment.

"Hey uh..thanks, by the way. Not just for the back rub but for the uh. Memories and stuff, ya'know."

"You're stuck with me, knucklehead," Ford said, stepping closer to his twin and lightly tapping a fist against his shoulder. "If you get to spend 30 years bringing my stubborn ass back from various different dimensions I get to spend the next 30 years fussing over you."

"You can barely look after yourself."

"I'll learn." He opened his fist and squeezed Stan's shoulder, hoping it would convey what he didn't know how to say in words. Silent I love you's, thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for trusting me, and thank you for not giving up on me, he hoped that Stan got the message because if Ford even tried to say any of that at the moment he'd end up fumbling or choking in his words.

Stan reached up and squeezed Ford's hand back, understanding shining in his eyes.

His brother didn't have wings, and Ford could try to blame himself all he wanted to.

Guilt wouldn't bring Stan's wings back, feeling sorry for Stan wouldn't bring his wings back.

But Stan didn't seem to blame Ford so Ford wouldn't blame himself.

Stan trusted Ford with his pain. Ford would do his best to make sure his twins trust isn't misplaced.

They'd be okay.

#gravity falls #stan pines #ford pines #j writes stuff #ahhh how do you do endings-#and *shakes the older pines twins* why are you two so emotionally constipated-#I wanted them to have like #this whole emotionally breakdown thing #but they said no #and proceeded to not know how to say I love you to each other-#Also play with your dolls however you want #but this is platonic -brotherly- stuff #okay?#okay cool #night y'all imma pass out now-#edit: looking back at this in the morning and aahhhh the typos-#hopefully they don't distract too much from the reading-

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stillalive19567 · 5 months ago

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Momo ate the Moon ( Now we've got to fix it ) Weird story that came into my mind while I was writing my maths exam.

It started with darkness.

Not normal nighttime darkness, but a complete and utter void. No moonlight. No stars. Just an eerie, all-consuming blackness that felt wrong.

TWICE and BLACKPINK had gathered outside their dorm, staring up at the empty sky in stunned silence.

"Uh... where’s the moon?" Tzuyu finally asked, breaking the tension.

"Gone," Jihyo whispered, her voice hollow. "It’s just… gone."

"Maybe it went on vacation?" Chaeyoung joked nervously.

But the ground beneath them was already rumbling.

"Okay, who did it?" Jeongyeon demanded, arms crossed.

"How do you ‘do’ a moon disappearance?" Sana asked, confused.

Dahyun, who had been squinting at something on the ground, suddenly gasped. "GUYS. Footprints!"

They all turned to see a trail of suspiciously wobbly footprints leading from the dorm to the middle of the yard. And there, in the center, stood Momo.

Barefoot.

Sleepy.

Rubbing her stomach.

"Momo…" Jihyo began carefully. "What did you do?"

Momo blinked. Then yawned. Then blinked again. "Huh?"

"THE MOON, MOMO. WHERE IS IT?!"

Momo frowned, deep in thought. Then her eyes widened.

"Oh."

A long silence.

"Oh?" Jeongyeon repeated dangerously. "What do you mean, ‘Oh’?!"

Momo hesitated before mumbling, "I think... I ate it."

Lisa, standing beside Y/N, whispered, "You know, if you ate the moon, I’d still love you."

Y/N, completely serious, nodded. "I’d eat the sun for you."

Lisa sighed dreamily. "That’s so weird. I love you."

Nayeon screamed.

The world was already falling apart. Gravity was acting drunk. Birds were flying upside-down. Buildings were slightly tilting. The tides were going feral. Entire oceans were having temper tantrums. Worst of all? Permanent daylight. And Sana could not live without her beauty sleep.

"Okay," Jihyo exhaled, rubbing her temples. "We need to fix this. Immediately."

"Let’s just build a new moon," Lisa suggested, wrapping an arm around Y/N. "You know, like how we build up each other’s confidence before stage performances."

Y/N grinned. "Flattery won’t save us from cosmic doom, babe."

"But it might make our last moments sweeter?"

"You can’t just BUILD a moon!" Jeongyeon snapped.

"Oh, but we can LAUNCH a giant wheel of cheese into orbit?" Jisoo pointed at Rosé, who was holding an absurd amount of gouda.

"The moon is made of cheese!" Rosé argued. "This is science!"

They tried. It failed. The cheese plummeted back to Earth, obliterating a KFC. Jisoo had to be restrained from sobbing.

Then came the worst part.

Reality shuddered. A crack split the sky open like shattered glass. And from the abyss emerged...

The Moon God.

A 700-foot-tall celestial rabbit made of shimmering silver light, eyes burning with rage.

"WHO DARES DEVOUR ME?" it boomed, its voice shaking the heavens.

Everyone pointed at Momo.

Momo pointed at herself. "Oh. Yeah. My bad."

Jennie squealed, “Hubby look, a bunny.”

Rosé said, “Yeah, no shit sherlock.”

Jennie flaunted her puppy eyes,” Can I get him?”

Rosé grabbed The Moon God as if he weighed like nothing and put him in front of Jennie.

Jennie hugged him. “It’s so fluffy, I’m gonna die.”

Rosé showed off her signature smirk. “Anything for my wifey.”

Lisa grabbed Y/N’s hand. "I hope you know I’d fight a god for you."

Y/N smirked. "Lucky for you, we might actually have to."

Jisoo groaned. ”Am I the only same person here?!”

The Moon God descended. "YOU SHALL PAY."

"Wait!" Y/N stepped forward, desperate. "We can fix this! What if... we give you a new moon?"

The Moon God’s cosmic eyes narrowed. "Prove it."

They scrambled. Lisa floated in the sky, trying to be the moon. It worked for five minutes, but she got bored. Chaeyoung and Mina glued glow-in-the-dark stickers they got to light up their love on a boulder. It got rejected by the universe.

Tzuyu tried using science. Reality ignored her.

Nothing worked.

The Moon God sighed. "You leave me no choice. Prepare for celestial war."

Jihyo groaned. "Of COURSE this had to end in a fight."

Lisa grabbed Y/N’s hand. "If the world ends, I just want you to know—I’d still love you in the next life. And the one after that. And—"

"Lisa, we might not have a next life if the moon eats us."

"Wait!" Momo stepped forward. "What if we settle this with a food challenge instead?"

The Moon God paused. "A food challenge?"

"Yeah! If I win, you bring the moon back. If you win... you can erase me."

Gasps all around.

The Moon God considered. Then grinned. "Very well. A cosmic eating contest it is."

The battle was legendary. The Moon God devoured asteroids like cereal. Momo inhaled a whole galaxy. The Moon God bit into a star. Momo ate the concept of hunger itself.

Reality glitched.

And then—

The Moon God dropped its spoon. "I... I concede."

With a celestial sigh, the Moon reappeared, glowing brightly. The universe reset.

They had won.

Everything was normal again.

Until...

Momo looked at the sky and whispered, "That sun looks kinda tasty too."

Nayeon screamed. Again.

#blackpink rosé #blackpink lisa #gxg #fanfic #blackpink jisoo #blackpink #blink #lisa manoban #jennie #twice #sana #momo #dahyun #nayeon #jihyo #chaeyoung #mina #jeongyeon #y/n

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anarchistettin · 1 year ago

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"how dare these deplorables find fault with our constant lying and failure, at this critical time in history"

"mm black people are actually a russian psyop, the rest of these leftists are trust fund kids"

"remember this is literally propaganda by foreign powers to get you to let an evil white man be president, a guy who ignored science and caused lots of people to get attacked"

the dem strategy for dealing with trump seems …off, if 'winning' something is the real goal

but I feel like it's actually just about fundraising, which went super well when trump was in office, so maybe, it's possible, that it isn't the minuscule american left who wants trump in office. maaaaaybe it's not an accident that dems made such a strong show of handling everything repubs couldn't get done: strike breaking, using covid for eugenics, funneling 350+billions into the police, strengthening "homeland security".

Whipping up liberals as a defense against antifascist movements wasn't something repubs were ever going to accomplish. I guess it served them really well to have a biden interim, huh?

#mutual aid or bust

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writingprincessblog · 10 months ago

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Hey guys! So, this is the next part of the story "Her Guilty Conscience". I would suggest to read the previous parts before reading this. Also, pls share your opinion about this story. Hope that you all enjoy the story and pls pardon my errors. Happy Reading!

Previous Episode ~

Her Guilty Conscience

Episode 3 Mis Understandings

Flashbacks :

The whole hall was filled with grunts and huffs and shouts of instructions. Audrey, drenched in sweat delivered a feeble punch towards her opponent which she easily avoided and instead landed a tough hit to her stomach. Holding her stomach from pain, Audrey motioned a time off as she got off the ring and walked towards her bag while removing her boxing gloves. Joy, her opponent and also her friend followed her.

"What's up with you? You seem distracted."

Audrey sat on the bench and while replied, wiping her sweats , "Nothing. Just thinking about some way to earn money."

Joy plopped herself beside the slouching girl and reached for her own bag.

"What did you think about the idea I gave you? Did you tell Lucas?"

"Rejected it even before I could complete." Audrey, scoffs, " Says that its illegal and won't hear a word against it. He even started giving me a cold shoulder since to stress his point. Well, he is not wrong and moreover I am not even that skilled to take this risk."

Joy laughed, "He has matured over these months, huh? Looking after his elder sister. Well, how about you visit that restaurant? That one whose advertisement we saw. "

"Yes, thats the only option left for me now. Lucas managed to get a part time job as an assistant in a book shop. Its my turn now. I will visit that restaurant tomorrow. I just hope this works.” Packing her bag, she again looked towards Joy with a hesitating eyes and said, "Joy, I have been thinking about something for quite a long time and now I am going to take a big decision......."

"WHAT THE HELL AM I HEARING, AUDREY?"

Lucas barged into the room. Audrey, who was helping Mrs. Thomson in the kitchen flinched and turned towards the fuming boy with a sigh.

"What happened, dear?" inquired the old lady, who was surprised by the outburst of the usually calm boy.

"Its nothing big, aunt-" Audrey began.

"NOTHING BIG?!” Lucas interrupted, glaring at his sister. " Aunt, you won't even believe what she did. Its outrageous. Its not acceptable."

"What is it?" the confused lady asked again, worried from the flickering tension between the siblings.

"She. Dropped. Out. From. Her. College." Lucas said, fuming in anger.

"So what, if I have?" retorted Audrey, ignoring the gasp from Mrs. Thomson. "Look I am older than you. I can well decide what to do and what not to. You better not meddle into my affairs."

Lucas scoffs, "So, after this 'thoughtful' decision, what are you planning to do?" He angrily continued, "Oh, yeah! Join that illegal fight club and then what? Dive into a mafia business? Is this your brilliant plan to earn money, tainting our family’s honour—"

“Don't. You. Dare. Complete. That. Sentence. Lucas Johnson" Audrey roared furiously. Lucas flinched by the sudden shout but held his ground. "I am not that stubborn and narrow minded to ignore your concern and warnings. For your kind information, I have already found a vacancy of a waitress in a restaurant in the other part of the town.I will be going there tomorrow .”

"But dear, isn't the decision of deserting your education too drastic?" Mrs. Thomson asked gently.

"No," Audrey replied with growing impatience. "I’ve thought long and hard about this decision." She looked at Lucas. "Look at you, getting so worked up because I left college, while you—didn’t even tell me you had a study tour and now can’t afford to go, even though you were excited about it months ago. And what about that science program your teacher specifically chose you for?"”

Lucas's anger softened as he slowly understood, "Its different. Those are not that-"

"Important? Oh, save it. I’m your sister and know you better than you think," Audrey said bitterly. "This tour to the research lab would have helped you learn and meet that scientist you’ve always admired. You worry about my education, but do you think I could focus on my studies knowing that the money could help my little brother achieve his dream?”

"Oh, dear, but I heard Michel and Lily taking about you having a dream of being a surgeon." Mrs Thomson intervened.

"Yes, I did say that but.........that was only to get their attention and praise, which were only reserved for their 'perfect' son, not for their daughter who changes her interest every other day. At least, pretending to have a clear aim for a successful profession enabled me to spend time with them, even though I wasn’t interested in those talks about the future. Now, there’s no point in pretending anymore, now that they—now that they—“

Not being able to continue any further, she threw the kitchen towel on the counter and rushed out of the room. Mrs. Thomson and Lucas remained at their places, a brooding silence lingering between them.

Lucas’s anger transformed into sympathy and concern for his sister after their heated exchange. He remembered when his athletic sister suddenly decided to pursue a career as a surgeon. Their parents had been relieved as they gave up hope for her to excel like him. Her smile during discussions about future plans had hidden many emotions he was unaware of. She had endured a lot. Being overshadowed by her brother’s perfectionism and neglected by their parents had driven her to take a drastic decision, forcing herself to love something she had always hated. He had been surprised by her choice but had eventually dismissed it. Now, he felt guilty for not understanding his sister’s struggles. How much had she suffered? How many emotions had she bottled up? He was relieved she made the choice to free herself. Educational pressure is hard enough if you can cope, but it’s even worse if you don’t love what you’re doing. He understands…

He looked at the bed where Audrey lay, or at least pretended to. Her muffled sobs into her pillow were heart-wrenching. His heart ached with each sob. All he wanted was her happiness. Maybe letting her free from this burden was for the best. Their conversation replayed in his mind. She had never used the elder card before. She always treated him as a friend and respected his decisions. This was the first time she asserted her seniority. He glanced out the open window, his eyes growing heavy as sleep eluded him.

"Can we talk?"

Lucas tentatively asked his sister as she served his breakfast. She glanced at him with red puffy eyes and gave a slight nod as she sat across the table.

"Ummm...........sorry for my outburst yesterday. I should have kept in mind that you are elder than me and also know and understand things better than I do. I should n’t have doubted you" He finished and nervously looked at the girl.

With a deep sigh, she replied,"I am sorry too. I should have informed you earlier before taking this decision."

"No, its ok. I mean, I- " He hesitated. "I thought we shared everything, every secrets, every thoughts?"

"We did. Its just......... Somewhere we just couldn't connect well. I found my comfort in other sports and activities while you were too preoccupied with your studies, exams, exhibitions, olympiads, etc. You did great in all of them, getting prizes here and there. Mom and dad were so proud, so was I. You got the praises and proud looks. And of course who would even glance at the useless girl with no clear future plans, who switches interests day to day?”

"But as time progressed……. I don't know. I kind of craved for their attention suddenly. Remember my first football match? I wanted their presence there but you had to go to that coaching institute. They went with you instead. I don't blame you, its just I.........." She broke off.

Mrs Thomson stumbled into the little kitchen, while coughing. She looked over the table where they two were conversing and reading the serious atmosphere there, she excused herself and walked away.

After sometime, Lucas said, "But - but you hated the idea of being a doctor. You hated the hospital and the stench itself. Why did-"

"Oh! Isn't it obvious? Dad always wanted a surgeon in the family. But you instead opted for research. So, I thought to try it out. At least, he would then fuss about me and try to have those lengthy conversations with me like he had with you."She said, acidly.

Pausing for a moment, she chuckled and said, "You have to admit I succeeded quite a bit. I did get my sweet time with them. But now........I think its better to drop the idea. The ones for whom I initially started are no longer here. So, whats the use? Dropping out from there will save some money. Oh! that reminds me, how much do you need for that tour of yours?"

Lucas who was staring at his plate, listening to her open up, looked up, "No. I won't be going."

She smiled, "I know how important that trip is and besides, me dropping out of that college will save a lot of money. I can easily afford to send you. Get the necessary information and tell me tonight."

With that , she stood up and started to walk away when she felt herself being held from behind as soft sobs filled the room.

"Oh my crybaby ! What happened?"

"I am sorry, sis." Lucas chocked between his tears, "I had been so focused on being so perfect that I didn’t even notice you dealing with such problems. I am sorry for doubting you and shouting at you. I promise to be more supportive and understanding."

Audrey turned to face her teary-eyed brother. She gently ruffled his hair and smiled. "It’s not your fault at all. I guess I took the wrong approach to get attention, being too desperate. But I’m really proud to have such a caring and understanding brother."

Lucas managed a shaky smile. "And handsome too," Audrey added with a laugh. "Now, stop crying. You look like a mandrill."

"Audrey!" He whined as he wiped his tears. "Can you stop teasing me for once." After a pause, he spoked again with hopeful eyes , "So, are we okay, now? Lets just promise to share everything with each other instead of keeping mum. Pinky Promise ?” He brought out his little finger.

She laughed and intertwined her own finger with his and said, “Yes, for sure! Now come on, quickly eat your breakfast. You are getting late. Even I have to rush to that restaurant for that job."

With great urgency, Lucas inhaled his breakfast. As picked up his bag, he went over to his sister and gave her a tight hug.

"All the best! Don't be nervous. You will definitely get that job." He exclaimed, as he ran off down the street.

"Glad that you siblings had patched up"

Audrey flinched and looked back to see Mrs Thomson standing at the staircase with a tender smile, dancing on her lips. She didn't even notice her coming down.

"Well, we all make mistakes, knowingly and unknowingly. Its just that you should been brave enough to claim it. I am really proud of him. He really grew up."

"That he did. And you too, Audrey. It was really brave and mature of you to take those risky decision. Also, I am really pleased that you both have taken these responsibilities, although you shouldn't-"

"Oh, aunt!" She interrupted "Why shouldn't we take those responsibilities of sustaining this household? You have already done so much for us. Its our turn now. By the way, you should be going to the doctor today. Your coughs are getting worse."

"Yes, yes, I should and I will." She continues, with a playful stern tone "But now, young lady, shouldn't you be running to that restaurant instead of lecturing me?"

"Oh, shoot! I have almost forgotten!"

She dashed into the house, changed her clothes and ran out as the old lady laughed at her antics.

At the dingy eatery in the heart of town, Audrey sat nervously in a small cumbersome office which reeked of cigarettes. A middle-aged woman sat in front of her, scribbling notes, while chewing a gum noisily. The small restaurant, though recently opened, was doing fairly well, attracting a steady flow of customers despite its modest size. The real concern was the area. Audrey had heard numerous disturbing rumours about crimes and other unsavoury activities in the nearby streets. As she looked out at the shabby, dark lanes, those unsettling stories came flooding back. Despite her apprehension, she needed this job desperately. It was only for a month or two, and after that, she planned to leave and start a business of her own with Joy. She was lost in thoughts about her future plans when a sharp voice broke her train of thought.

"So, you a dropout?" the woman asked abruptly, putting away her notes.

"Yes," Audrey replied.

"Then you’ll be working full shifts here?"

"Yes, I’ll do my best."

"Who’s your boss?"

"Sorry?" Audrey asked, confused by the question.

"Aren’t you in a mob?" the woman asked impatiently.

"Umm... no?" Audrey quickly added, "What are you talking about?"

The woman’s expression shifted to one of surprise. She scrutinised Audrey for a moment before asking sharply, "You’re not from around here, are you?"

Audrey hesitated before answering, "No... I live in the outskirts.”

The woman shook her head disapprovingly. Audrey could feel the cold sweat forming on her forehead. Had she said something wrong? Was she going to lose the job opportunity?

After a moment of silence, the woman handed Audrey a register and said, "Fill these details out and start from tomorrow. We’ll see if you can handle it."

Audrey signed the papers, feeling uneasy under the woman’s scrutinising gaze. The woman’s smile as she left the room was anything but reassuring.

Once the door closed behind her, the woman darkly chuckled to herself. Lighting a cigarette, she leaned back in her chair and exhaled a ring of smoke.

"Poor girl. She doesn’t even know what she’s getting into. This place is a breeding ground for trouble, full of rough characters unlike the respectable folk she’s used to. I wonder........"

-Aurora

To Be Continued.........

Next Episode ~

#writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr #writing #stories #story #writers community #writerscommunity #her guilty conscience #readers #readers of tumblr #readers community #authors #writeblr #writers and poets

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read-marx-and-lenin · 2 months ago

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Just like Lenin, huh?

This example, to my mind, is noteworthy in that it clearly demonstrates to us things which the bourgeois journalists are now always forgetting when they pander to the philistine prejudices and ignorance of the backward masses who do not understand this intimate economic and historical connection between every kind of war and the preceding policy of every country, every class that ruled before the war and achieved its ends by so-called “peaceful” means. So-called, because the brute force required to ensure “peaceful” rule in the colonies, for example, can hardly be called peaceful.

Peace reigned in Europe, but this was because domination over hundreds of millions of people in the colonies by the European nations was sustained only through constant, incessant, interminable wars, which we Europeans do not regard as wars at all, since all too often they resembled, not wars, but brutal massacres, the wholesale slaughter of unarmed peoples. The thing is that if we want to know what the present war [World War I] is about we must first of all make a general survey of the policies of the European powers as a whole. We must not take this or that example, this or that particular case, which can easily be wrenched out of the context of social phenomena and which is worthless, because an opposite example can just as easily be cited. We must take the whole policy of the entire system of European states in their economic and political interrelations if we are to understand how the present war steadily and inevitably grew out of this system.

[...]

The present war is a continuation of the policy of conquest, of the shooting down of whole nationalities, of unbelievable atrocities committed by the Germans and the British in Africa, and by the British and the Russians in Persia which of them committed most it is difficult to say. It was for this reason that the German capitalists looked upon them as their enemies. Ah, they said, you are strong because you are rich? But we are stronger, therefore we have the same “sacred” right to plunder. That is what the real history of British and German finance capital in the course of several decades preceding the war amounts to. That is what the history of Russo-German, Russo-British, and German-British relations amounts to. There you have the clue to an understanding of what the war is about. That is why the story that is current about the cause of the war is sheer duplicity and humbug. Forgetting the history of finance capital, the history of how this war had been brewing over the issue of redivision, they present the matter like this: two nations were living at peace, then one attacked the other, and the other fought back. All science, all banks are forgotten, and the peoples are told to take up arms, and so are the peasants, who know nothing about politics. All they have to do is to fight back! The logical thing, following this line of argument, would be to close down all newspapers, burn all books and ban all mention of annexations in the newspapers. In this way such a view of annexations could be justified. They can’t tell the truth about annexations because the whole history of Russia, Britain, and Germany has been one of continuous, ruthless and sanguinary war over annexations. Ruthless wars were waged in Persia and Africa by the Liberals, who flogged political offenders in India for daring to put forward demands which were being fought for here in Russia. The French colonial troops oppressed peoples too. There you have the pre-history, the real history of unprecedented plunder! Such is the policy of these classes, of which the present war is a continuation.

Another lesson concerns the character of the uprising, the methods by which it is conducted, and the conditions which lead to the troops coming over to the side of the people. An extremely biased view on this latter point prevails in the Right wing of our Party. It is alleged that there is no possibility of fighting modern troops; the troops must become revolutionary. Of course, unless the revolution assumes a mass character and affects the troops, there can be no question of serious struggle. That we must work among the troops goes without saying. But we must not imagine that they will come over to our side at one stroke, as a result of persuasion or their own convictions. The Moscow uprising clearly demonstrated how stereotyped and lifeless this view is. As a matter of fact, the wavering of the troops, which is inevitable in every truly popular movement, leads to a real fight for the troops whenever the revolutionary struggle be comes acute. The Moscow uprising was precisely an example of the desperate, frantic struggle for the troops that takes place between the reaction and the revolution. Dubasov himself declared that of the fifteen thousand men of the Moscow garrison, only five thousand were reliable. The government restrained the waverers by the most diverse and desperate measures: they appealed to them, flattered them, bribed them, presented them with watches, money, etc.; they doped them with vodka, they lied to them, threatened them, confined them to barracks and disarmed them, and those who were suspected of being least reliable were removed by treachery and violence. And we must have the courage to confess, openly and unreservedly, that in this respect we lagged be hind the government. We failed to utilise the forces at our disposal for such an active, bold, resourceful and aggressive fight for the wavering troops as that which the government waged and won. We have carried on work in the army and we will redouble our efforts in the future ideologically to “win over” the troops. But we shall prove to be miserable pedants if we forget that at a time of uprising there must also be a physical struggle for the troops.

[...]

On December 9, soldiers were marching down Bolshaya Serpukhovskaya Street singing the Marseillaise, on their way to join the insurgents. The workers sent delegates to meet them. Malakhov himself galloped at breakneck speed towards them. The workers were too late, Malakhov reached them first. He delivered a passionate speech, caused the soldiers to waver, surrounded them with dragoons, marched them off to barracks and locked them in. Malakhov reached the soldiers in time and we did not, although within two days 150,000 people had risen at our call, and these could and should have organised the patrolling of the streets. Malakhov surrounded the soldiers with dragoons, whereas we failed to surround the Malakhovs with bomb-throwers. We could and should have done this; and long ago the Social-Democratic press (the old Iskra) pointed out that ruthless extermination of civil and military chiefs was our duty during an uprising.

Was Lenin a lofty moralist, then, for criticizing the "philistine prejudices" of the "backward masses" and condemning the colonial activities of the European imperialists as "brutal massacres" and "wholesale slaughters"? Was Lenin a "fed" for labeling colonial troops as oppressors? Was Lenin "alienating the workers" by asserting that despite the troops having been subject to all manner of bribery, lies, and forcible conscription, the wavering soldiers will not be persuaded by words alone but instead through revolutionary struggle?

If we were talking about actual revolutionary soldiers' councils being organized by disillusioned USAmerican troops who had defected from the army to join a popular revolutionary movement, that would be one thing. It would certainly be unwise to reject them on the basis of moralisms. But to pretend before they defected that all soldiers can become trustworthy and reliable revolutionaries if only they weren't criticized by those awful communists? That's definitely "disregarding facts" and most certainly not "just like Lenin".

what the FUCK is wrong with you i was literally forced to join the imperialism genocide squad just so i could pay for college. they were going to like kick me out of imperialism genocide squad if i didnt bomb people. and then what would i do. not pay for COLLEGE??? work at a FAST FOOD CHAIN??? i was literally FORCED to kill enemies of the US empire or i wouldnt get payed. tankies just dont understand us soldiers are just like them, were all struggling to survive and pulling us back into trhe crab buckert doesnt help abnyone.

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strangerhottotties · 3 years ago

Text

Sex Tape - E.M.

Summary: Eddie produced a sex tape of himself as a dare and it's been circling the student body. There was a surprising reaction among the female population gravitating towards your best friend and its got you curious despite the mixed bag reaction he got. When a little cassest tape makes its way to you... you know you shouldn't...

Rating: explicit

Warnings: everyone is above 18 in this fic, no minors. Sex tapes, cream pie, dirty photos, blackmail, kinda? Bratty!Reader, Henderson!Reader. Enemiesish to Lovers. Unprotected sex. Mentions of birth control.

A/N: Because I can't stop listening to the sex tape.

"Hold on, I gotta go find my dice!" Eddie Munson heaves a sigh at the kid who reminded him so much of himself and watches said kid sprint into the tidy home.

The only thing out of place was how quiet it was inside.

"Where's your mom?" Eddie calls out.

"Uh... she went on a cruise with a couple of her friends." Eddie shrugs to himself, content to know there was no mother to yell at him about stepping through the front door and treading on her clean carpet.

He's kind enough to shut the door behind him as he follows the direction the kid went slowly, glancing around. It's a little too tidy to be a normal house he thinks. Not a speck of dust and despite the cat that wanders by his feet with a happy chirp, he spots no cat hair.

What the fuck kind of house- nevermind, he spots an imperfection like he's doing a reality check. There's an obnoxious stack of slutty romance novels over flowing on the coffee table.

"I guess your mom's into fantasy, too, huh?" Dustin pops his head out of a room at the end of the hall.

"What?" He then approaches to see what Eddie's gesturing to. "Oh, no, those are my sister's." He mutters.

It strikes Eddie like a harpoon and he whips to look at the pictures he wasn't paying close enough attention to. Oh yes, he forgot about you. Bitchy, mean, and so very pretty.

"She reads dirty romance?" He questions.

"Uh, yeah, I don't get it either," he shrugs heading off to his room again.

"Is she, uhhh... home?" Eddie picks up your senior photo, letting his eyes wonder over the details of your face.

"Yeah, probably," he turns to a different door and bangs on it. "Hey!"

"Fuck off!" Gets called back.

"Hey, what are you making for dinner tonight?" Dustin shouts through the door. He hears a loud groan and the door gets thrown open. You don't notice Eddie when you begin chewing him out, so he just gets to admire the way your tee shirt and underwear cling to you. He thought the mismatched socks were a nice touch but he tilts his head the longer he starts to stare.

"I was in the middle of something!"

Eddie thinks he agrees with that statement as he takes in your shiny red cheeks and wild hair. He begins to approach.

"So?"

"So, you have to bang on the door like that?"

"You've always got your headphones on listening to that stupid red cassette."

"Red cassette?" Eddie demands, your eyes widen in shock when you see him, and then it melts into utter horror. He's only a few slow steps from you.

There was no way.

Eddie wants to kiss the lucky d20 in his pocket that he just so happened to be here in this exact moment. You can't respond for a few moments, words sputter.

"What are you doing here?" You snap finally, defensively closing your bedroom door behind you. Eddie let's out a malicious laugh. It bubbles up and stretches out with his amusement.

"Oh, my, my, my, Henderson. I never knew you had this side to you, I always thought it was science and studying that got you all riled up." Dustin looks more confused between the two of you.

"What?" He asks only to get ignored.

"Your sister's got a pervy little secret," Eddie sings making your cheeks go redder than he's ever seen anyone go.

"I don't think I want to know," Dustin relents, "I'm just going to look for my dice."

You gulp when your brother disappears and your cornered against your door by Eddie Munson, caught red handed.

"You know, I knew it was out of rotation," he starts, eyes dark like you've never seen. "I kept waiting for the principal to show up because he confiscated it, or for some furious boyfriend to come beat the shit out of me when he found it in his girlfriends radio. And all this time," he simmers, lowering himself down into your ear. "All this time, you had it hidden away. I bet that's what you were just listening to, yeah?"

"It's not the same tape," you squeak out, lying through your teeth.

"Then prove it," he hums, leaning back just so he can grin down at you. "Go grab this red cassette that's definitely not my sex tape and this will all be over." You grasp your door handle tightly when he reaches for it.

"Stay out. I have a right to my privacy," you attempt, flustered about being caught in your lie. It was a futile attempt. He gives another evil laugh.

"I have a right to my property though," he replies, licking his lips. You feel so stupid as you fling the door open and stomp into your room. He's on your heel, crowding your space as he makes his way to your bed with you. And what a sight it is.

You'd obviously been listening to it in your bed. The sheet look as though you'd thrown them off, your Walkman is set to pause but he sees it clear as day, in his very own messy scrawl: Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin proudly presents: His official sex tape.

It's worn down more than he expected.

You fumble as you pick up your Walkman, nudging the eject button and getting frustrated when it sticks. "C'mon, not now," you grunt. You should have burned that stupid tape the moment it landed in front of you.

When you spare a miserable look at Eddie you find his big grin still plastered to his face. Smug as all get out. You thrust the broken machinery at him. "It's stuck," you grunt.

"How convenient. So do you just touch yourself to every night? Are you that mesmerized by my moans?" You flush, knowing he was referring to a particular part of his tape. Hating that you listened in the first time. Instead your just glaring him down in your bedroom.

"I've never- Hey! What are you- uh-" he looks up at your through his eyelashes, smug eyes still twinkling. But two of your fingers were being greeted by his tongue and your head was spinning. He hums around them as your eyes widen and you realize why he was sucking on your fingers.

Eddie was calling every bluff you had in the most unexpected ways. With a final lap to the tip of your finger, he grins. "Then why do your fingers taste like pussy?"

Your eyes dart back to your door, seeing it wide open. There was no recovering from this situation, and Eddie seemed all to pleased. You decide to change how you're handling this and head that way to close your door.

Eddie starts wordlessly stripping out of his jacket when you shut the door, reading you like a book. "Take off your pants," you demand, making him lift his eyebrows.

You'd only been moments away from climax when Dustin rudely interrupted you. You were still incredibly wet, still in need. Why listen to a tape when the real thing what right there.

You peel your top over your head, letting his eyes widen at your breasts. "Oh shit," he breaths and then starts working at his belt furiously. "Okay, get over here," he orders with a jerk of his head. You slip out of your underwear as you agree.

In moments Eddie Munson is pushing you head down into your mattress and pulling your hips higher. "Oh, you could have come to me if you needed me so bad. Promise the real thing is better," he hums, hands rubbing over your ass.

The door rattles under Dustin's fist. "Eddie? Did you guys get it sorted out?"

"Get out!" Your shout is muffled by blankets and Eddie giggles despite the situation.

"Dustin! Go wait in the van! Radio the rest of the party were going to cancel tonight!?"

"What!? Canceled!? But I found my dice!"

"We're a little busy, dude!"

"YOU BETTER KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF!"

"Too late."

You gasp when he mutters that to himself and plunges a middle finger into your cunt. Dustin continues to pound on the door. He draws back slowly and your legs tremble.

Dustin gives up a moment later, wandering off to grumble into his walkie.

"Shit, you got so wet listen to me, huh?" You hear the filthy of it as he let's you rock against his fingers with a whimper.

"Hurry up, already."

"Oh, but you look like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Just can't help yourself, can you? You just," he groans eagerly at how your flexing around him, "you're really fucking hot right now, Henderson."

"Then fuck me, please," you whine quietly. He makes a delighted noise and his zipper comes down. You can't see it from here but you freeze your squirming the second the head of his cock presses against you. It's like a balm to your frayed nerves.

"Well, when you ask so nicely-" he starts and then let's out a loud, stuttery groan, "fuuuuuuck-right to the bottom!" He praises when you moan into the mattress below him. You both sink against each other to absorb that first push, soaking it in.

Then your lifting your hips and driving down on top of him. There's a whine from you both when it happens and he readjusts to your dismay. "Hey! I didn't say-UHHH!" You cry when he drives in again, setting a brutal pace, already hitting a deeply satisfying spot.

"Would you stop being such a fuckin' brat?" He grunts, forcing your back into a harder arch, your chest pressed completely into the mattress. You nearly sob as he manhandled you into the position he wanted. It feels so fucking good. "This all it takes, Henderson? A big, fat cock and you go all dumb?" His hips are relentless as he barrels into you, so turned on he knows he's not gonna last long. Especially when he's fucking you raw.

Oh, fuck!

He's got a rule about it. Hell, you've got a rule too. He's never broken it, too afraid to knock some poor, unfortunately soul up when he could barely figure his own shit out.

"Shit, babe," he groans out. "Your pussy feels so good like this," he let's out a little whimper that has you tightening around him.

He can both see and feel you tremble beneath him, so fucking close to cumming. He knows it'll set him off and as desperately as he doesn't want it to be over quite yet, he knows it's too much.

Your mutter breaks him out of his trance but he's not sure he heard you right. "What's that, babe. I can't hear you,"

"I-inside..." you whine, body wanting to tremble like an off-balance washing machine. "Want you to- uhhh, cum inside me."

That'll do it. His fingers tighten on you and he can't help himself this one time. Not when you're so kindly inviting him to do it.

With the bed repeatedly slamming against the wall, you hear him give out a loud laugh. It's insane. Normally, unnerving as whatever energy your words gave him has him fucking you so hard that the floodgates open and your cumming hard enough your screaming into the pillows below. You cum from the sound of his laughter as he gives a final jerk and cums hard.

You feel it as you begin to settle with your orgasm. His cock twitches and you feel the warmth of him spurting inside. "O-o-o-o-oh, fuck." He pants with you, watching as you slump against the mattress. He doesn't miss your whimper when his softening cock pulls out. He glances around the room because he saw it somewhere- there! He stumbles off your bed.

"Where are you-"

"Don't fuckin' move."

"Eddie," you whine, but remain in your spot on the bed as he trots to the otherside of the room and plucks something off your desk. You don't get time to look because he's returning behind you and

Flash!

You gasp, jerking up right. "You did not!" Your jaw drops as you turn to find Eddie grinning down at the Polaroid developing in his hand.

"Ohhhhh, that is quite the site." He commends, voice deepening. You lunge, climbing over him to reach for it. Instead he just holds it away.

It's not like you can even tell who it is. It's just a picture of your ass in the air and your cunt leaking his cream pie. "I didn't say you could take a fucking picture!"

"Mmm, no but I say it's an even trade," he hums, free hand tangling in your hair and jerking you to look at his fucked out face. He's flush, eyes lidded like he's stoned, and he's got a lazy smile etched on his smug face.

"Trade?" You demand.

"You keep my dirty sex tape, I keep the photo of you and your mismatched socks." You blush hard, going slack in his arms, unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. He wanted you to keep the sex tape? "Can't wait to show this to our kids one day and tell them about our first date."

"What first date?"

"This first date," he grins.

"Gross, you're not showing that to anyone-"

"No worries, princess. I'm sticking it in my wallet and only taking it out in the event I've gotta rub one out."

"I hate you," you groan, falling back. Your elbow hits the Walkman and the eject button finally seems to work. You groan loudly, then chance down a look at Eddie. He's only appreciating the sight before him. "I'm free Friday."

He cocks an eyebrow at you. "Did you just ask me out?"

"I'm not asking, Munson." Your grumpy face doesn't have the same power it normally holds on him.

"Alright, alright, I'll take you to Dinner..." he laughs, climbing over you. "And then I'm gonna fuck you again, but with a condom."

"I'm not dirty," you snap.

"Oh, you fuckin' are," he hums, grinning. "But I'm more worried about knocking you up."

"Fuck you," you grumble, "'mon the pill." Eddie let's out a sigh of relief.

"Thank fucking God! Look at how fuckin' beautiful that is!" He holds up the photo for you to see, it makes you flush hard. "That pussy is gonna get me in so much trouble." It's Dustin banging on the door again that knocks out the mood.

"Eddie! Get out here! We're fighting outside!"

"Oh, brother," you sigh.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson smut

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p0orbaby · 2 years ago

Note

Yn getting punched in the face after defending Wanda from someone in the street who disrespects her. Wanda is angry at first but then appreciates how much yn cares about her.

Knuckle Sandwich

warnings: supersoldier!reader, assault I guess?, men, language

a/n: I’ve got really bad writers block rn so I appreciate that this is absolute ass

word count: 453

“Just ignore them”

“I’m trying but they’re being pretty fucking loud”

“I know, just try-“

“Hey, witch! Got any more buildings you wanna drop on people? huh?”

There wasn't a cell in your body that didn’t want to give that lowlife a piece of your mind. Fuck it, several pieces. But the team was already on thin ice without another media story about you verbally abusing a citizen on the streets of New York.

“I hate that they talk to you like that. Fuck, if they only knew what we could do to them with just our bare fucking hands”

“They’re just trying to get under our skin”

“Yeah, and it’s fucking working”

“Getting killed was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Fucking murderers”

Whatever restraint you had finally snapped. Gone. What was left was a burning red flame of anger ready to be unleashed. And Wanda knew it too. The way you ripped your arm out of her grip made her wince with anxious anticipation.

You stormed towards the source of insults in fury. Fists clenched at your sides, twitching intermittently as they itched to hit someone.

“Hey you!” You shouted. The balding, overweight man and his group of merry men smirked at you as you approached. Obviously not phased by who was angrily walking towards them, and what they were capable of.

“Oh look who it is. The witches whore. I bet they only dusted you off to keep that bitch,” a pudgy finger pointed in Wanda’s direction, “in line. Didn’t work though did it? You outdated war tactic”

“Say that again. Go on, I dare you”

“We’re just getting started, sweetheart,” another one said. Spitting his words at you. “At least that Banner guy knows he’s a savage. Serum’s made you a beast and that damn science experiment over-“

The sound of your knuckles making contact with his jaw echoed off of the asphalt. You heard Wanda suck in a breath behind you. Then what must’ve been several teeth hitting the concrete with a hollow rattle.

The guy doubled over instantly. Falling in slow motion towards the ground. You released a long overdue breath. You felt calm knowing you’d served justice today. Even the familiar honking of cars and hissing of manholes mellowed to a low hum.

You couldn’t help but smirk when a sweaty fist hit your jaw too. Sure you could have fought back, but you didn’t mind. Watching their faces as they kicked you into the floor and not making a dent was treat enough.

Anyway, the headlines wouldn’t look as bad if you took a hit or two yourself. And having Wanda stand between your legs as she patched you up herself? Worth it.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #supersoldier!reader #wanda maximoff angst #angst #wanda maximoff fluff #fluff

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roninreverie · 2 years ago

Text

Raph's Paper Powers:

I had this idea like a year ago and am never going to get around to drawing it out properly; plus, seeing yet another review channel doing the Frankenfoot episode has reminded me this has been sitting in my drafts for a lot of months. So ENJOY in the only way I can muster right now!

...

[The boys are standing around, Raph patching up Frankenfoot with the last of the tape. Leo and Mikey are praising his skills. Donnie is in the background, hardly paying attention and texting--probably April.]

Mikey: Wow Raph! You sure have a way with Frankenfoot!

Leo: Yeah. Any other paper ninja would be toast and a half by now, but he still looks great, even after all the sparring and wear n tear he goes through.

Raph: What can I say? Raph just had the magic touch!

Frankenfoot: Buddy!

*RIP!!!*

Raph: Speaking of… don't worry buddy, Raph’s got ya covered.

Leo: Oh, hey, I think there's a spare roll of duct tape in the--

(Magically repairs the tear.)

Leo (cont.): Whaaaaaa?

Mikey: What the heck was that?

Donnie: Hold the proverbial phone! Did Raph get a new power? I wasn’t paying attention. I’m taking notes this time. Do it again! Do you need me to cause an accident to do it again?

(Buzzsaw comes out, goggles go down, and notepad is opened.)

Raph: No! What? This? Nah. Buddy just gets tape-heavy after a while and needs a paper-refresh.

Leo: He said as if that’s just something NORMAL to do with his BARE hands!

Mikey: Ohmigosh! Raph! You totally have Origami ninja powers just like the Foot Clan! What’s next? A flaming head?

Leo: Never really saw our Raphy as the hotheaded sort, but--

Raph: Huh? Nah… listen guys! This is just buddy's own paper-magic mojo and the healing powers of friendship at work! Nothing Foot Clan about it!

Leo: What? No way!

Donnie: Emotional nonsense aside, this ability explains everything and yet nothing! But why manifest now? How? Hmmm?

Mikey: Admit it! You’ve been holding out on us and getting super secret ex-foot recruit training from Cassandra! No fair!

Raph: Wha---no!!?

Donnie: Aha! Of course! The only logical explanation is that Raph must have absorbed a fraction of the unique mystical ability from ingesting that temporarily sentient salami paper that we confronted on that cargo ship the night we first met the Foot.

Mikey: Raph got a new superpower from eating salami-origami!? Lucky…

Leo: Huh… he “ate” himself a new superpower! GASP! Like Kirby!!

[Cass walking in overhearing everything, she is here for a sparring session of her own, a gym bag over her shoulder.]

Cass: Raph got a new superpower from eating something!? Well don’t hold out! I want some too! Fork it over!

Raph: Oh, hey Cass. Nah, my brother’s are sayin’ I got Foot Clan paper powers just cause I ate some briefly “ninja-fied” salami a long time ago-- but I’m trying to tell them that ain't it and that they’re jumping to conclusions.

Donnie: HOW DARE YOU SIR! I never jump to conclusions! My theories and hypotheses are always based on facts and science thank you very---oof!

(Cass enters, throwing her heavy bag into Donnie and toppling him over.)

Cass: Yeah, no… All of you have it wrong. Dude… origami manipulation is a sacred ability passed down through generations of worthy Foot Clan warriors. It’s even more rare than the flaming skull and footprint ceremony held with Hatsu the boiling tomato soup cauldron of eternal power.

Leo: Wait, can we go back to that last par---

Cass (Ignoring Leo): Anyway, after learning that Shredder was your ancestor during the whole "stealing your dad's essence and betraying my clan" situation… I realized that must be why that rogue paper ninja--

Frankenfoot: BUDDIES!

Cass (cont.): --was so drawn to you to begin with. Based on lineage, you all should have the latent abilities for paper no jutsu. Kind of like how you all have your Ninpo thing. Shredder lost his connection to all that after he became Shredder, cutting off his opportunities at gaining full power but he still could pass along the origami technique used by his clan, which managed to continue to this day like with my old sensei. Raph here is obviously just better at harnessing it than the rest of you. I thought everyone here knew this already? It’s kind of obvious.

Mikey: Uhhhh…. It is?

Raph: Aww, thanks Cass!

Frankenfoot: Buddy!

Leo: Wait! So does that mean we might also be related to the Foot Brute and/ or Lieutenant? Man Family get-togethers just keep getting more and more awkward in this house.

Donnie: Not everybody in a clan is related, Nardo--- (under his breath with sinister intent) But yes, we can’t rule out the possibility just yet. We’ll need a blood sample to be sure.

Mikey: Daaaaad! Quick! It’s an emergency! I need all the paper we’ve got in the lair!

Splinter (panicked, off-screen): What!?! Wait! Why?!?

Donnie (taking notes): This is all incredibly useful information… and coming from Cassandra of all sources.

Cass: Hey!? (Instant Headlock)

Raph: Huh? An ancient clan power that isn't the same as ninpo. Guess I gotta learn more about origami, huh?

Leo: With those digits? Pffft! Good luck!

Raph: *Grumbles*

Frankenfoot: Buddy!

[End on Leo making fun of Raph’s huge hands. Splinter trying to make sure whatever Mikey’s doing doesn’t destroy the lair. Donnie getting beat up by Cassandra. Frankenfoot is just happy to be there. April walking in with pizza like that meme from Community where everything is on fire and chaotic.]

____________________________________________________________

Bonus: Comic draft that never made it out of doodles:

#rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt frankenfoot #cassandra jones #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt april #Idea was that Hamato Origami Shredder Foot Paper Powers are genetic OR origami salami = Raph having paper powers #doodle drabbles & scribble scrabbles #roninreverie

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ladyartemesia · 4 years ago

Text

TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities—”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn’t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

Hello! Please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the taglist!

You guys were all so wonderful, and encouraging, and excited that I literally got this teaser out in three days! If you like what you read so far, please let me know! I cannot put into words how meaningful and valuable feedback is to me. I truly treasure it! It fuels my creativity and keeps me writing. I would love to hear from you!

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

ANON THIS WAS SO FUN. Oh my gosh thank you so much for requesting this 😭

bites like bittersweet | reader x minho |

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: that good good smut

Tags: aphrodisiac au, switch!minho, switch!reader, mentions of food, oral (m recieving), unprotected sex (stay safe!), degredation, pet names, dirty talk, accidental exhibitionism

Word count: 2.4k

“are you kidding me? I can’t believe that you actually spent money on this!! aren’t you just a tiny bit embarrassed?”

“what? I thought that it would be fun to try!”

“if this is your way of seducing me, I hate to tell you, but it isn’t going to work.”

minho threw the chocolate bars back down on the coffee table. he was right; they looked fake and you knew it. the giant logo on the front stared up at you and your skeptical friend. it was an obscenely large kiss mark with different icons of couples fucking for each flavor. you really should have had better judgement. right in front of you was $36 dollars that you would never be getting back.

“and you had to get all the flavors?”

your defeated arms rang themselves above your head. “what?? I wasn’t going to pass up mint, salted caramel and...what’s this called...yeah, cherri amore!”

“and why is it again that you’re asking me to try these--” minho snatched up the flavor Salted Caramelicious in Milk Chocolate to read the label. “--proven aphrodisiac and libido boosters?”

“I dunno!! you were the only one around I guess...?”

minho flicked up one of his eyebrows in his suspicion. “really? that’s why? I don’t believe you. you’re trying to get in my pants aren’t you?!”

“no! Why the hell would I want to get in your pants?”

“hmmm...dare I bring up the locker room incident from a couple summers ago?” sly as ever, minho punched your arm lightly. “i bet that you’ve been dreaming about it ever since then.”

“-have not!! you’re ridiculous.” you gifted him a punch back, but this one wasn’t nearly as joking.

minho rubbed at his arm with a dramatic little “ow” on his lips.

“I’m bored, you don’t have anything else to do, it’s probably a scam and I don’t feel like wasting my $36.”

for a moment, minho pondered in silence as you dished him out your best puppy-dog eyes. in all your years of friendship, there was nothing that did him in better than the way you could make your eyes glisten. “that should be illegal” he would gripe.

“Pleeeese?? ~I know that you like mint chocolate~” you waved the bar gratuitously in front of his nose.

“fine.” he clawed it from your grasp. “i’m sure that it’s gonna be shitty chocolate anyway.” minho’s fingers hastily tore at the little foil edges and wrappings then cracked it in his hand.

you teased him, “should I get us some wine to go with this chocolate?”

minho scoffed and popped a couple chunks in his mouth. “fuck, this is so waxy. I hate you for this.”

~💋~

to your right, your wall clock ticked on as late as it was into the night. you hadn’t expected yourself to get so sleepy, but you and minho had made up the couch into your usual mess of pillows and blankets that would often accompany movie nights. after a while, the two of you had decided to just let netflix autoplay each episode, not really caring that you weren’t quite watching anymore.

“--you feeling anything?” you asked minho for the hundredth time.

“...no; its same answer from the last fifty times that you asked me. like I said, it’s a scam. you were swindled. just admit it.”

“...I don’t think I’m feeling anything either.”

“we ate the shitty chocolate, and that was that.” minho huffed. “god, you owe me big time.”

“isn’t it supposed to take a second to kick in...? isn’t that how these things work?”

“hell if I know.”

your friend sighed out the same unimpressed sigh he had been repeating for the last 45 minutes or so. he sat up a little straighter upon his realization.

“wait...so you’re saying that you want me to get turned on???”

“ah-no!!! don’t misunderstand!! it’s not that I want you to get turned on, i just want to know if it’s a scam or not. you know...for science?”

“for science? since when was science a part of all this?”

“i-it always was!”

“let’s just...finish watching this episode or two and then you’re leaving, got it?

you nodded, “got it!”

around your shoulder, minho snaked his arm to rest it gently, leaning you into him just a little. this place had always been your favorite spot. nuzzled into him like this, you could nearly hear his heartbeat in his chest. with the tv droning and the muffled “boom-boom” of his heart, you were drawn to sleep with ease, however, as you drifted, there was something different about the pace in which his heart would usually beat close to you.

~💋~

at first, you were woken by the sound of explosions. in the time that minho had promised, “this episode or two,” netflix had already made it’s way to playing a movie. strangely enough, minho hadn’t bothered changing it; it was his least favorite kind: the kind with car chases and missiles and the end of the world.

secondly, you were awoken by his voice, urgent and shallow.

“hey. hey. get up. y/n, get your heavy-ass head off me.”

“wha-what is it? what time is it? what is this?” you rubbed your blurry vision away with your palms.

“I...” minho choked down a thick gulp. “I-I think that I’m feeling...something...”

“what?!” your head snapped to look him in his terrified widened eyes. normally he would make fun of the rat’s nest on your head, but this time, his eyes remained unmoving.

mortified, minho uttered out again, “I feel...something...”

“something what? spit it out!!”

“don’t you dare look but...oh god...” your friend choked in an inhale.

he didn’t need to finish his sentence before your eyes had drifted down to where the spiderman themed blanket covered his lap. sure enough, he tented the fabric in the most obvious way.

“shit-this is so embarrassing.” minho steadied his breaths then winced “it kinda...hurts.”

this time, your eyes widened. “hurts?”

“yeah it does, okay???? don’t fucking rub it in.”

you found yourself getting defensive, “well what the hell do we do now???”

“I don’t know!!!” minho yelled into the dark room incredulously.

“can’t you just...I don’t know...jerk it away??? ”

“right here???”

“NO like in the bathroom or something I mean!!!”

“greaaat, you broke my dick!! and you’re being of no help at all!”

“well what would you have be do then huh? suck it off for ya right here and now?? would that be sooooo helpful to you??”

in your frustration, you tore spiderman off of his lap, then there it was: in its full glory.

yes, the locker room incident had lingered on your mind from time to time but.. you certainly didn’t remember it looking like that.

in your whole life, you never would have guessed that the thought, “thank-you-god for-blessing-us-with-the-invention of-grey-sweatpants” would grace your stream of consciousness but...here you were.

“m-minho...I-I think that it’s effecting me too.” your eyes ogled his member: lusciously thick and long, practically fighting the pants that kept it in. it bulged in his pants gorgeously and he had even wet himself a little from his leaking pre-cum.

“Huh!?”

“wow.” you marveled.

you really don’t know why you had done it, but suddenly the entire room felt much hotter, and taking off your shirt made much more sense so, you did.

“what the hell are you doing?!” minho attempted to pull up a blanket to cover your chest.

“does it really hurt?” something must have possessed you: your voice had dropped several octaves and you felt yourself breathing out the words with air.

as soon as he had heard your voice change, it was like he was enchanted. “A-a little. ‘feels really...trapped.” minho ate up the way that your eyes raked over his hard-on.

“oooh does it?” you used your index and ring finger to walk your hand over to his thigh where you then grabbed at him in starving handfuls. his muscles felt so beautiful in your hands.

minho whimpered out the whiniest, most desperate little sound that he could manage as his closed eyelids fluttered. there was no way in this world that you could ever imagine him making such a noise, especially from your touch.

yeah, you might have dreamt about it a couple times or more.

your hand tranced the outline of his dick on his pants.

“oh-shit--” minho keened under your touch, jerking his body viciously.

“god, you’re fucking gorgeous when you’re hard.” the words left your lips unapologetically and by seeing the way that minho practically melted from the compliment, you felt your whole body swell with that same aching pain.

“--tou-touch--”

your hand gave minho’s cock one good hard squeeze and he grunted out so loudly that you were fearful it could have been heard from the next apartment over. shaky breaths trembled from his lips and he rutted into your hand.

“‘hurts so, so bad.”

you almost missed it, but single tears fell from both of his eyes.

“what do you want me to do about it?”

exasperated, minho threw his head into the crook of your neck, panting, “an-anything. but--I-want your mouth. please...”

“of course.” you cooed, then snuck your hand under the elastic of his pants, getting another squeeze in. his eyes had glared at your lips long enough, so you decided to grant them their wish. you practically threw your whole weight into him, knocking both of your balances away as you rushed your lips into his. both of your mouths were hot and insatiable: your sloppy kisses were an utter mess: and you had never used so much tongue before in your life. wet kissing sounds filled the space between you both and tangled up with your shameless moans.

in your own pants, the situation wasn’t much different, but your desire to utterly destroy your needy friend was overwhelming and you could ignore it for a couple seconds more.

minho rose his hips for you pull his briefs and pants off, then sat back down to display his cock, red, veiny and dripping. your mouth salivated just thinking about how amazing it would feel in your mouth.

your friend didn’t give you much time to think before he had pulled your head nearer to him, then tapped his tip on your lips.

“shouldn’t I tease you first? whatever happened to foreplay?” you licked his length up and down.

“just--I don't care about that, I’m ready now,--fucking--please, please, I’m begging you to take me in your mouth.

“~ahhhh~ you’re so cute when you beg.”

minho’s full length was nearly too much for you to handle, but regardless, you swallowed him down using every ounce of your skill. the way that he moaned for you sounded so pathetic and needy, but he only pushed your head down farther.

“my little cockslut” minho gasped, “taking me in so good with that pretty mouth of yours...you’re so amazing, it’s so...mmph...just like...I always dreamed it would be...”

he threw his head back to guffaw at himself. “I can’t believe that this is happening.”

“quit talking and let me hear more of those pretty moans of yours.” you demanded of him, switching to jerk him up and down with your hand. your own saliva coated each and every one of your fingers.

“gonna...make me cum!” minho’s fingers dug into the edge of the sofa. “can-can I?”

“no.” you answered with a devilish smile. “you’re not gonna let me have any fun?”

“sorry, sorry...what do you want from me now?”

you continued jerking him once you had crept your lips up his body, kissing up his chest and stomach. your thumb played with his slit, eliciting even more pre-cum to come dripping out of his adorable tip. you reached his mouth where you let him get a taste.

just as before, the sofa started feeling too stuffy and warm for you, so your frazzled brain searched the room for the next best place, and there really was only one other.

“come with me,” you circled minho in your arms, pulling you both down to carpeted floor, taking a couple blankets with you as they tied in your limbs. “fuck me into the ground minho.”

a fire lit behind minho’s soft brown eyes that you had never seen, and soon he had ridded you of all of your own clothes.

“oh kitten, there's nothing that I would love to do to you more.”

for mere moments, yours and minho’s bodies lingered, pressed flush against each other as both of your hips grinded together seeking some kind of relief and your mouths searched for hungry answers.

“be a good boy for me minho,” you whispered into him, “fuck me so hard I’m dizzy, hmm?”

“if you insist...” minho buried his head into your neck to bite into the skin, no doubt leaving marks for you later.

everything reached a certain symphonic climax once he guided himself into your entrance which was nearly twitching to be filled by him. his length and girth stretched you out perfectly, and soon you knew it wouldn’t take too much for him to show you all the stars in the galaxy behind your eyelids.

he thrust into you with feral sounding grunts, and your back burned a little against the carpet under you.

“don’t-don’t stop...mmm--”

body ablaze, the beginnings of your orgasm start to build in your core, begging for more and more. deep inside you, minho grazed your euphoric spot and you moaned out his name with reckless abandon.

“say it louder for me baby.” your friend would greedily command, adoring the way that his name would bounce off the walls.

“I’m close, god, minho--”

ding-ding-ding!

had you not been cumming with a searing white heat with minho jerking himself wildly over your stomach, you would have seen chan open the door, pretending to sneak his way in.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?” chan threw his arms over his eyes. “...AND IN THE OPEN LIVING ROOM???”

“ch-chan?” minho threw the blankets over both of your gasping bodies, still recovering from your orgasms of seconds ago.

“ I...oh my god.” chan shielded his eyes the whole walk to his room.

“I’m sorry!!” Minho called after him, eyes then falling to his white painting on your stomach. “hmm. that looks kinda nice.”

~💋~

later, when you would be cleaning up, chan would discover your litter of half eaten bars of chocolate, then would turn them over to laugh in your face:

“uhhhh guys...you know that those are a placebo right?”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids oneshots #stray kids drabbles #kpop drabble #kpop imagine #kpop smut #Lee Minho smut #lee minho x you #lee minho x reader #minho x y/n #minho x you #Minho x reader

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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

Text

Prima Vista Part II

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 10.2k

Warnings: specific character attributes (not appearance, mentioned favorite color, movie, etc.), oral, rough sex, multiple orgasms, Erwin is kind of annoying, semi-exhibitionism, too much testosterone A/N: And, here we go again. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part and told me about it. This one’s for y’all~

Mike immediately notices when you start to avoid him. You had already been doing it, but now it's to the point of ducking into buildings you have no business being in and walking a little too briskly when you catch sight of him somewhere on campus. You also won't get anywhere near the Pi Kappa Alpha house.

And, he gets it. He fucked up that night. Or, he didn't fuck up, but he opened up. Too much. Showed that he was willing to be vulnerable, and you obviously had not liked that.

The first week of watching you duck and cover from afar isn't so bad. He's a little bummed, yeah, but he figures you'll come around, if not for him then at least for his dick.

But, one week turns to two, and Mike gets irritated, a little angry even. Because it's not like he did anything wrong. It's not like you haven't wanted it every time.

He doesn't know your class schedule exactly, but he does know when you get out of your 11 AM and have to cross the courtyard to your dorm. It's where Mike caught you last time when he was playing frisbee with Nile, and it's where he catches you now.

Your speed walking is no match for his normal stride, and he easily closes the distance between you two and grabs your wrist to tug you toward a more private area by the library.

"What the fu—what are you doing?" You spit, pulling yourself free.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get to my fucking room to nap! Is that okay?"

Mike ignores it, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, then asks, "Why are you avoiding me?"

Scoffing, you mumble an unconvincing, "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Bullshit."

"I've just been busy, okay? Midterms are coming up, and I'm falling behind…" He can tell you're lying by the way you can't meet his eyes. "I need to focus."

"Am I that big of a distraction?"

You don't miss a beat—"Yes," and your eyes widen at your own answer like you're surprised by it.

Mike raises his eyebrows, taken off guard, and you try to cover your tracks. "I mean, like, I don't have time to be fucking frat boys. And, I know you have the pick of the litter, so it's not like you'll go without."

He has to bite his tongue, a confession right on the tip of it—I pick you—but knows that's the last thing you want to hear. It's too early for thoughts like that anyway. You're too closed off, and he's too transparent. It's not like anything serious could work out anyway, and even if it could, he shouldn't tie himself down.

"I mean, yeah, but—"

You hold a hand up, take a deep breath. "Look, I'll be honest with you. You seem like an okay guy, but you should find some other girl to do this with. I don't wanna be another notch on your bedpost—"

"Then, don't be. We can just hang out."

"Yeah, we tried that at the party and still ended up sleeping together."

"We can make it a rule then." He's trying too hard, he knows, but he can't help it. "No fucking. I won't come onto you, and you won't come onto me."

You snort and pick at the hem of your shirt, obviously not buying any of this. "Why do you wanna be friends so bad anyway? Is it the hard-to-get thing? Is it that I'm making it difficult?"

"Maybe but not entirely."

Why does he want to be your friend so badly? You haven't given him any real reason to. You can bond over nerd shit here and there, but other than that, you don't have a lot in common.

You just seem… Cool. Aloof. Like you don't give a shit about anyone or anything, and Mike never thought he'd find that attractive in a girl, but apparently he does.

"Just come over one more time. We can watch something again or—"

"I'm not going into your room again!"

"You don't have to," Mike says, speaking with his hands to emphasize his point. "We can stay in the living room. Totally public. Any of the guys could walk in."

"Has that ever stopped any of you before?"

Not a hundred percent of the time. Mike has definitely seen more of Erwin and Gelgar than he'd like, but he can tell a little white lie.

"Yes."

You stare up at him, a skeptical look on your face, and then, "I'll see if I can pencil you in."

"Fuck yeah, I promise I'll show you a good time without, like, showing you a good time."

"Yeah, whatever."

You're unimpressed, turn to walk away, but Mike is feeling a little too triumphant, a little too bold, and catches you before you can get too far.

He premises, "Just to get it out of my system," then bends down and kisses you. Palms covering your cheeks, fingers curling around the back of your head kisses you. He uses both of his thumbs, just under your mouth, to part your lips so that he can slide his tongue past them, and you push at his chest half-heartedly, no real force to it as you let him lick into your mouth.

The first whimper that escapes you is what makes you break away, your hands stronger against him to shove him back, and Mike smirks when you glare at him.

"You're on thin fucking ice, Zacharias. Thin ice."

"I'll keep it in mind."

With that, you leave the little alcove the two of you were in, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Mike just watches the sway of your hips and licks his lips.

You come over on a Saturday afternoon. Mike can tell you've tried to make yourself look not cute in loose, ripped jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't work. Mike still smiles, and you still roll your eyes at him before kicking your shoes off by the door.

"Okay, so what are we doing?" You ask, sitting two cushions away from him on the couch.

"I brought my Switch in here, so we have that…"

"Oh, do you have the SNES games downloaded?"

"Dumb question. Of course I do."

"Rude. Open that shit up."

He does, and you demand to play Donkey Kong, which Mike has no problem with, but, "A please would be nice."

You click your tongue, holding your hand out for the second tiny controller and tell him, "You don't get to hear me beg anymore."

Mike feels his shorts tighten, but all he does is kick a foot over his thigh and warn you, "Best not test my self-control like that."

"Is that a threat?" You laugh, toggling down to 'Two Player' on the screen and clicking it.

"Not a threat." He bobs his head to the theme music. "Just lettin’ you know."

You get as far as Mine Cart Carnage together, but Mike ends up getting tossed from the cart, leaving you to take over as Diddy. He watches the way you move with your character, sitting up straighter, raising the controller to your chest, swaying one way then the next as if your body is tied directly to the game.

Erwin walks in a little while later when you're focused on Stop & Go Station. He sits down in a plush chair, phone in his hand that he ignores in favor of asking, "What are you guys doing out here? Shouldn't you be in Mike's room?"

Mike glances at him, gives him a look and shakes his head, but you're much less subtle when you snap, "Can it, Smith," eyes never leaving the screen.

"Don't count on that," Mike snorts. "I think it’s physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut for longer than four seconds."

"Wooow," Erwin drawls, thick eyebrows high in offense. "I'm supposed to be able to trust you, and now you're just talking shit right in front of me."

"For some reason, I get the feeling your ego can't get bruised that easily," you muse out loud.

"I'll have you know I can be very sensitive," Erwin informs you matter-of-factly. "I have a heart. I have feelings. And, I've been told on multiple occasions that I'm more considerate than most men, so there."

You laugh, a silly sound that gets stuck in your throat. "Oh, really? And how many of those women—'cause that's what they are, I'm sure—were left behind after they built you up like that, hm?"

Biting both of his lips, Erwin sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I plead the fifth on that one."

"Uh huh, that's what I thought."

While you're fixated on the screen, Mike glances over at his friend, sees blue eyes shining as Erwin stares at you, a tell-tale smirk on his face. He's amused by you. Interested, even.

You stay for about an hour longer before going back to the dorms. As soon as the front door shuts, Mike swivels around and points a finger at Erwin, uttering a low, "Don't you dare," that makes the blond chuckle.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You mostly hang out on weekends and only in small bursts. Alternating between movies and video games, it's a little hard to speak to one another, but Mike is still able to pry some information out of you and share more about himself.

You're majoring in geological and earth sciences while Mike is working toward a degree in environmental science— "Kinda weird we haven't run into each other before."

You played basketball for a year in high school before getting annoyed by the other girls. Mike, on the other hand, made some of his best friends on his old soccer team.

You had a ferret growing up and now you'll "Never get another pet again 'cause when he died, I died a little with him." (It's the first time Mike has ever seen tears in your eyes, but you blink them away at record speed). He tells you about the dogs his family has had and how the one at home with his parents now is actually his. (Her name's Scout, and I would take a bullet for her.")

Hitch is your best friend even though she irritates the shit out of you, and Mike says something similar about Erwin. "He's a good guy. He's just… Passionate about so many things. He gets obsessive. Drives me insane."

"Obsessed with that pussyyy," you joke in a deep, stupid voice.

Mike snorts, "Perv," and keeps watching the movie that's playing.

And, speaking of movies, your favorite Disney film is The Fox and The Hound— "Good taste," while his is Lion King— "Classic." As far as other movies, though, the two of you spend half an hour arguing over which Mel Brooks is the best, end up having to agree to disagree (Young Frankenstein vs. High Anxiety).

Your favorite color is green. Your favorite food is pizza (“What are you, twelve?”). Your favorite animal is the pangolin. They’re all little facts that Mike stores away, and by the end of the semester, he actually feels like he kind of knows you, and somehow, against all odds, you've managed to not hookup through it all.

That's not to say it hasn't been hard (that he hasn't been hard). Sometimes you come over in skin tight jeans or crop tops, outfits that accentuate your body in all the right ways, and Mike is pretty sure that you do it on purpose.

You're both careful not to drink too much at parties, aware of the likely consequences, but you hang around him enough to gain people's attention—jealous girls watching in disappointment, curious guys sizing you up.

Questions inevitably arise. You complain about Hitch pestering you for details that you will not give her, and he tells you how he has to keep brushing off his brothers.

"She doesn't, like, know we've had sex—would never fucking leave me alone if she did. But she and all her other little friends are so annoying about it."

You're on the steps outside of the frat house, jackets zipped up, nursing steaming cups of cocoa you got from the nearby shop.

"So, what do you tell them?" Mike asks.

You shrug your shoulders. "That we're not fucking. Just friends. They don't believe me, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it, dammit."

Mike laughs through his nose and takes another drink. "I mean, it's not a lie since we're not fucking and we are friends."

You make a high pitched noise, doubtful, challenging. "Friends is a strong word."

"Whatever."

He's used to you doing that now, denying him every chance you get even in a joking way. You've never once admitted to any type of feelings out loud, and he isn't sure why, some kind of avoidance behavior, but he won't complain because he knows you're at least a little fond of him. You wouldn't keep spending time with him if you weren't.

Deciding to change the subject, Mike prompts, "So, Erwin's party over the break," and you glance at him over your cup with interest. "You're coming, right?"

"I don't know. Isn't it at, like, his ranch house in bum fuck nowhere?"

"Kinda. It's only about a two hour drive from here, but it's definitely off the beaten path."

"I'll have to see. Need to spend time with my mom while I can."

Understandable. He's looking forward to seeing his own parents (and Scout, of course).

The last game of the season is played and won, then finals pass after too many all-nighters and too much Red Bull. Mike actually sighs in relief when he slides into his white Wrangler, all packed up and ready to make the drive back to his house.

He sends one text before pulling out onto the main road—Be safe—and hopes he won't have to wait an entire month to see you again.

Staying with your mom is nice but always slightly depressing. The house is empty with just her in it, less lived in than ever before. You can tell exactly which spots she spends most of her time in—her office to work and the couch in front of the TV to wind down.

You sleep in your old bedroom, spend most evenings texting Hitch after your mom goes to bed, but a few conversations with Mike slip in too. He sends you several pictures of Scout—beautiful but always wearing one of those perpetual Boxer frowns—and in return, you send him pictures of the pretty betta your mother has in her office. It's the best you can do.

After a week of being in your hometown, you're ready to leave it again. It's not terrible or in a bad part of town. It's just… lacking. You'd never tell your mother this, but you have a feeling she knows. It's probably why she doesn't put up a fight when you tell her you're gonna run off for a couple days to attend Erwin's party.

"I promise I'll be back. It's just one night and then the drive back."

Her tone is very serious when she tells you to stay out of trouble, but then she walks you out to your car and hugs you, watching and waving as you drive away.

You text Erwin on the way there to ask if it's okay to arrive early—like a few hours early cause I needed to get out of my house—and he replies enthusiastically.

Absolutely! Mike and Levi are already here 😃

You have no idea who this Levi is outside of hearing Erwin mention him a few times, but you very quickly find out when you get to the large but secluded house. You see Erwin's stupid (gorgeous) vintage Mustang parked in the gravel driveway as well as Mike's white Jeep and an unfamiliar, black Prius.

All three of them are on the porch occupying outdoor chairs that probably cost more than your fucking dorm expenses, but Mike and Erwin both stand when you make your way up the sidewalk. Staying seated, or really sprawled out with his hands behind his head, is a fairly small man (boy, maybe) with inky hair and sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s dressed much differently than the other two, ripped jeans, Doc Martens, and a striped long sleeved shirt under a short sleeved band tee.

“What in the e-boy fuck…” You mutter to yourself, nodding at the blonds and letting Mike take your backpack—not that you really have a choice considering your grip on it is no match for his.

“Was the drive okay?” He asks, swinging the bag over his shoulder and making it look incredibly small.

“Yeah. Once I hit the backroads I could start going, like, eighty-five, so that shaved some time off.”

Mike snorts. “You sound like Erwin. Dude’s always speeding.”

“Don’t fucking start with me. I was in the car with you when you almost hit a pedestrian on a crosswalk.”

“We don’t talk about that.”

Everyone follows Erwin inside the house. It’s just as nice as you thought it’d be, sprawling and open with wood floors, plush furniture, and rustic decorations. There are moose antlers mounted in one room and a god damned bear head in another. It makes you roll your eyes, but to say you’re unimpressed would be a flat out lie.

“Not everyone is staying the night, but I know you have to, so just pick an upstairs room,” Erwin tells you after the grand tour. “I can take you around on the golf cart once you settle in.”

You see Mike roll his green eyes and amend, “We can take you around.”

“Yeah,” Erwin nods. “That’s what I meant.”

Levi is making a face up at Erwin, furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and a little grimace. He hasn’t said more than two words to you since you’ve arrived (“I’m Levi.”), but he doesn’t seem like the chatterbox type, a little more standoffish, and you can’t blame him for that.

“Just in case you’re wondering, I’m in the middle room,” Mike tells you with a grin.

“And why, pray tell, would I be wondering that?”

He basically sings in his deep voice, “No reason,” then walks back downstairs with Erwin and Levi, leaving you to make yourself comfortable.

You take the bedroom at the far end of the hallway out of spite more than anything, but you figure the farther away you can be from Mike the better. After setting your things down and organizing deodorant, perfume, and every day jewelry on the dresser, you join the guys downstairs to find them huddling over the kitchen island talking about plans for the night.

“Should we get a keg? It won’t be that many people, but it might be easier to just pour from one,” Erwin thinks out loud.

“Don’t bother getting a keg if it’s gonna be the same shitty beer you guys have at Pike parties,” you chime in, hip checking Mike so that he’ll scoot over and allow you join their little meeting.

Levi lets out a little laugh, the most expressive you’ve seen him so far, while the other two pout at your criticism.

“Why don’t you pick the beer then?” Erwin prompts. “Since you have such refined tastes.”

Eyebrows lifting, you laugh. “Oh, we’ve got a smartass in the house tonight.” The blond smirks and dusts off his shoulders, making Mike groan in either annoyance or embarrassment. You can’t be sure which one.

“Fuck, is this what it’s always like between you three?” Levi asks, looking between all of you. “Just constant bickering?”

“More or less.”

“That seems exhausting.”

“It is,” you confirm. “‘S’why I can only hang out with them in small doses.”

“Ouch.”

“Wounded.”

“Anyway,” you let your head hang so that all they can see is your shoulders shaking as you giggle, and when you look back up, you make sure that the smile is mostly wiped from your face. “I’m not saying I’m some kind of beer expert, but I at least know that the shit you serve at parties is rancid.”

“And yet, you always seem to forget,” Mike teases. “I always end up having to finish yours.”

“You don’t have to. You choose to, you fucking alkie.”

It’s hard to come to any sort of decision with the non-stop push and pull of the conversation, and eventually Levi just walks away to let the three of you work it out. Erwin orders a keg of Rolling Rock, says something about, “Dad won’t mind me splurging a little since I downsized this whole thing for him,” and you scoff at him.

He’s well aware of his privilege, talks about it in an ironic manner that’s both maddening and hilarious— “Father is going to let me take the yacht out this weekend,” and, “Oh, that’s not country club appropriate.” It makes you laugh every fucking time, but it also usually earns him a smack or two.

The next few hours are spent gathering party supplies and getting the house ready (as in moving some furniture around and hiding valuables). Erwin leaves to pick up the keg after assuring the vendor on the phone that he can drive to them and pay extra for the short notice. You don’t know how he manages it, but you assume his confidence has a lot to do with it.

Only about twenty people are supposed to come, “An Erwin Smith exclusive,” Mike jokes with you as you stash a couple of vases in the kitchen cabinets.

“Oh, does that mean I’m special?” You play.

“Absolutely.”

There’s something churning in your gut as you move around downstairs with Mike and Levi, an omniscient feeling, like you know how the night will end, but you’re going to fight it every step of the way. You’ve made it this long without a slip-up, and you’re determined to make it one more night.

Erwin gets back with about three hours to spare. He and Mike disappear to change into what you assume to be their usual douche-y attire, and you and Levi sit alone in the large living room waiting quietly.

You’re surprised when he speaks first, stating, “You don’t seem the sorority type.”

Turning, you try to make sense of it, respond, “Well, I’m not.” You’re almost offended that he’d even consider you were.

“Then what are you doing hanging around with those frat boy fucks?”

“Oh, that.” You sigh. “Uhh, my friend made me go to one of their parties, and I just… Made an impression, I guess.”

“You fucked one of ‘em, didn’t you?” Levi is smirking, so sure of himself that you don’t really see the point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

“Rich boy or the giant?”

You look over at him, defenses rising like they did your first night in the Pi Kappa Alpha house. “The fuck is it to you?”

Holding his hands up, Levi chuckles, “Alright, alright, forget I asked.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stare off as you wonder if it’s actually that hard to tell. You figured it would be obvious that you’re more comfortable with Mike than with Erwin, but you have been getting more used to the other brazen blond over the last few months, just like you’ve been getting a little more used to Nile and all the other brothers. You haven’t sucked any of their dicks, though.

“How’d you meet Erwin?” You try.

You’re not surprised when Levi snarks, “The fuck is it to you?”

You can’t tell if the two of you are going to leave this ranch house as mortal enemies or as friends, but it’ll definitely be one of them.

“‘Cause you don’t seem the type to hang out with them either,” you tell him.

It's definitely odd. He and Erwin have to go back some time to have been able to stick together through their college years and all of their superficial differences.

Levi admires the black polish on his nails then informs you in a bored tone, “We’ve been friends since we were kids, but it’s no big deal. Just can’t get rid of him.”

The corner of his mouth turns upward, so he can’t be too heartbroken over it. You understand that, haven’t quite been able to shake your puppy-dog of a friend since the beginning of the semester, but you’re not as annoyed about it as you pretend to be.

“They certainly do get attached,” you hum.

The two men in question join you once again, looking much more palatable in jeans and v-necks. Erwin has a button-down hanging open and rolled up to his elbows while Mike is wearing a black and white flannel in similar fashion. It’s the most casual they’ve been at a party, and you can’t help but joke, “Wow, look at you two. More human, less lizard people for once.”

Erwin rolls his eyes while Mike mumbles a Doctor Who reference that makes you suck on the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

He’s got his charm turned on tonight, the kind that appeals to you, which will definitely pose a problem.

People start arriving at around eight, some you recognize from the college, some you don’t who you assume to be some of Erwin’s older friends. Gelgar taps the keg within minutes of walking in then plays the role of bartender for the next ten minutes as everyone lines up for a drink. There’s liquor and mixers set up on the counter, and you consider just making your usual, but you figure you should have at least a little of the beer since you’re the one who fought for the more expensive brand.

When you get your cup, foam nearly overflowing past the rim, you take one sip only to cough it back up when Mike shows off his usual party trick—appearing out of thin air—and asks, “You gonna finish it this time?”

You splutter as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand then glare up at him. “I’m gonna try, but it’s gonna be pretty fuckin’ difficult if you keep making me spit up like a god damn baby.”

He’s amused, light eyes dancing mischievously, and you know you’re in for a long night.

Erwin has a playlist filtering through the house’s sound system, a nice balance of several different genres playing at a bearable volume for the first time. Games start up in the kitchen, rage cage around the island, beer pong at the table, and while you’re content to just wallflower in the corner, Mike drags you into it.

“You’re just as bad as Hitch," you complain, but he isn't fazed, just plants you in an open spot at the island and stands right beside you. He's gonna regret doing that; rage cage is one of the only competitive games you're actually good at, but he'll find that out.

It's fast-paced, full of screaming and laughing, jumping and shoving. You get to slam your cup into Mike's on several occasions, drawing curses from him every time.

"Honestly, it's a little embarrassing," you ridicule with a smile.

He downs the small amount of beer in the cup he pulls, adds it to the stack, then challenges, "I'll show you embarrassing. Just wait."

You've had maybe two beers altogether, but it still sends a jolt down your spine.

The two of you play another couple of rounds, and Mike does seem to catch on a little more, but he eventually bows out and pulls you away with him.

More beer. Meandering around the party. It's pretty tame in comparison to all the Pike events you've attended, but the later it gets, the rowdier everyone becomes. Music gets turned up to dance. The keg stops being used for pouring and starts being used for stands. You have the absolute pleasure of watching Erwin hold Levi upside down as the smaller man chugs as much as he can. He beats Nile's record, raises his arms in victory as Erwin shakes him by the shoulders in excitement.

"They're pretty close, yeah?"

Mike looks down at you as you stand on your tip-toes to get closer to his ear as you speak.

He nods. "I don't really understand them, but yeah. They've been friends since, like, elementary school, I think."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

You play beer pong against Gelgar and Nile, end up losing by quite a lot, and by the time you finish the remaining cups and another full drink, you're feeling good. Warm, happy, dangerously giggly.

Mike stands too close as you make your rounds to talk to people, many of them asking how the lacrosse season went. He puffs his chest a little, tries and fails to act modest, but instead of getting irritated like you usually do, you find yourself resting your cheek against his arm as you shake your head. You don't know if the action is to disagree with him or to get closer, but it makes Mike chuckle and shift so that he can wrap that arm around you and pull you to his chest instead.

He smells nice—woodsy with a sweet little bite. It makes your mouth water. You try to call back your determination from before, that readiness to fight and deny, but Mike's body is firm and massive and hot against yours, and he's also drunk and smiling sideways. His eyes are hazy and gorgeous when he peers down at you. His stubble has grown into that perfect length, the kind that feels incredible between your legs, and you can already see your hands tugging at his shaggy hair as he flips it from his face.

"You okay?" He rumbles, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

He knows. You know he knows. And, he knows that you know that—

Fuck. Stop. Just…

"What do you think?" You're aware of what you're saying. The words make perfect sense. You just can't stop them from falling from your mouth is all.

"I don't know," Mike says, a playful lilt to his voice. "Why don't you tell me?"

You're not sure if he's asking for your consent or if he just wants to humiliate you by making you spell it out for him.

"I mean…" Your gaze travels from his face to his neck to his pecs and downward. "The semester is over."

"It is," he agrees, hand moving from your waist to your hip.

"Don't really need to be, uh… What's the word…" You squeeze your eyes shut, splaying your fingers on his stomach. "Studious," you snap. "Don't need to be so studious on vacation."

Mike very slowly starts walking backwards toward the staircase, holding you at arms length by both your hips now.

"No, you really don't."

Voice of reason fading away, you step around him but grab his hand, taking the stairs two by two until you're on the balcony that wraps above the living room. Once you slip into the closer room, yours, you lock the door.

Mike's mouth is familiar in its desperation—tastes like beer and want and him. He pulls his flannel off behind him by the sleeves just in time for you to start pushing his shirt up over his abs, in awe all over again at the muscle group.

It's really not fair.

You pause between kisses to strip, smiling and groaning whenever your lips meet again. You've missed it on some level—the heat, the fucking attraction you just can't shake. All the times you hung out with him, purposely keeping distance, avoiding flirting and touching and staring—you figured it would come to a head. You even guessed there was a good chance that it would be at this party.

But, that doesn't mean you're prepared when he throws you onto the bed, doesn't prepare you for the way he bites your lip and sucks on your neck and pinches your nipples until you moan his name and grind against him, and it certainly doesn't prepare you for the way he spreads your legs, runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, then drags his tongue over your slit.

"Fuck, Mike."

He groans, quick to slide the muscle into your pulsing cunt to taste you. His fingertips are digging into the fat of your thighs, keeping you still save for your trembling which makes the feeling of his mouth even more intense. You want to buck against his face, want to put out the fire raging inside of you by moving somehow, letting some of the energy out, but you can't. All you can do is lay there as Mike licks around your hole and nibbles at your clit and laps up your juices.

"Missed this fuckin' pussy," he breathes, sucking on one of your lips and then the other, pulling blood to the surface and making them puffy and sensitive.

You card fingers through his hair before fisting your hand in it and shoving his face further into your cunt, trying as hard as you fucking can to ride any part of him you can manage—his tongue, his nose, anything that will give you friction.

The sound he makes at your pathetic attempt is bestial, a low, throaty grunt as he rubs his chin up and down your slit, drenching himself in your slick and quickly overstimulating your swollen clit with his stubble.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

"You wanted it," he grits. "You pushed your sloppy little cunt right in my face, so now you've gotta take everything I give you."

You cry as he continues the motion, pussy drooling as the little bud starts to grow raw. "Mike, please, please…"

"Gonna make sure you feel this tomorrow." He stops only to lean back down and suck your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue is soft in comparison to the coarse hair, but it still makes your hips twitch, and when he grazes his teeth over it, you squeal and kick.

It's so close to hurting, right on the edge, but it's that helplessness that has you steadily leaking on the bed. It's what makes it easy for Mike to push a finger into your clenching hole, pump a couple times, then slide another one in beside it.

Your climax is coiling in your gut, compressed like a spring and only getting tighter with every thrust of long, thick fingers and every measured flick of his tongue.

Gripping his hair again, you ride it out. Mike loosens his grip just enough to allow you to undulate in time with the waves that wash over you, and you moan loudly as he moves to flatten his tongue over your entrance so that you come on and against it.

He gives you some time to settle down, but you know he isn't done yet, and since you're not quite ready to take his cock in your sensitive pussy, you pull your legs from the sides of his head and crawl to lay with your head off the side of the bed.

Mike gets the picture immediately, and you hear a huff of air leave him all at once before he clambers off the mattress to position himself at the edge. You're a little too low, so he grabs all four pillows to shove under you, and as he does, you lavish his bobbing cock with kitten licks, going as far as sucking on his balls when he leans over you.

"Jesus fucking—"

You can feel the way they tighten, his cockhead dripping pre that lands just below the notch of your sternum. It isn't until he's thoroughly coated in spit that you stop and let him straighten, then open your mouth and relax your shoulders.

Mike is careful as he slides his tip past your lips, letting you adjust to the weight of his cock in your mouth before he pushes in a little further. Your eyes start watering as soon as he passes between your molars, making you stretch your jaw and drool from the corners of your mouth.

He pulls out then, taps his cockhead on your cheek, leaving a mix of precum and spit on your skin before lining himself up again and sliding back in.

He repeats the process a few times as if it'll actually get you used to his size, but it's just not possible. You gag and gurgle, slurp back drool when you're given the chance, and your entire body throbs when Mike tells you, "I'm gonna give you more now, okay? Wanna see your throat bulge with my cock."

You moan around him, try to make the passage of your mouth and esophagus as straight as possible then let your eyes roll back as he slips into the tighter sleeve for a few seconds. Your toes dig into the bedspread, fingers clawing at the material as you fight back the panic that comes with not being able to breathe.

Mike pulls out panting, and you wish you could see his face, the look in his eyes, but you can't. All you can do is lap at his cock until he pushes it into your mouth again.

This time when he slips into your throat, he reaches down to press a hand to your neck, letting out a deep, disbelieving laugh as he feels the way his length moves in it. "Holy shit. I could—" he just barely gives you more, and your responding whine is completely muffled by him, "—Could come like this."

The thought makes you tingle. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen. You are feeling a little lightheaded. But the idea of him coming down your throat, right into your stomach, fuck, it makes your cunt pulse again.

Mike pulls out, and you suck in deep breaths, a little sob making your chest heave. Tears are streaming from your eyes, getting caught in your hair, and you have to wipe other various fluids from your face.

He helps you sit back up, rubs your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck as your heart rate returns to normal. As soon as he sees you relax, though, he's tugging you from the bed and bending you over it.

The scream that's pushed from you is hoarse as you're split open on his cock. Mike holds you by the hair, pulling your head back as he snaps his hips forward and back relentlessly. He slides in and out of you easily, but that doesn't mean he isn't stretching you to your breaking point.

You shake on the bed, thankful when he lets go of your head so that you can fall back to the mattress, crying and moaning all you want.

"Feel so good, baby," Mike groans. "So good."

He punctuates it with a slap to your ass that causes you to squeeze him, and that only encourages him to repeat the action until both your cheeks are radiating heat and stinging from his hands.

He flips you like a doll, and you're finally able to see his face clearly as he stares down at you with a dropped jaw and heavy lids. You know you're a mess, fucked out and sloppy, but as he abuses your g-spot with the ridge of his cock, all you can do is grin drunkenly and let your eyes roll.

"So pretty when you smile," he praises. Fingers grip your chin, and when you're able to focus your gaze again you find Mike leaning over you, face level with yours. "Open your mouth for me." His tone is soft yet demanding, and you don't hesitate for a second as you do what you're told.

Mike pushes spit through his lips, letting it drip and stretch until it lands on your tongue. It makes you feel cheap and disgusting, but it doesn't stop you from squirting around him.

Devolving into nothing more than grunts and groans, Mike continues to fuck into you but straightens so that he can reach your clit better. He flicks it back and forth until your true orgasm hits you, and then he keeps going.

You cry out, squirm wildly beneath him, but all it results in is two fingers being shoved in your mouth. Stroking over the back of your tongue, more saliva pours from your mouth just like the slick that pours from your pussy while he toys with your clit.

You come again. And again. When Mike finally removes his hand from between your legs, you're nothing more than a puddle, moaning and crying for him.

Every orgasm has made your walls swell around him, his cock feeling longer and thicker than ever as he kisses your cervix with every thrust. That lightheaded sensation is back, white dots dancing around your eyes, and you just barely manage out his name, tapping in his forearm.

"Need… need…"

"What do you need, babe?"

Your arms curl up by your head, fingers moving and spasming as every one of your senses is overwhelmed.

"Need you to—t-to—to come. Need you to c-come."

You've never had to tap out before, but you can't take him anymore. His size. His expression. His lack of fucking mercy.

"Yeah?" He coos, but his cock is still dragging in and out of you. You nod, but Mike draws it out, asking, "Where do you want me to come?"

"Don't… Care…"

"You don't care?" He's still moving, fucking you absolutely stupid as he lists out, "Your face? Your tits?" He gropes your chest, pinching both nipples, and the fact that you don't even whimper must clue him into the fact that he's about to lose you.

Your mind is swimming, fading every time he pulls out only to be brought back online when he pushes back in.

"What about your pussy? Want me to come all over your pussy?"

You moan, the simplest part of your brain apparently finding that appealing, so after a few more thrusts, Mike pulls out entirely and jerks himself off until he covers your folds in hot cum. He gets some on your thighs, some on your pelvis, soaks your peaking clit so that you take in a stuttering breath.

His hand is between your legs again, fingertips spreading the viscous fluid around and dipping into your slit.

Your eyes shoot open for the first time in God knows how long, a panicked, "M-Mike," tumbling from your lips, but he hushes you.

"I'm not pushing it inside or anything. Just having fun."

And, fuck, tonight is the night you learn how filthy he is. Mike spends a few solid minutes rubbing his seed over your puffy lips, fingers the raw tissue around your hole so that you leak for him, then uses it to massage your clit slowly and softly, pulling one last orgasm from you that makes fresh tears spring in your eyes.

You're going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you can't regret it—not when your legs continue to shake long after your climax, not when you can already feel that satisfying ache deep inside of you, not when Mike crawls to sit on the bed and lifts you into his arms.

"You okay?" He asks into your hair.

He's rubbing soothing circles on your stomach as you drift in and out. You know you need to shower, but you're so tired and so wrecked, you doubt you'll be able to stand for long enough to clean yourself.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Mm, little bit," you tell him honestly. You can actually feel his heart start to beat harder in his chest, so you reassure him, "Liked it, though."

You think something like twenty minutes pass, but you can't be sure as you keep dozing. It's hard not to with Mike rubbing your stomach, his body rising and falling in rhythm with every breath he takes.

When your eyes open more than halfway, you begin to move, grimacing at the soreness between your legs as well as the mess.

"'m gonna hop in the shower," you announce.

Mike sits up too, stretches his arms and asks through a groan, "Want me to come with?"

"You've done enough coming tonight," you snort. "But nah, I can clean myself on my own."

His eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't say anything, just lets you get up and walk to the bathroom on shaky legs.

The hot water almost puts you back to sleep. You manage to rinse off where you need to, step back into the room fully expecting to see Mike passed out in your bed, but he's nowhere to be found.

As you crawl under the covers, you try to swallow the feeling of disappointment that's stuck in your throat.

Mike is up before almost everyone in the house the next morning, so he spends most of it trying to clean up alongside Levi, though he apparently isn't doing a very good job of it according to the smaller man.

"Jesus, have you ever mopped a floor in your life?"

"Oh, so we're just throwing everything in the same trash bag? No recycling? Your future kids will thank you for that, I'm sure."

"No, there's no way I’m letting you wipe down the counters. Just move."

Levi is lucky Mike is as laid back as he is otherwise he would have thrown the little fuck into the koi pond behind the house a long time ago.

Erwin wakes up around nine and walks down looking a little rough, but Mike has definitely seen him in worse states.

"Thanks for cleaning up," he says, bent over the island and holding his head in his hands. "Pretty sure I would have thrown up if I'd tried. Several times."

He tells the other two that pretty much everyone else started heading out at around three and that he has a list of party-goers he needs to text to make sure they made it home in one piece, "When I can actually fucking see straight."

Naturally, the conversation turns to Mike. Erwin, with his cheek now pressed against the cool, granite countertop, smirks up at him and asks in a sly voice, "So, how was your night?'

Mike bites his lip to hide a smile, leans out of the kitchen to make sure you aren't stumbling down the stairs or traipsing about the house, then looks back to his friend and laughs, "Fucking mind-blowing, dude." He doesn't go into explicit detail—that's never been his style—but he does whisper about you taking him better than any other girl and that he's, "Addicted, dude. I genuinely think I am addicted to her pussy."

"Don't be fucking dramatic, Zacharias," you pop out behind him, slapping his back as you pass him to get to the fridge. He can see the ghost of a smile turning your lips up, but it's hard to feel satisfied at that when his own face is beet red.

Looking at Erwin, Mike throws his hands out by his side, mutters an incredulous, "Dude," that makes the other blond chuckle.

You grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, making Levi grumble, "Are none of you guys concerned about the planet? God damn."

Standing between Mike and Erwin, you take a few gulps, all eyes on you until you swallow and question, "Can I help you?" Now that you're right next to him, Mike can hear a scratchiness to your voice, almost as if you're getting sick, but he knows better, knows exactly where it came from, and fuck if it doesn't make him twitch in his sweats.

"Have a good time at the party?" Erwin pries once again.

You look at him with a deadpan expression, then answer, "Seems like you already got the deets, so sure. I had a grand time."

Mike isn't sure if you're being sarcastic about it just like you are everything else. You had just kind of left him hanging when you'd gone to shower. He hadn't thought too much into it even if he'd been a little bummed, but he thinks he understands. You just need more space than he does.

Or, it could have been that you hadn't enjoyed yourself. Oh god, what if you'd just been faking? What if you'd lied to him when he asked if he hurt you? What if you're in pain right now and just hiding it?

Mike zones out while you talk with Erwin and Levi about plans for the day, works himself into a nice little panic but is still able to hear you tell them you're just gonna head back to your mom's.

"You sure?" Erwin asks. "I know you only planned to stay one night, but you're more than welcome to hang out for longer. We’ll be here for at least another few days."

Levi adds an, "Unfortunately," that earns him a hair ruffle he swats away.

"No, it's cool. I can't leave mom alone for the holiday or she'll start to think I don't like staying at the house."

"You don't, though."

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know that."

Mike stares after you as you take your water bottle and return upstairs, and it doesn't escape the notice of the other two men.

"You're so fuckin' whipped, man," Erwin teases.

Mike doesn't deny it, just holds up a middle finger.

Erwin isn't entirely wrong, though. Mike has been trying to deny it or play it off as nothing more than lust, but there's more to his feelings at this point. He tries not to be obvious around you, to keep his cards close to his chest because he knows you just want to keep things casual—barely even want that if he's being honest.

So he can hide it. He can pretend it isn't happening. In fact, Mike should be thankful that you only want sex (sometimes) because it leaves him to do whatever he wants. He could fuck other chicks left and right, and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash. That's a good thing, right?

That worry about last night still has him on edge, though, so before you can leave, Mike catches you in your room as you're packing up and closes the door.

He expects you to make some kind of comment about not being able to go again, but all you do is tilt your head to the side in a dangerously cute way.

"Hey, I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you felt okay after last night."

You blink at him, pause in folding your clothes, then show a wide, real grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sore in various places—like, super sore—but I'm fine."

Mike's mouth twists to hide his smirk, and he mumbles a low, "Sorry."

"Don't ever apologize for your monster cock," you tell him, setting your shirt down on the mattress before pacing over to him. "Like, unless there's tearing of some sort, which there really shouldn't be since you're good at preparation, whoever you fuck should be okay. Sore but okay."

His eyes go a little wide when you stop in front of him, looking up with an expression he's really never seen before—or maybe that you've never allowed him to see before—and the longer he stares, the more he realizes that you're god damn glowing.

Taking a chance, he finds your waist with his hands, inches just a little closer, then leans down when you stand on your toes and tug him by the shirt.

You taste like peppermint and already smell like the perfume you wear every day, the scent that has made Mike dizzy for the past few months. He moves a hand to your back to press your body into his, and when you take his bottom lip into your mouth, biting and sucking, he groans and pulls back before he can get too hard.

"What's all this? Why are you so perky this morning?"

"I get giddy after good sex," you say with a shrug. "Sue me."

"That why you run away every time I fuck you?" He questions.

You nod. "Couldn't run away this time, though."

"I'm sure it's really bruising your pride, letting me see you all warm and gooey."

"I am not warm and gooey," you protest. "I was last night, but—"

"Aw, gross, why'd you have to say it like that?"

You giggle—giggle—then remind him, "You're the one who felt the need to fucking fingerpaint."

Mike vividly remembers the way your pussy looked covered in his cum, the way it felt to smear it and play with your swollen entrance and clit, and now… Now he is definitely hard again.

"Better stop before you end up on that bed again."

Your eyes are dancing, tone mischievous when you respond, "Only if you're gentle."

"Christ—"

He's got you naked and spread on the mattress in less than thirty seconds, tongue buried in your cunt as he soothes every part of you he can reach.

It would be cruel to actually fuck you again. He knows you're probably a little more tender than you're letting on, so Mike settles for licking into you and flicking your clit, never using teeth as it swells in his mouth so that you pant and moan, and promise, "I can handle it, Mike, I can…"

"I don't care if you can or can't. Just lemme do this."

And, it's not like he hasn't pulled his cock from his pants, pumping it and coating his length in the pre-cum he drips at the mere sight of you.

He can tell you're getting close when your thighs start to tense. You alternate between shifting your hips and going slack. It's the latter that you leak the most, pussy opening around his tongue only to clench a few seconds later.

"Just one finger, Mike, please, I want—I need something inside me, please, please," you moan.

Mike turns his face to kiss your thigh, sighing but giving in easily when he acquiesces, "Only one."

The noise you make as he slides his middle finger into you is like music, high pitched and drawn out, with an awe one would sing hymns with.

"Yes, yes, yes, thank you, fuck, tha—"

He understands why you wanted it so badly when he pulls it out and sees his finger coated in white, considers fucking you with it to the point of tears, but before he can, the door to the bedroom swings open and fucking Erwin walks in to ask, "Levi and I are going to the store—"

“Jesus fuck, Erwin!" Mike swears. "A little busy here!"

His friend is unfazed, but more importantly, you are too, arching your back, pulling Mike's hair to get him back where you want him, then moaning his name like you never have before as you come.

You tremble and take in stuttering breaths, and Mike does his best to hide your exposed pussy from prying eyes as he looks at Erwin and barks out a furious, "No, I don't need anything from the store. Get out."

The blond shrugs and turns, walking out without shutting the door, and Mike swears he's gonna kill him. He's too bold and too entitled and now he's seen far too much of your body, and Mike doesn't like that.

"Did you come?" You ask in an airy voice. Mike guesses you could feel the rhythm of his hand on his cock, probably pushing his face harder against you with every pass.

"Uh, no. I don't know if you noticed, but Erwin walked in."

"I noticed," you snort, sitting up on your elbows. "Why do you think I moaned your name like that?"

"What?" It had seemed a little odd. Mike knows he's pretty good at oral, but you've never made a sound like that before.

"Fucker wanted to see what we were up to, I decided to show him. Now he knows how good you are."

Mike stands, peers down at you skeptically and says, "You're being too nice to me today. It's freakin' me out a little."

He doesn't think it's necessary to add that Erwin is already aware of his sexual prowess considering they definitely had a threesome with a rather adventurous girl back in freshman year. It's just not pertinent information.

"Soak it up, Zacharias. I'm sure the good mood will be gone by tomorrow."

"Why, cause I won't be at your mom's to fuck you stupid every night?" His voice comes out cocky, but it's stifled by the way you squeal when he slaps a hand over your wet pussy.

"I'm sensitive, you asshole!" You're smiling even as you whine. "And, here I was about to give you head to get you off."

"I mean, you can still do that."

You glare up at him the whole time you slide off the bed to your knees, warn, "Better hope I don't bite."

After you leave (and after making out against Mike’s Wrangler for a little too long), he goes back inside to find Erwin and Levi lounging in the den with a movie playing. He wastes no time in snapping his fingers at Erwin and commanding, "We're gonna talk."

"Oh, are we?" Erwin doesn't even look away until Mike grabs the back of his shirt, and only then does he move from his spot. "Okay, okay, watch the wrinkles, bro."

He follows Mike into the kitchen, out of earshot unless either of them raise their voices which… Could happen.

"What the fuck was that?" Mike hisses.

Erwin looks at him with big blue eyes and plays dumb, "What the fuck was what?"

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mike makes sure his voice comes out low and steady, "Smith, I swear to God, it's been a long time since I've punched you, but you're fuckin' testing me, dude."

Erwin smiles, face lighting up with what looks like excitement but could also be fury.

"Mike," he starts. "Don't tell me you're getting violent over a girl." His tone is patronizing, his eyebrows are high, and his grin is downright menacing.

"I haven't gotten violent yet," Mike grits.

"Hey, how was I to know what you two were doing up there?"

"It's not about you walking in, dude! It's about you just fucking standing there!"

Erwin chuckles and blows him off, "Mike, I've seen your dick before. You've got nothing to worry about."

"That's not what I'm worried about. You just, like, came in when she was in a vulnerable position, and that's fucked up."

"She didn't seem to mind."

Mike sucks his teeth, takes another grounding breath, then asks again, "Why? Why did you wait to leave?"

"You want me to be honest?" Erwin rolls his neck then his shoulders. Mike has seen him do that many times before lacrosse games to loosen up—to get ready for a fight.

Mike's fist clenches at his side. "Yeah, I do."

"You've been making yourself crazy over this girl since the start of the semester, and I want to know why."

"What do you mean?" Mike doesn't know why he asks, has a pretty good idea of what Erwin is alluding to.

The blond still dodges the question but in about the worst way possible. "It's not like you two are exclusive or anything."

Mike feels the way his lungs fill to the point of burning, how his jaw clenches until his molars begin to ache under the pressure, and before he really knows what's happening, he's bowing up to his best friend.

Erwin matches him, only a couple inches shorter, chin tilted, that maddening light in his eyes.

"Walk away, Mike," he warns. "And, we can forget this little spat even happened."

Mike peers down his nose at him, trying to rein in his emotions because Erwin is right. You two aren't exclusive. You don't want to be. You told him it was because you need to focus on school, but it could be that you want other options.

But fuck, Mike doesn't want Erwin to be one of them. He's stolen more than a few girls right from under Mike's nose with his stupid charm and stupid face and stupid money. He doesn't want you to fall prey to all of it too.

Mike doesn't even register the quiet footsteps padding into the kitchen, but Levi's smartass, "You guys about to kiss or somethin'?" definitely snaps him out of his head.

Stepping back, Mike resists the urge to punch the counter and break his fucking hand, then turns and strides out.

He's supposed to stay at the ranch house for a couple more days, but Mike needs to distance himself before he does something stupid.

When he comes back downstairs with his bag on his shoulder and his keys in his hand, Erwin seems to realize his error on at least some level and stands from his place on the couch.

"Mike, come on, I'm sor—"

"Let me cool off, dude,” Mike snaps.

Erwin shuts his mouth and sits back down, smart enough not to follow Mike outside.

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