#three pipe problem

[holmesoldfellow]

Sherlock Holmes "Three Pipe Problem" linoprint by BakerStreetPrints

[st4r-t3ars]

Elias: Who broke the coffee machine? I’m not mad, I just wanna know.

Martin: I did. I broke it.

Elias: No. No, you didn’t. Jon?

Jon: Don’t look at me. Look at Melanie!

Melanie: What?! I didn’t break it.

Jon: Huh. That’s weird. How’d you even know it was broken?

Melanie: Because it’s sitting right in front of us and it’s broken!

Jon: Suspicious.

Melanie: No, it’s not!

Basira: If it matters, probably not… Tim was the last one to use it.

Tim: Liar! I don’t even drink that crap!

Basira: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Tim: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles! Everyone knows that!

Martin: Alright, let’s not fight. I broke it, let me pay for it, Elias.

Elias: No. Who broke it?

Melanie: Daisy’s been awfully quiet…

Daisy: Really?!

Melanie: Yeah, really!

-

Elias: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now, they’ll be at each other’s throats with warpaint on their faces.

[cb-writes-stuff]

Dang, now I need to come up with, like, some cultural thing.

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[knifekris]

i woke up knowing today was going to be so stupid

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Driest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[reasonsforhope]

As relentless rains pounded LA, the city’s “sponge” infrastructure helped gather 8.6 billion gallons of water—enough to sustain over 100,000 households for a year.

Earlier this month, the future fell on Los Angeles. A long band of moisture in the sky, known as an atmospheric river, dumped 9 inches of rain on the city over three days—over half of what the city typically gets in a year. It’s the kind of extreme rainfall that’ll get ever more extreme as the planet warms.

The city’s water managers, though, were ready and waiting. Like other urban areas around the world, in recent years LA has been transforming into a “sponge city,” replacing impermeable surfaces, like concrete, with permeable ones, like dirt and plants. It has also built out “spreading grounds,” where water accumulates and soaks into the earth.

With traditional dams and all that newfangled spongy infrastructure, between February 4 and 7 the metropolis captured 8.6 billion gallons of stormwater, enough to provide water to 106,000 households for a year. For the rainy season in total, LA has accumulated 14.7 billion gallons.

Long reliant on snowmelt and river water piped in from afar, LA is on a quest to produce as much water as it can locally. “There's going to be a lot more rain and a lot less snow, which is going to alter the way we capture snowmelt and the aqueduct water,” says Art Castro, manager of watershed management at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. “Dams and spreading grounds are the workhorses of local stormwater capture for either flood protection or water supply.”

Centuries of urban-planning dogma dictates using gutters, sewers, and other infrastructure to funnel rainwater out of a metropolis as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. Given the increasingly catastrophic urban flooding seen around the world, though, that clearly isn’t working anymore, so now planners are finding clever ways to capture stormwater, treating it as an asset instead of a liability. “The problem of urban hydrology is caused by a thousand small cuts,” says Michael Kiparsky, director of the Wheeler Water Institute at UC Berkeley. “No one driveway or roof in and of itself causes massive alteration of the hydrologic cycle. But combine millions of them in one area and it does. Maybe we can solve that problem with a thousand Band-Aids.”

Or in this case, sponges. The trick to making a city more absorbent is to add more gardens and other green spaces that allow water to percolate into underlying aquifers—porous subterranean materials that can hold water—which a city can then draw from in times of need. Engineers are also greening up medians and roadside areas to soak up the water that’d normally rush off streets, into sewers, and eventually out to sea...

To exploit all that free water falling from the sky, the LADWP has carved out big patches of brown in the concrete jungle. Stormwater is piped into these spreading grounds and accumulates in dirt basins. That allows it to slowly soak into the underlying aquifer, which acts as a sort of natural underground tank that can hold 28 billion gallons of water.

During a storm, the city is also gathering water in dams, some of which it diverts into the spreading grounds. “After the storm comes by, and it's a bright sunny day, you’ll still see water being released into a channel and diverted into the spreading grounds,” says Castro. That way, water moves from a reservoir where it’s exposed to sunlight and evaporation, into an aquifer where it’s banked safely underground.

On a smaller scale, LADWP has been experimenting with turning parks into mini spreading grounds, diverting stormwater there to soak into subterranean cisterns or chambers. It’s also deploying green spaces along roadways, which have the additional benefit of mitigating flooding in a neighborhood: The less concrete and the more dirt and plants, the more the built environment can soak up stormwater like the actual environment naturally does.

As an added benefit, deploying more of these green spaces, along with urban gardens, improves the mental health of residents. Plants here also “sweat,” cooling the area and beating back the urban heat island effect—the tendency for concrete to absorb solar energy and slowly release it at night. By reducing summer temperatures, you improve the physical health of residents. “The more trees, the more shade, the less heat island effect,” says Castro. “Sometimes when it’s 90 degrees in the middle of summer, it could get up to 110 underneath a bus stop.”

LA’s far from alone in going spongy. Pittsburgh is also deploying more rain gardens, and where they absolutely must have a hard surface—sidewalks, parking lots, etc.—they’re using special concrete bricks that allow water to seep through. And a growing number of municipalities are scrutinizing properties and charging owners fees if they have excessive impermeable surfaces like pavement, thus incentivizing the switch to permeable surfaces like plots of native plants or urban gardens for producing more food locally.

So the old way of stormwater management isn’t just increasingly dangerous and ineffective as the planet warms and storms get more intense—it stands in the way of a more beautiful, less sweltering, more sustainable urban landscape. LA, of all places, is showing the world there’s a better way.

-via Wired, February 19, 2024

[bakerstreetbabble]

My second Nashville Scholars meeting

Once again, I was able to go to a meeting of the Nashville Scholars of the Three Pipe Problem, the local Sherlockian society here in Nashville, Tennessee. It was an enjoyable time, chatting with other fans about Sherlock Holmes, and other things.  In fact, the conversation turned to Shakespeare for awhile, and some of us talked about film versions of Hamlet.  Also, a newbie in the group was a Doctor Who fan, which related both to Sherlock Holmes (Moffat and Gatiss, the writers of Sherlock also write for Doctor Who) and to Shakespeare (my favorite Hamlet on film is David Tennant, a former Doctor). There was Show & Tell time (I passed around a book I had acquired a few years ago) and a quiz (a very funny one this time). The discussion centered on the story entitled "The Adventure of the Red Circle." (Not my favorite Holmes story, but not bad.)  It was nice not to be "the new guy" this time around, even though I have felt quite welcome from the very first moment.

If you live in the Nashville area and are a fan of Sherlock Holmes, I certainly recommend that you consider attending a meeting.  A more friendly and welcoming group of readers would be hard to find. You can find more information about the group at their official website.

[seungkw1]

love me right — ksy

♡ pairing: roommate!hoshi x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], humor ♡ wc: 4.1k ♡ warnings: oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), multiple orgasms, a lil spit play, head pushing, thigh riding, somnophilia, cum eating/swallowing, cumming in pants, like 2 seconds of angst, praise kink, hs is down bad for reader, gendered pet names (baby, good girl, pretty girl, etc), bit of fluff at the end ♡ a/n: this is part 2 to make me !! finally got this written hope yall like <3

Ever since you sort-of-accidentally had sex with your roommate for the first time, he’s been nothing but a fucking menace. 

Not in a bad way - no, despite the fact that he's kind of an actual insane person he's always been and continues to be a very considerate and agreeable roommate. There's no problem with your living arrangements. 

The problem is how fucking insatiable he has become. 

You previously never thought there could be such a thing as too many orgasms, but Soonyoung really is testing your limits. You've never had so much sex in your life - and you're not mad about it by any means. But your roommate-turned-friend with benefits is absolutely, utterly, wholeheartedly obsessed with having his entire face buried in your pussy at all possible times. And you love every second of it. 

Sure, sometimes your clit kinda feels like it's gonna fall off. Most of the time you've barely recovered from the last set of two, three, four orgasms (the current record is six, a record he's determined to beat) before he’s back between your legs again. But the constant cunnilingus leaves you more sensitive than ever before - and the more you squirm beneath his tongue and scream and cry as he takes you to paradise, the more it gets him off. One time you were wailing his name so much that he actually came in his pants, fully hands-free. The man simply worships you. 

You've had various kink-related conversations over the past couple months of nonstop boinking, as these things come up. You wouldn't necessarily say Soonyoung is into anything too crazy (besides the occasional burst of tiger roleplay, anyway), but so far he's been enthusiastically down for everything you've expressed interest in. He’s the very definition of matching one’s freak. 

“You know what would be hot?” Soonyoung asks you one day, approximately two minutes after you woke up and emerged from your room.

“Good morning to you too,” you tell him through a sleepy yawn.

“What if,” he continues anyway, “hypothetically, I were to wake you up one day by eating you out?”

“Soonyoung is it nine in the morning,” you reply as you give him a dull glare. You go to make yourself a cup of coffee, but he extends a full mug to you. You take the cup - it’s fresh, piping hot. 

“Oh, thanks,” you say, surprised by the kind gesture.

“So?” he prods, eagerly awaiting your reply.

“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t be mad about that,” you answer with a small shrug.

“NOICE,” he exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.

“BUT-” you quickly add. “That cannot be an everyday thing.”

“Right, of course not,” he agrees with a nod. “Soooo, when can I try it?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that,” you reply straightforwardly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, that would like, defeat the whole point.”

A wide grin spreads across his face, but he shakes it off right away, playing it cool. 

“Okay cool, well I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, grabbing your hand and shaking it vigorously. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you gibe, but your face cracks into a smile. He pulls you in and kisses you. 

“Love you too.”

You freeze. 

You may have been intimate with him more times than you can count, but your relationship is strictly casual. You only kiss when you're fucking, and the words I love you have never once been uttered by either of you. You know he probably was saying it facetiously, but the way he said it was so nonchalant. So… realistic. You stare at him for a second, not knowing how to respond. His smile slowly drops. 

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes. His ears immediately turn red with embarrassment. 

“No no it’s fine,” you babble, trying to backtrack. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“I was just kidding,” he responds. Then his eyes widen. “I mean not like that, it's not that-”

“It’s fine!!” you quickly interject before he can say anything else. “I know what you mean.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. He suddenly realizes he's still holding onto your hand - he swiftly lets go. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” you tell him politely with a smile, trying to change the subject. 

“Of course,” he replies, trying to smile back at you, but you can tell he's still sulky. He departs from the kitchen without saying another word. He emerges from his room about a minute later in athletic gear, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Off to workout already? I thought you were going this afternoon” you inquire, but he's already breezing past you. 

“Yeah, Mingyu just texted me and wanted to meet earlier,” he answers as he grabs his keys. 

It’s a bad lie, and you both know it. But you don't press him further. 

“Okay, have fun!” you say cheerfully. But an air of tension remains. 

“Thanks,” he replies, turning back to glance at you for only a brief second. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Soonyo-”

He's out the door before you have a chance to finish even saying his name. 

You stand there for a few moments, staring at the front door, wondering if you've just fucked everything up. You didn't mean to, of course. You were just so taken aback by the stupid L word. It's not something you ever expected to hear coming from Soonyoung’s lips, not about you anyways. But now it has you thinking. Was he simply joking around? Or does he actually have… feelings for you?

A small blip of a thought enters your mind: and do you have feelings for him?

You push it away before you can think about it any further. 

The next few days are undoubtedly a bit awkward. Soonyoung is clearly avoiding you - not in a malicious way, but he just so happens to have business elsewhere whenever you're at home. 

You're mildly annoyed, but more so you're feeling gloomy about the whole situation. You never meant to do anything to push him away - near-constant fucking aside, Soonyoung truly is a good friend. And now you find yourself missing him. 

After an entire week of this nonsense, you decide to confront him. You pretend to be going to sleep, anticipating that he’ll spend some time alone in the common area. A few minutes later your hunch is confirmed when you hear the tv come on, its volume low. You quietly open your door and sneak into the living room. You approach the couch slowly from behind - when you arrive at it, you jump around and plop down next to Soonyoung. 

“FUCK,” he yelps, nearly jumping out of his seat.  “You scared me!”

“I'm horny,” you tell him bluntly, scooting up next to him. “Let me suck your dick.”

Soonyoung stares at you, looking into your eyes that are now mere inches from his. You can tell he desperately wants to say yes, but he resists. You give him a flirty look, trying to entice him. 

“Pleaseeeee?”

“Well, I was gonna watch a movie…” his sentence trails off, unfinished. He tries to shift his focus away from you, but his eyes keep flickering back to yours. 

“Seriously?” you ask, crossing your arms. “Since when do you turn down head?” 

“Y/n…”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. 

“Yes?”

He looks you in the eyes again, then sighs. 

“I dunno, I’m just not in the mood right now,” he finally answers. He looks away sullenly. 

“Are you okay?”

He looks back at you. He clearly wants to tell you something, but he hesitates. 

“About the other day…” he finally speaks. He pauses, in case you have something to say. You don’t; he continues.

“I didn't mean to make things weird. When I said that I loved you.”

“You didn't,” you assure him. You note that he didn’t say anything about it not being true, but you try to ignore that right now. 

You take his hand in yours, patting it softly. He looks at you, surprised by the gesture. 

“I was being weird, that's on me.”

His mood cautiously lightens. “You sure?” he verifies. 

“100%,” you say with a nod. He smiles at you. 

“Now will you please put your dick in my mouth?” you request again, looking into his eyes seductively.  

A smile creeps onto his face. 

“I mean if you're gonna be this fucking hot…”

You give him a mischievous smirk. You tug at his tshirt; he immediately takes it off. He groans as you grab his dick through his sweatpants, his cock starting to harden instantly in response. One thing about Soonyoung - you can do the bare minimum and he’ll have a boner within five seconds. You lick your lips, stroking him slowly through the soft gray fabric. He lets out a deep exhale, relieved by your touch - it had only been a week, but he missed you badly. He craved your touch, craved how insane you make him feel. He drops his head back, his legs spreading as he settles into the couch, shifting his pelvis up so you have full access to his groin. You rub your hand over the thick bulge, squeezing and pulling lightly, causing him to let out a pathetic-sounding moan. He is putty in your hands. 

About a minute more of your over-the-pants handjob and Soonyoung is rock fucking hard. You slide off the couch, taking to your knees between his spread thighs. You pull at the elastic waistband, tugging it down over the pulsating bulge in his underwear. You place your mouth on him through the fabric, letting him feel your lips, your hot breath on him. 

“Stop teasing me,” he begs after you plant several more kisses on his clothed dick. “Please.”

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with lust. You reach into his underwear, retrieving his cock, prompting further pathetic moaning. He is leaking with precum - you take him in your fist, stroking up and down at a pace that he finds painfully slow. You place your lips atop the head, lightly sucking up his juices. He cries out as you then swirl your tongue over his tip.

“Aaaah,” he groans, his voice turning gravelly.

You grab his balls and take the rest of the head into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks as you begin sucking on it slowly - each motion of your lips long and drawn out. Saliva accumulates in the back of your mouth - and an overwhelming wetness accumulates in your underwear.

You draw your head back, gazing up at Soonyoung submissively. You collect your saliva, spitting it onto his cock - it trickles downwards. Wrapping your hand around his girth you spread it over his full length, coating his cock with your spit. 

“Oh wow,” he mutters, nearly going cross eyed. You take his cock in your mouth once more, swallowing more and more of him until his entire length is down your throat. 

“Goddamn baby,” he growls as you bottom out. You begin to bob your head, sucking him off. The sounds being made right now are grotesque - slurping and gagging from you, moaning and grunting from him. But it's only turning you on even more. 

“Ohh that's a good girl,” he grumbles as he pets your hair. You increase your pace - saliva coats your lips, dripping down your chin, spreading across your face. The utterly sloppy head has Soonyoung writhing beneath you, babbling unintelligibly as his orgasm draws near. 

“Feels so good baby.” 

“Fuck you’re so hot.”

“Pretty girl sucking my cock so good right now.” 

His other hand ventures to your head, holding you down as his hips jerk and shake. Your throat aches from him fucking it, your eyes well with tears - but your clit throbbing against the stickiness that has flooded your panties proves how much you fucking love this. 

“Ohhhhhmygoddddd,” he groans through gritted teeth. “Fuuuuck, y/n… I’m gonna cum…”

He pushes your head down as he releases, giving you several hard thrusts as his cum spurts down your throat. You let him fill you up, eagerly swallowing each burst of his load. His hips slow as his climax wanes. His arms plop onto the couch cushions, his body sinking into the sofa as his body relaxes. He drags one hand to your face, grasping your jaw gently as he slowly pulls you off of his sensitive throbbing cock. He wants to look at you so bad, see that pretty little face with those pretty swollen lips covered in both your juices - but his energy is too drained to even lift his head. 

“C’mere,” he pleads softly. 

You pull yourself back up onto the couch, pressing your body closely against his. You lay your head on his shoulder as your fingertips delicately trace up and down his cock - it pulsates at your touch. 

He turns his head to face you, his nose brushing up against yours. He lifts one hand, tenderly cradling your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low and husky. 

You feel a pang deep in your stomach. You've been scared to admit it this whole time, but at this point it's undeniable: you are falling in love with your roommate. And god do you want to kiss him. 

“Yes,” you whisper, the word hot and breathy against his lips lingering before yours. 

Soonyoung grabs your face with both hands, pulling you deep into his kiss. His lips hungrily lock onto yours, his body stilling except for his chest, rising and falling with slow, heaving breaths. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, holding you tightly, refusing to allow any physical space between you two. You want to stay here for all of eternity.

Slowly, your mouths part - he gives your bottom lip a few more tugs before letting go. His forehead rests against yours, both of you exhaling deeply in tandem. His hands drop to your waist, touching you gently as the warmth of his breath greets your face. He looks into your eyes as he holds you. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

You nod. Quickly tucking his remaining erection back into his sweats, he takes your hands and pulls you up with him, kissing you with each step as you stumble together into your room. You plop onto your bed, pulling Soonyoung on top of you. He rolls over, holding you snugly against him, your legs tangling together as he starts making out with you again. Your aching cunt presses against his thigh as you wrap your legs around him; you begin to grind your hips slowly.

“Wait,” he pauses. He reaches for your shorts, sliding your pajamas and panties off of you. You kick them the rest of the way off, discarding them somewhere on the bed, your shirt quickly joining them. He yanks his own pants off; you straddle his thigh again, your soaked cunt greeting his skin. 

“Oh my god,” he groans. “It’s so fucking wet.”

Your hips begin again, dragging your pussy up and down his thigh, your juices spreading everywhere. You whimper at the stimulation, riding Soonyoung’s thick muscular quads as he wraps his arms around your torso. You cling to him as he draws you in close, his mouth wandering to your neck to plant a string of small kisses on the delicate skin. Ceaseless moans escape you as a fire builds in your gut, the burning pleasure of your climax rapidly approaching. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you cry out as you frantically get yourself off on Soonyoung’s thigh. You feel his cock growing hard again - it presses into your belly as it strains against the fabric of his underwear. 

“Cum for me babe,” his low voice speaks softly into your ear. 

Desperately grinding your pussy on his thigh, you finally release. You scream his name as you cum, legs trembling as your body shakes with vigor. Soonyoung holds you tight, kissing your cheek lovingly as you orgasm in his arms. 

“That's my girl,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips. You begin to come down, but your head is still spinning from the overwhelming stimulation. You try to catch your breath, slowing your breathing as Soonyoung rubs your back - but his touch and the warmth of his body sends you into a deep state of relaxation. He whispers something else to you, but before you can even process what he's saying, you are fast asleep. 

You’re awoken the next morning by loud, moaning cries.

Still half asleep, you begin to register a familiar bodily sensation. Only when you pry your eyes open and see Soonyoung situated between your legs, do you realize you’re the one moaning. His face is buried in your pussy, licking you slowly, tasting you, savoring every moment of having his tongue in your cunt. 

He lifts his eyes, noticing that you’re now conscious.

“Soonyoung what the fu- ohhh,” you question, but are cut off by his lips attaching themselves to your clit. 

“Good morning beautiful,” he mumbles into your cunt, refusing to take his mouth of you for a second. 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I forgot I told you you could do this.”

He pauses, looking up at you. 

“Do you want me to stop-”

“NO,” you shout, louder than you meant. You lift your hips, putting your folds back in his mouth. He smiles into your cunt, eagerly resuming eating you out.

“Good,” he replies, barely audible as his tongue begins working into your hole again. 

Your back arches as his nose presses into your clit, making it throb desperately. He flattens his tongue, licking you all the way up, then swirling around the sensitive bud. 

“Ahhh,” you cry out involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me cum already.”

This only eggs him on further. He wraps his arms around your thighs, grasping you tightly as the tip of his tongue quickly flicks over your clit.

“How- fuck, how long have you been down there?”

He glances up at you again, sticking his tongue out exaggeratedly as he continues licking you. 

“I dunno, like five minutes maybe.”

“Five?!” you proclaim as your head falls back onto the pillow. You run your fingers through his hair. “That’s it?”

Soonyoung smirks, planting several kisses on your pussy. 

“You were already soaking wet when I got here,” he informs you. “Must’ve been dreaming about me.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” you pretend to be annoyed with him, but the moans escaping from your lips undermine your facade. 

“C’mon, you like it,” he teases.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

He grins widely. “Good girl.”

His praise and the way his tongue is now circling your clit send you over the edge. You whine as your orgasm approaches - loud, pathetic sounds filling the air as he sucks and slurps between your thighs. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg. 

The sensation builds and builds, making you squirm beneath him as every nerve in your body erupts with overwhelming delight.

“Oh fuck- I’m cumming,” you shriek as you reach your high. You cum on his tongue, long and hard - riding out your orgasm on his face accompanied by loud, unabashed cries of pleasure. As your body starts to relax, you release the tight grip you didn’t realize you had on his hair, stroking his head as he softly laps up your release. 

“Come here,” you tell him softly, but he doesn’t move. He seems to be even more relaxed than you are right now.

“Just a second,” he responds through deep breaths, his body sinking into the bed.

“Oh my god, did you…”

“Cum in my pants again?” he finishes your question for you. “Yeah. I did.”

He lifts his head, his eyes glazed over in post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so hot, I couldn’t help it,” he says with an amused grin.

Finally able to move, he rises - his underwear visibly filled with cum. He crawls back up to you, plopping onto his back right beside you. He peels the ruined underwear off, tossing them aside, then stares down at his own mess.

“Lemme just, um…” 

He goes to get up, intending to go clean himself off, but you pull him back onto the bed.

“I got it.”

You scoot yourself down, positioning your face near his groin. Slowly you begin to lick his own cum off of him.

“Jesus fuck, y/n,” he groans, his voice deep and low. “You’re filthy.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think this is hot.”

“Oh I do,” he says proudly. “Very fucking hot.”

He strokes your hair as you clean him up. As you finish he pulls you back up, laying you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you once more. Both of you are sweaty, and the embrace is nearly too warm - but neither of you want to move. 

You lay there in silence, your head tucked comfortably into his shoulder, peacefully listening to the songbirds chirping as warm morning sunlight filters into the room through the blinds. Soonyoung is breathing so steadily that you think he's fallen asleep underneath you, but eventually you hear your name softly muttered from his lips. 

“Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” you reply sleepily without moving. Soonyoung caresses your back, dragging his fingertips gently up and down over the soft skin. 

“What are we?”

You lift your head, propping yourself up by your elbow. You look down at Soonyoung - he gazes up at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you answer after thinking for a moment. “What do you want us to be?”

He reaches for your face, stroking your cheek gently. 

“I wasn’t lying the other day.” He stares into your eyes. Despite the fact that he literally just had his face buried in your pussy, it feels overwhelmingly intimate. Your stomach churns anxiously.

“I really do love you.”

You knew he was going to say it, but your heart skips a beat anyway. Hearing him say it out loud, hearing him confess his love to you - it’s a thought that previously scared you. But you no longer fear confronting this reality. Now that you’re here, it feels comfortable, it feels right. 

“I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us, but it’s the truth,” he says timidly. “I just can’t deny it any longe-”

You cut him off with a kiss. 

You kiss him for far too long - but it’s never long enough. When your lips part at last, you gaze at him lovingly, a big, cheesy grin growing upon your face.

“I love you too, dummy.”

He stares back at you, mouth agape. He finally processes your words, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Really??” he asks you in awe. 

“Really really,” you nod.

He embraces you with explosive enthusiasm, making you yelp as he rolls over on top of you. You giggle as he gives you a series of rapidly-placed kisses all over your face. 

“Stop itttt,” you cry through your laughter. “That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says with a big goofy smile. “I’m just really excited.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you say as you grab his boner that has quickly returned.

He beams at you. “What can I say, you make my dick happy.”

“God, you’re such a dork,” you tell him as you roll your eyes. But you guide his tip to your entrance, shifting your hips to take him inside you.

“Ohh fuuuuck,” he mumbles, his eyes rolling back into his head. He starts slowly sliding his overstimulated cock into you, grunting when his whole length is inside. He rests, unmoving.

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, just trying not to cum immediately,” he says, grinning.

“Soonyoung, you are crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” he says with a kiss. 

You spend the rest of the day in bed together, making out, fucking, napping - anything, so long as you don’t have to leave his side. Soonyoung, being Soonyoung, tells you he loves you no fewer than 12 more times.

“So,” he asks as you intertwine your fingers with his, holding hands after he goes down on you for probably the fourth time today. “Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”

You try to answer, but you’re trying to catch your breath after your millionth orgasm. 

“Hmmmm?” he pesters.

“Gimme a… fucking second…” you mumble, pushing him away playfully. He gets right back in your face.

“I’m not hearing no…” he says, kissing your nose.

“Oh my god, yes, Soonyoung. The answer is yes.”

He grins from ear to ear, then wraps his entire body around yours, clinging to you like a koala.

“Yayyyy!" he replies as he nuzzles his face into you. 

“You know,” he says after a few moments of silence. “I’m pretty hungry…”

“You better mean real food this time,” you tell him sternly. “I don’t think I could handle any more orgasms today.”

“Yes, real food,” he chuckles. “Shall I order delivery from that Thai place you like?”

“Yes please, I’m fucking starving.”

“You got it, baby.”

[winter-parrot]

making my official entrance into the 911 fandom / bucktommy with a fic for #bucktommyhiatusevent week one: home.

buck looks for home in the aftermath of season 8. | 2.5k

now on ao3 as well!

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

Turns out living in your car is not like riding a bicycle. His body does not magically remember how to fold up into the back seat of his Jeep and fall asleep. If anything, it feels like the space has somehow shrunk since the last time he’s done this. Although, that might have something to do with how much he’s bulked up in the last seven years since he settled in LA and became a firefighter.

It’s alright. It’s not like he’d really expected better. He’d hoped, sure. He’d hoped for a lot of things, things that did not include sleeping in his car. But hope is in short supply these days, and it’s not about to make a surprise appearance for anything so trivial as Buck’s apartment hunting woes.

It was only supposed to be for a day or two, is the thing. Just until he could find a new place to move into. But one day stretched into two into three, and somehow he’s already in his second week of car-living. His bad leg started protesting on day five, and now his back is joining in. He suspects every muscle in his body will rebel against him, one by one by one, within the next week.

The problem is, he has nowhere else to go. Nowhere has felt right. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, either. He’s been doing nothing but apartment hunting in his free time—not like there’s a whole lot else to do, living in his car—and the real estate agent helping him seems increasingly ready to stab him just to get this endless search over with. He doesn’t blame her, at this point. It feels like he’s seen every available apartment within a two-hour radius of the station house.

And yet, not a single one has felt right. Has felt like a place he could call his own, a place that might become home.

Maybe the problem is actually bigger than an apartment. Maybe the problem is just him, all of him and the hopeless needy wanting thing in his chest. Maybe he’s just Bucking it up, like always. Maybe there’s actually no right place for him in LA, and he’s just an idiot chasing a pipe dream.

It’s not so far fetched a thought, really. He keeps finding himself wanting things he’s never going to find. Things that would be hard enough to get one of, never mind all together—and that’s even before he considers LA real estate and his own less-than-impressive budget.

Knowing it’s unrealistic doesn’t stop him from wanting, as always. He longs for exposed beams and brick walls and a long dark dining table, like the firehouse. Wonders briefly if that’s why he liked his old place; the layout vaguely resembled the firehouse, with the open plan and the loft. Has to stop himself before he gets maudlin about missing the loft, on top of everything else. He pictures a big back yard with a grill, like Bo— like Athena’s old place. Makes himself stop imagining before his thoughts can stray to Bobby, to all the times he stood in that familiar space, cooking or hosting a party or manning the grill like he never will again. Thinks instead of a bright sunny living room and a big garage for his bike and his jeep and his side projects, like he’d seen at… well. Like he’d seen in someone else’s house a few times, months ago.

Those months ago feels like a different lifetime, now. Back then, he had a loft he liked well enough. He had a job he loved. He had Bobby and backyard barbecues and shared dinners. He had a family in the 118. He had a best friend whom he could always turn to, whose child he loved like his own. He had a boyfriend he could envision an actual future with.

Now, he’s got no solid roof over his head; a job he’s still debating transferring out of, never mind his cancelled transfer request; no Bobby, no backyard barbecues, no family dinners; no family that needs him or even wants him around; a best friend who maybe hates him for making things about himself, again; and no boyfriend. It’d almost be funny, how fast and hard everything fell apart, if it wasn’t his own life he had to live through every day.

He considers, vaguely, the possibility that Maddie may have accidentally cursed him, back when she told him he had to learn to be alone. Here he is, all alone now, and learning that same lesson again for the thousandth time. You’d think it would get easier over time, but somehow each review seems to make it worse and worse. It’s also possible he accidentally cursed himself, when he complained to Eddie about everything falling apart. If only he’d known back then just how far away rock bottom still was. Or it could be that he was simply cursed from birth. Couldn’t save Daniel, couldn’t do the one thing he was literally born to do; couldn’t ever make his parents happy, no matter how much he tried; couldn’t get Maddie to come with him, when he was running towards freedom and wanted her at his side; couldn’t ever stop a partner from leaving him behind, no matter how much he loved them and loved them and loved them.

Doesn’t really matter why or how, really. Point is, he’s pretty sure there has to be some kind of curse upon him. Everyone else seems to have somebody, but he’s always the one left behind. Left alone. Sleeping in his car, because he doesn’t even have a couch he can reliably crash on.

He can’t go to Maddie and Chimney; they have a newborn infant at home, on top of Chimney’s soon-to-be captaincy, and recovering from Maddie’s kidnapping barely rhree months ago. Can’t go to Athena, can’t intrude on her and May and Harry’s grief, not when they lost the most out of them all. Can’t go to Hen, barging in on her and her family when Mara’s still settling in and everyone is fragile. Can’t go to Eddie, can’t… well. Can’t do much with Eddie at all, right now. Can’t go to Ravi, because they might be friends but they’re not that kind of friends, not yet, and maybe not for years yet while the grief sits between them looming larger than their friendship. Can’t go to Tommy, because Buck’s not his problem anymore—anyway he’s done more than enough for Buck already, what with stealing a helicopter to piss off the Army and bearing Bobby’s casket with them.

Can’t go to the firehouse, because for all that it felt like home, he can’t actually live there. Besides, it doesn’t really feel like home anymore. Not with Gerrard in the captain’s office, and no family dinners, and a cavernous yawning chasm cutting through everything that no one will talk about. Not without Bobby.

So he’s stuck in the car. He could shell out for a hotel room for a few nights, probably, but that’s expensive. And it just feels stupid, too. Like admitting defeat. He used to do this all the time, in that stretch of time between driving away from Maddie and ending up at the fire academy. Being a failed Navy SEAL or ranch hand-ing or bartending in Peru was all fun and good, he doesn’t regret it, but it hadn’t exactly left him flush with cash. Hadn’t been very stable or reliable, for that matter. He’d thought he’d left that part of his life behind him, when he finally settled at the fire academy and settled into his own skin, but well. Life’s full circle, or something like that.

Buck drives aimlessly, letting the hour turn late in the hopes that sheer exhaustion will overcome the mounting discomfort of not sleeping in a bed. Or maybe not so aimlessly; the clock is just ticking over midnight when he looks around to realize habit or fate or his goddamn curse has brought him to a familiar neighbourhood.

Stupid. This was such a bad idea. This wasn’t the kind of neighbourhood where you could get away with just parking on the side of the street in a strange car and sleeping the night. Someone was going to call the cops on him, if he tried that. He should drive away, leave it behind, and find a parking lot or something.

But now that he’s here, now that he’s so close, the hopeless needy wanting thing in his chest is clawing at the insides of his ribs like a caged beast. He can’t stop himself from driving on instead of turning around like he most definitely should. He doesn’t have it in him to resist, is worn too paper-thin in and threadbare to put up any more of a fight than a wet paper bag. Isn’t even sure he wants to, really, even if he is sure that he should.

The lights are dark in the house, because it’s getting on 12:30 now and sane people have gone to bed. He really should leave, now. Shouldn’t interrupt the peace of this night, crashing into it like a wrecking ball. Shouldn’t disturb Tommy and bleed his petty troubles all over him, any more than he should bother Chim or Maddie or Hen or Athena with it. All the reasons why he can’t go to Tommy haven’t magically disappeared just because he’s somehow ended up in front of Tommy’s house.

But the hopeless needy wanting thing in Buck’s chest is holding the reins, now. It kinda feels like he’s watching someone else move, like that hopeless needy wanting thing has taken over his body. Hopeless-needy-wanting-Buck pulls the Jeep right up into the driveway. Kills the engine and locks the door behind him once he gets out. Walks up to the door on legs that are only slightly unsteady. Knocks.

There’s no answer, because duh. It’s 12:30 at night. Tommy might not even be home, might be on shift at Harbour. Or on a romantic date with someone that ends up at their house, not his. Or watching Buck through a gap in the curtains somewhere, wondering why the hell his ex won’t leave him the fuck alone and hoping Buck just goes away.

The thought hurts, but he wouldn’t blame Tommy for it. Not after what he said in that kitchen, setting his second—third?—chance ablaze faster than an uncontrolled wildfire in the peak of August heat. Even if the idea of Eddie being competition is more ridiculous than ever, and hurts in a whole new way now.

Buck stands there, blank in the throbbing ache of his heart and his body. Could’ve been for thirty seconds or thirty minutes, he’s not sure. Time’s been getting a little hazy at the edges, these past weeks, and the simple act of digging out his phone to check feels like an insurmountable effort. It’s like all the exhaustion has caught up to him, all at once. He debates the merits of just going to sleep right there, curled up on Tommy’s front steps like a stray cat.

The door opens. Buck doesn’t register it for a second, not until a sleep-rough voice is saying his name. “Evan?”

Adrenaline spikes through his veins, wakes him right back up and deposits him rudely back into his body. Oh God, he’s really doing this. He’s really done this, shown up at Tommy’s door in the dead of night like the world’s worst uninvited houseguest. “T-tommy, I’m sorry. I just, I-I- I should go, I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

There’s a hand on his arm, a touch so gentle he can barely feel it. It shuts him right up anyway. There’s no room in Buck’s brain for anything other than the warmth and strength of Tommy’s big hand, palpable even through his shirt.

“Do you want to come inside?” Tommy asks, searching Buck’s face. “You look like you could use some sleep. And maybe a friendly face.” Tommy’s lips press shut after that, pinched at the corners like he didn’t mean to say that. He swallows tightly and looks away, avoiding Buck’s eyes.

Buck is fascinated by the click of his throat, but not more than he’s enraged by the uncertainty behind the motion. Tommy, who showed up for him and for Chim in defiance of the Army and the FBI and Incident Command. Tommy, who flew the most insane evasive maneuvers like it was nothing, and then almost got himself arrested for it. Tommy, who made him a feast for breakfast and bought a bottle of hopeful champagne that went to his waste after that single, beautiful night at the house that was never Buck’s. Tommy should never sound so uncertain. And Buck is the one who put that hesitation there, with his stupid words that mornin after. Maybe not all of it, maybe some of it predates his own mistakes, but enough.

The anger unsticks his mouth long enough to say, “You’re the friendliest face I’ve seen in weeks.” Means it, too. Except maybe Christopher, but thinking about him leads to Eddie, and he can’t. He just can’t, not right now.

Tommy looks back up at him, a glimmer in his eyes that fades into concern. He looks at Buck, really looks at Buck; Buck feels seen for maybe the first time since… since the lab. He’s terrified that Tommy will see all the ugly parts, the rotting grief and the worn-down useless bits of him that can’t even do the one thing Bobby asked him to. Can’t keep them together, can’t help anyone, can’t be needed. Can’t be enough for anybody.

Tommy finishes his assessment. Steps back. Speaks, before Buck can fully begin to panic about having the door slammed shut in his face. “Tell me about it?” He takes another step back, pulling the door open wider. Inviting Buck into his life, his heart, his home.

Buck takes the invitation, and walks in.

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #2

Strange Candy

kinktober day two | aphrodisiac | 18+, cw: intoxicated sex (all consensual), female reader. both of them hella sassy, book-ish!thran because no angst in my house. this is very silly, just like the author. don't eat funny mushrooms you find in the forest! | wc 3,7k | want more kinktober? click here |

“Strange indeed.” Said the King thoughtfully. The group of hunters who'd led him to the newfound development traded a long look. Crouching down, the King's majesty eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he studied the newfound addition to his great Elven forest. “And the beasts have returned seemingly unharmed, you say?”

“Yes, my Lord. The bears had retreated into a den and so did the foxes, emerging approximately three days afterwards. All seemed in good health and very hungry.” The Silvan hunter replied.

“Then these must be harmless.” Deduced the King, taking out a thin blade to poke at a dense cluster of brightly coloured fungus.

At least, he guessed it was a fungus. Upending one cluster, he found no roots. The flesh of the mushroom was white and fragrant, pleasantly earthy and rich, with subtle floral undertones that made his mouth water slightly. The smell intensified tenfold upon cutting the mushroom down the middle. The King brought it closer to his nose, carefully scenting for any bitterness or rot.

“My Lord...” A concerned Feren piped up from his spot behind the King.

You offered the Captain a glance full of genuine compassion, without a doubt considering his job to be the most complicated and tedious in the whole of Thranduil's kingdom. Minding Greenwood's fiery monarch was not for the faint-hearted.

“Surely you are not thinking of putting it in your mouth?” You added a dash of sarcasm into your question, equally concerned.

You were sassed right back, eyeroll audible. “It is a mushroom, where else would I put it?” Thranduil straightened up, holding the newfound addition to the flora of the forest impaled on his knife. As soon as his eyes zeroed on you, you gulped. Thranduil gave you a nasty little grin. “What is the worst that could happen? I have the best healers of my realm at my disposal.”

Feren's fingers twitched, a tell-tale sign of his withering self-restraint. You sighed and contemplated the best time to begin backing away.

Thranduil simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. “Worry not, the Kingdom has forgotten of your and Feren's...” Elegant pause, Feren's sigh. “Accident.”

“'twas no accident,” you said defensively. “You gave us your Ada's moonshine to see if it was still good. On purpose.”

Thranduil shrugged as the mushroom was evenly divided into two parts with the help of his knife. A perfect picture of innocence, he held up the treat in his palm, grey eyes sparkling.

“I am NOT doing it, my Lord!” Exploded Feren, and gave into his urge to take a step back. He, more than anyone, knew how insistent Thranduil could get. A seven-thousand year old elf giving huge puppy eyes! And it worked! The Captain shielded his own face with his palm. “Throw me in the dungeons for a fortnight, I care not!”

Contrary to your expectations, Thranduil simply rolled his eyes, and swiftly stuck one part of the colourful fungus in his mouth. Everyone gasped, including you, but the old Elvenking remained completely unbothered.

“Hm,” he blinked after a second. “That is not bad.”

Waves of impending doom washed over you with each contemplative movement of Thranduil's jaws. Looking first to the left, and then to the right, you found no immediate means exit of the situation. It was you, the resident human, and the tree behind you, which your King had no problem with crowding you against. Not that he moved or anything. He was just... Large. And very handsome. And spectacular at rounding his shiny, bottomless eyes with great purpose.

“We must know if this fungus is harmful to Edain,” he said, honey-sweet. You hated that he was right. “According to hunters, there is an abundance of it, and, knowing how curious you Edain are...”

“Ugh!” You shook your head. “Just give me the mushroom. If I die, I will haunt your halls for all eternity.” Obediently and with no small worry, you snatched the piece and stuck it in your mouth, chewing quickly, not even taking note of the taste.

Thranduil's last experiment that involved you and Feren still fresh on your mind, you turned back towards the Halls before you'd even finished chewing. You'd rather be in the privacy of your rooms least intoxication has you do something embarrassing... Again. Thankfully, the King conceded, and after giving the hunters a command to gather more of this mystery fungus, the party set out back home.

It was Feren's turn to offer you fleeting looks of compassion. You quietly smiled back, not feeling anything out of sorts. The ride back was pleasantly uneventful. Not a creature was stirring: even the ever-present spiders were absent in their bothersome scuttling.

Too smug for his own good, Thranduil entered his halls with a spring in his step. “The haunting of halls of Greenwood has been postponed indefinitely, I see,” he said in passing as he shrugged off his outer travel robes. A maid immediately offered him a silver robe of heavy satin which he politely declined. “Nay. The discovery has warmed me plenty.”

You noticed that yes, the weather has turned rather warm indeed and bowed before departing back to your daily business. Mid-way through your chores, a thin, translucent sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you silently cursed the Vala responsible for such unusually pleasant weather. The Halls had already began to prepare for a long winter with covering unnecessary exits and patching up drafty areas.

What wouldn't you give for a gulp of fresh, cold air! Chores forgotten, you hurried to the nearest balcony. There was one not frequently visited by Elves as it was hidden behind a clever alcove; stepping aside and squeezing through the narrow opening, you sighed happily and deeply as your clammy skin finally felt crisp late night air.

Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled, finally shaking off some of that uncomfortable heat. A tranquil scene of swaying treetops and budding stars over a darkening sky emphasized the calamity of your solitude.

“Hm.”

“My Lord,” you greeted without turning, familiar with the timbre of voice and soft swishing of expensive fabric coming from behind you.

Thranduil's profile appeared within your field of view as he posted up next to you and demurely placed a hand over the stone railing of the balcony. “I was unaware someone had found the secret entrance to my private balcony.”

“Oh,” you froze. “I apologize... I was simply...”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I take no offense. Indeed, it was quite clever. Even keen Elven eyes miss the opening behind the alcove.” Sans outer robe and clad in a simple but rich ensemble of sateen shirt and velvet breeches, it became evident you'd caught the King in a private moment of relaxation. His brow, usually tinted with concern with kingdom, was pleasantly warm.

You swallowed, looking away. He was a beauty even among his own kin, and like this - relaxed and comfortable - bordered on irresistible. A flash of heat spread through your body at the realisation. It took no small effort to squash these thoughts and steer them towards some semblance of propriety.

“The Valar have blessed us with good weather this autumn, my Lord. I was doing my chores and nearly felt faint from the heat.” You said, noticing Thranduil's eyebrows rise. “And the construction of your halls is incredible! Not a single drafty corner.”

“Heated, you say?” He interrupted suddenly, turning to face you fully. Etiquette (whenever you remembered it) dictated you should, too, and you two faced each other. Thranduil radiated curiosity, eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks and the warmth crawling down the neckline of your clothes. “Strange.”

“What is, my Lord?”

“I have said the same thing to Galion but he gave me a very pointed look and gestured towards Lady Anariel, who had been complaining to her maid about not lighting a fire in a timely manner.”

You frowned, too. The Lady Anariel was as Northern as Elves come and was fairly tolerant of wintery weather. When others wore furs, she got by with an outer dress of wool and, perhaps, a pair of gloves.

“Do you feel... Strange, my Lord?” You had a slight suspicion. Just a teeny-tiny one, that boiled down to those Eru-forsaken mushrooms.

In response you received an impish sort of shrug. “Not necessarily so. Do you?”

Your face blanched. Aside from suddenly finding him irresistible and feeling a little hot under the collar, nothing was amiss. But the longer you lingered on those two thoughts, the stronger they became. It was as if you were an adolescent again: barely any impulse control and all feeling.

‘twas a delicate situation. You could speak to a healer, of course, or let the strange circumstance run it's course. If it even could do that. Thoughts growing jumbled by the second, you said the only clear thing on your mind.

“Those cursed mushrooms.”

Thranduil was unperturbed. “I do not believe they are cursed. Potent, yes, but not cursed.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “... You too?”

He sighed. “I came out here in hopes of clearing my head from this fog of lust.” As you prepared to mutter- what, exactly? Apologies? - Thranduil's finger reached out for tour face to trace the curve of your jaw. “And in the process I found something much more exciting.”

Your bottom lip trembled. Such a simple gesture felt heavenly. Wherever his skin came in contact with yours, the heaviness receded briefly. Your breath caught in your chest as your heart picked up a hare's pace.

“Am I being propositioned?” You wished to say to yourself but in the fog, managed to sputter out loud.

“We could help each other out...” The King, unfurled to his full height and radiating heat equal to that you felt on the inside, grinned a crooked grin. It sat youthfully on his timeless features, just the right amount of flirtatious and reassuring.

You pretended to think about it. No, you really did, out of concern for your dignity. Throwing yourself onto the King was simply uncouth. Such was your next course of action, but the necessary amount of time had passed and the need, having been brought to the forefront or your mind, took hold of your sense. Slowly, you leaned into the touch and brought your hands to Thranduil's forearm, tilting his fingers to your mouth. Hot breath caused them to twitch.

“Does this answer your question?” You tilted your head, lips brushing against the multitude of rings he wore on his persona. It was most exhilarating to see his pupils widen and his mouth tremble.

Adam's apple bobbing, Thranduil swallowed. “No.” And smirked, the stunning bastard. “I need a clear, straightforward statement.”

You sighed, feigning annoyance. “I enthusiastically consent to having uncouth, untoward and potentially nasty things being done to my body by my Lord and King...”

You did not even get to finish. In a flash, Thranduil's hands had encircled your face and he bent himself over you, pushing your body into the balcony as he devoured your mouth with his. There was no grace and no finesse; something heavy and hard poking your stomach showed you just how much self-control your King had.

Seconds ago, you'd been having a perfectly normal conversation and now you found yourself airborne, having been unceremoniously picked up by the tall Elf and carried towards his chambers like the most coveted spoil of war while he devoured your mouth. You hummed into the kiss and responded with a groan, tearing the back lacing of your clothes clean off.

Your back connected with the mattress of his bed. Blinking at the rapid change of pace and scenery, you moaned out in frustration regarding your ruined clothes.

“I will commission more for you,” he said carelessly, throwing his own shirt Mordor knows where. His bare chest, chiseled with lithe muscle and pale as fresh milk, captivated your attention.

Previously having contended yourself with the occasional glance at the tiny window of bare skin where the sides of his robes met, you used your newfound opportunity to drink yourself full of Thranduil's fair skin. It felt as soft as it looked when he laid upon you, the weight of his body offering a delicious momentary reprieve from the tension building up in your muscles. Gossamer hair shielded you from the outside world as he leaned in towards your mouth again, this time capturing yours in a sensual dance of tongue and teeth.

A nimble hand took care of your bottoms, sliding inside your underwear as slick and cunning as a snake, to cup your mound. Thranduil groaned into the kiss, finding you soaked and willing, fingering the cleft of your lower lips with practiced gentle moves. The tenderness of it drove you crazy. Your need flared as a wall of standstill fire and you were surprised you did hadn't noticed it earlier. If the pulse in your cunt was anything to go by, you would come undone the very moment your King would finally allow you to feel full.

He was fairly content with sucking your soul out through your mouth and mapping the fat outer lips of your cunt. Never quite breaching and wholly avoiding your throbbing pearl, Thranduil simply basked in the amount of sticky juice your cunt was capable of producing.

The first loud moan of the night broke free if your lips and it was one of frustration.

Thranduil smiled into the kiss, your teeth clashing together. “What is it, mm?” He queried in-between wet pecks.

“I want to come.” You whined.

He chuckled. “And what's in it for me?”

Thankfully, your eyes were closed and he did not see your eyeroll. “You'll get to come, too?” Cringing at how lame it sounded, you were nonetheless powerless beneath him and overwhelmed from your desire.

“I prefer to play with my food.” He grinned a predator's smile, all shiny teeth and lidded eyes, but tugged down on your bottoms nonetheless. “Try harder.”

That became difficult as you were now bare; shivering in your King's arms, you cracked open a hazy eye to see him settle himself closer to your dripping center. It captivated him. Sliding two fingers along your lips, your eyes closed and head fell back as every nerve in your body came alight. Rewarded by a long moan, Thranduil gathered ample amount of moisture on his fingers and brushed over your quivering entrance.

Your back arched as he plunged them deeply within your aching cunt. The sticky noise it made was positively scandalous.

“I will-ah! forgive you for gathering the entire -ahh! King's guard to look at Feren and I!” You managed to form a quasi-coherent sentence through the moans and gasps spilling from your lips and were rather proud of yourself for it.

Thranduil's laugh echoed in the room as it did in his chest, a pleasant rumble vibrating through your core. “Whether Galion forgives you two for barking at him remains to be seen.”

Genuine amusement briefly overshadowed your shame at the situation of the past and at your own current neediness. The combination of emotion startled a laugh out of you, causing your core to clench around Thranduil's fingers and coat them in your wetness. He groaned low in his throat and rubbed your inner walls, reveling in the resulting moan. It did nothing to bring you closer to the peak.

“Sadist!” You accused and attempted to grind down on his hand, fisting the crumpled sheets.

“Slander!” He punctuated the rebuttal with an expert curl of his fingers. You arched. He smirked. “You should learn patience.”

There was no strength in your mind to formulate another witty comeback. Sensation, low and insistent, built up in the pit of your belly, an ache so sweet and tender you were sure it would be any second that you'd burst with it. Every pore on your skin open and receptive to touch, even the slide of silk sheets as your body bent with pleasure was overwhelming. You panted wetly through parted lips as a third finger joined in, the stretch of it making your eyes roll back into your head.

Thranduil would kill you. You were sure of it now. He would end you with a blinding smile and clever fingers never ceasing to move within you, the movement just shy of where you needed him most.

“Mercy!” You moaned. “Mercy, my King!”

You should have known his idea of it would be no less torturous than the ‘kindness’ that led you to your current place writhing atop his bed. Slowly, his tongue traced a path around your outer lips before dipping inside; it was hot and wet, like a summer storm, when it connected with your engorged clit and flicked it from root to tip. Electric feel of sensation pierced your body in a lightning bolt as your leg muscles seized. The King gave a pleased rumble and went for seconds and thirds, effortlessly holding your thighs open with one strong, long arm, palm digging into the soft meat.

Even the pain of it echoed with pleasure.

While the need within your loins kept steadily climbing with no end in sight, your King treated himself to a leisurely late night snack. His tongue delved in and out of your cunt, lapping up the waterfall of arousal. You would have been mortified, really, for the mess had you glued stuck to his face, your hips attempting to follow his mouth in circles.

Coupled with the digits slowly but surely stretching the entrance to your channel, brushing over the sensitive fornix, you knew the night would be long. Dark, but not cold. Hazy.

“Ngh!” You articulated through gritted teeth, feeling him pull away from a particularly sensitive spot in favour of sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh. Thranduil followed a path only he himself knew, marking your flesh with pulling, precise bites that left discoloured spot damp with spit. They pleasantly ached.

Over your stomach and at the underside of your bottom rib. The sides and bottoms of your breasts, all the way up at the root of your nipples. He took each one in into his mouth, suckling on it like a hungry babe, before releasing them with a wet pop just blow a gentle breath onto the pebbled nubs. Through parted lashes, you watched him, aptly fascinated by the lack of colour in his eyes, pupils blown wide and deep with lust.

You tasted your cunt on his tongue as he made way back up. Risking a glance downward, you saw Thranduil's cock hard, flushed and heavy, hanging out of his breeches. He hadn't bothered with removing them and that single detail had you nearly undone. How the King himself could not wait to he inside of you!

An understanding of his previous games had come too, for he was rather proportional everywhere. Just the slide of his weeping tip against your bruised thigh invoked a shudder in you, back arching. You presented yourself to your best ability, eyes shining with pleading as he rested his forehead against yours.

Thranduil held himself above you, weight on his elbows, as his cock nosed at your sopping entrance. Immediately, it tried to suck him in, coaxing his lips to bend into a smirk. Such proximity was putting your sensibility directly into negatives. With a wild look mirrored in his own darkened pupils, you petulantly stuck out your bottom lip and panted with all the sarcasm that you could muster:

“we'll get to the good part... About tomorrow?” You wished to add more, something about him being old, but that remark and many more drowned in the absolute extasy flooding your body as he slid into your cunt in one single smooth stroke. “Aah...” Left your lips instead, and with it, any remaining oxygen departed from your lungs as well.

“Mouthy,” Thranduil remarked, sounding unfairly put together for someone who's mouth was as slippery as wet stone and cheeks brighter than a ripe beetroot.

You forgave him then and there. In awe, you watched him give you another one of his impish grins and nudge at that spot deeply within you. And he did it all over again, plush mouth releasing the sweetest, quietest of moans as he did so. Time got lost in the tug of war tour cunt played with his cock; like this, your release was imminent and fast approaching.

You grabbed Thranduil's arms, rubbed his shoulders as your legs wound up around his narrow waist while he contentedly and systematically unraveled you apart with rapid, smooth snaps of his hips. For a while, there was nothing in the room but the two of you and the lewd noises of damp skin slapping against skin. Clutching harder, you felt yourself tighten around his girth. Each measured stroke abused your engorged clit, heavy sac adding extra sensation on your perineum.

A low, feral groan joined the thrilling cacophony of sex. Thranduil fucked you through your first orgasm with gritted teeth, barely slowing with the new resistance of your cunt attempting to milk him for his worth. Hair hanging over your faces like a curtain, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss as you whimpered with overstimulation. Evenly, his thrusts became shallow, grinding.

Having become a acquainted with your bearings somewhat, you made a confused noise. The King just grinned. His palm connected firmly with the side of your hip as you squealed. He withdrew.

“Present yourself to your King.” He ordered, both smug and slightly breathless, helping you along onto all fours.

You chuffed into the damp bedding and obeyed, arching your back at a sinful curve. Within seconds, you were once again blissfully full.

a/n: I am way too horny of a person to write anything LACE compliant. Or is that my commitment issues talking? Anyway, ELVES FUCK SEVERELY! At least this October. mwah 💋

I once ate like 12 grams of cubensis and was a cat for 3 hours, so Feren barking at Galion with the help of some 3k+ year old mushroom infused moonshine isn't that far-fetched.

[grotesquevi]

18+ minors and men do not interact, smut with a lot of plot and tons of fluff, modern au, drunk making-out, strap-on use, mutual and private masturbation (yikes) my girl here is on a yearning journey, friends-to-lovers trope, mentions of drugs and alcohol, bit voyeurism if you blink and try to hide the sun with your finger, descriptions of blood and injuries, might write an epilogue following this pardon my french im weak. wc: 12.5k

side note #   this was a three-part series i made for my previous blog vicorices when reaching 800 followers, (the blog's terminated by tumblr out of nowhere if you're confused) — there's an ellie and sevika version too connected with the same site and the same cam!girl user, it's listed bellow but you take a look at the directory if you want to.

‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ now that you’re here? check out ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ z_vika's or spacemoth's file.

violet vanderson's having the worst week of her life when powder's parking the car in front of her new apartment.

first she loses this big fight she's been killing herself for: a black eye, broken rib, humiliated to the point she don't ever want to step foot in the pit club anymore, and then, like it's already not enough, her tiny apartment floods with this nasty water and she's told she's surrounded by mold and not only a broken pipe, so she has to move before her lugs get more fucked than they already are.

misery loves her it seems, and luck was never on her side, clearly. not even when her sister seemed to have this optimistic cloud that followed her and tried to spread everywhere, cause it seems vi only carried the opposite: a dark, thunder cloud that made her grumpy as she thought about how much she loved what it used to be her apartment, the late night beers she tossed to the trash can like a personal contest, the endless mornings with a killer headache.

oh bittersweet nostalgia.

this place's different. falling apart. the chinese food smell leaks through the thick walls since there's a restaurant right next to the building and a huge stain in the ceiling right beneath her bed she don't want to inspect any further, afraid of the outcome as her sister's playful banter fill out the space.

"i think it's a really nice place, you're being dramatic since friday night" powder points out when opening the window, allowing the air to enter a room that seemed hermetically closed for too long — "cheer up cherry cake. a new place is always an awesome chance to re-start, the sunlight's much better here, and you have takeout food literally in the same block."

"easy to say when most of your clothes don't smell like a swamp" at least 70% of her belongings now hold this funny smell of humidity she despises, carrying more cardboard boxes from outside back to her new apartment — “the whole place smells like orange chicken, you know i like orange chicken right? it will make me sick in a week."

"well, i think this place will grow on you in a week" the blue-haired correct her words, "orange chicken or not. it's bigger than your last apartment and i tell you vi- seems better, you need to trust my vision."

the problem here is her powder has the attention span of a sardine, cause when she hears the door closing right next to her big sis place, she's running outside with a bright smile before vi can even try to stop her, quickly jumping across the boxes on the floor to instead, jump out in front of you, making you flinch as you seemed distracted by your phone.

"hiya, new neighbor" it takes you out of your bubble, making you pull out the earbud from your left ear as you accept her expecting hand, energetically shaking yours as she speaks again — "powder here. that's my sister vi. she's moving in today."

"hey," you greet them trying to be kind even when you're not really interested, "welcome to this shit-hole."

funny. pulls out a silent laugh from vi's lips as they curl into a smirk paying more attention to you: does she knows you from somewhere?

"seems like you two are neighbors" as far as powder's trying to see on the bright side, her plans are now failing miserably as you cement her casket calling the complex a shit-hole, and she has to awkwardly stop shaking your hand when realizing she's been doing it for too long "it's really nice to meet you- isn't it vi?"

tell her. fucking tell her it's nice to meet her you grumpy dog.

vi can almost hear her sister's words when nodding, adding some more to her pleasure only so she wont give her some unsolicited pep talk later — "yeah. nice."

it's something, makes her satisfied as your eyes dart around the apartment complex right next to your door, pretty similar to yours. the clean spaces and the boxes piling right over the other before you're taking in the sight of your new neighbor for a quick moment.

"good luck with the mess, vi" you reply, shoving your phone back in the pocket of your jacket as she can hear what you're listening to from the sound leaking out of the earbud "see you two around."

she don’t want to say she may know you out loud, cause she know powder’s going to be feral about it: where exactly did she know you from? she don't have an answer.

before her brain even starts to work, you disappear by pulling the tiny headphone back in your ear, moving your head to the rhythm of the music as you go down the stairs and vi's really thankful about pow-pow's life choices, cause she has the decency to wait for you to disappear before finally saying:

"holy shit, she's cool as fuck, did you see that?"

"yes, i did see that" she replies — maybe too grumpy, maybe too focused on her own anger of having to move out; you're pretty yes, but she has serious stuff to focus on and zero time to flirt, so vi looks at her sister, unfazed. "she's good, can we go back to you helping me organizing now? i need your help."

"boring, there's no need to take the fun out of everything you know?"

and vi might be too busy in that moment, but she has plenty of time to think about you the week after, when she's finally getting rid of the boxes and she's going back to the usual routine she keeps before the chaos, the three-hour sessions in the gym and the fights during the weekend; even when her ego's bruised.

where did she see you before? man, why is it so hard to remember?

the days go on by, and vi finds herself getting interested in you since she can't shake this feeling of knowing you from somewhere, not really catching on where exactly, but there in her stomach as she tries to have an answer to her thoughts: was it the lesbian bar? were you a bartender somewhere she has no memory of? a celebration after winning? she passes out most of the time, it would make much sense she don't fully remember you.

and it’s weird, cause by the days, she grows curious about it. starts like a breeze on a summer morning, slowly and barely there when she encounters you right in the hallway, usually listening your music with a big hoodie on. chaotic hair, you say hi just because she's saying it first, brushing off her existence as you rush somewhere else — every night.

maybe you're a dj? you have this look that goes with it.

frustrates her since she cannot wrap her finger about it, and she don't want to talk it with anyone else either, not powder, not her friends nor any neighbor from the complex even when she could ask on the most subtle way she can, not when they’re already making so many efforts in winning the new inquiline's heart.

7A baked her a bunch of chocolate cookies she's been chewing when she's suffering from muchies fever after smoking, 8B happens to have the biggest record collection in runeterra, 9D has at least three cats, and vi's already getting attached to the orange one that loves to sunbath in her window, so even as she tries to be this loner in the world — vi's sucked, inevitably into a welcoming community that does not waste time in making her feel welcomed.

by the second week she's being officially invited to this grill on her name, one scheduled for friday noon, and she cannot say no, cannot possibly think about rejecting the kindest old lady from 5C who's so lovely to give her a paper with all the information printed as she kisses her cheek with with pink lipstick since vi reminded her of her daughter: happy. people is happy she's living in the same apartment complex.

that's new.

she has no soul to reject it. in fact, makes her feel warm even to the thought of it — did you take part in this too? it says it's organized by the whole community. that includes her nonchalant girl next door.

friday. her curiosity stays on top even when it's monday, when she's fucking rotting in bed, holding her phone in her right hand as she scrolls through twitter publications; a silent like, a bookmark on important information until she comes across this video.

it takes her time to snap out of it, when she's staring at the image and she's blushing to the point she needed to lock her phone and toss it to the floor without caring if it breaks more than it already is.

and it hits her all sudden, no you aren’t a dj. the girl in the video — this, sex tape, getting absolutely railed in the mattress, censored in all the important places, blabbering mess, hair sticky to the face.

it's fucking you.

now, vi's not a big fan of porn.

tries to avoid it as much as possible since it feels distant. weird. fake.

it's not a surprise when she refuses to see the video that popped up even when the image's already plastered in her mind, hanging like a damn poster in the middle of her thoughts vi cannot avoid as much as she tries to do so — she can recognize your face, the hair, the curve of your jaw, your neck and fuck.

feels forbidden. like a fine line she wishes not to cross. it's something personal even if it's public, belongs to you and she's quick to pretend she didn't see anything even when it's all she's thinking about lately.

vi has to wrap her mind about it for a day or two: you make gay porn. she may have seen a video ages ago and that's why she's recognizing you, memories her mind must have block for now since she don't remember any of it, not knowing how she feels about it: does she want to remember?

no. it’s not right. it's downright shameful to remember your face because she saw something even if it was ages ago, makes her blush, so by friday? vi swears to herself she's fucking forgetting it all. no matter how.

so in response she's avoiding you to the point her polite salutations stops to instead, just give you a bare side-eye look whenever she encounters you getting out of your place, switching her workout routine an hour before usual since it seems you get out when she’s arriving home, and it works. works because vi don't think about it, even she wants to use twitter and she's reminded from her brain directly: do not fucking do it.

works until friday at least. friday. damn friday.

she thinks she got it all figured out by then, excited as she goes to the rooftop, freshly showered, ready to pull out this social personality vi lacks off since she wishes to fit in, be welcomed in a new place as nice as she's been greeted by now.

so the pit fighter's talking to everyone by the first hour, presented to so many people vi cannot remember anyone’s name as she drinks from a cold beer and eat hotdogs. even when most of the community are elders, she's happy to offer her help to the old lady from 5C to install her brand new tv, and officially let sunshine, the orange cat, take naps on her window with her owner’s permission.

she's pretty fine until you came into the picture, carrying this strawberry pie she looks at for a moment as you're chatting with the neighbors so tenderly vi cannot help but feel a cruel pang of jealousy in her stomach: jealous of 80-years-old since they seem worthy of this smile she catches on even from where she is seated, this warmth when she can’t even get a single hey, losing the thread of the conversation she's having already.

sundresses are made to kill. it's their only purpose in life as you're chuckling at the other side of the rooftop and vi needs to make a real effort to go back to the conversation she's submersed in before you came to ruin it all, scratching the back of her head while begging to not seem so utterly distracted.

you've always been this beautiful? is it an crush disguised as burden curiosity?

she notices when you're asking for her, leaving the pie in the table before approaching and vi's stiffening in response, in a slutty tank top she kinds of regret now, pretending to be too invested in the conversation before feeling your presence hovering, standing right next to her.

"hi," you say trying to get her attention before smiling to the rest of the group — "vi, right? i live in 3B, we've crossed in the hallways. i talked to your sister before? blue hair and space buns.”

you talk like vi would not remember you, like powder didn't make you stop out of nowhere; as if she would forget about the image of the video pushing back into her brain and she has to kick herself for it: disres-fucking-pectful.

“yes, my sister- powder” and vi tries to be casual as she drinks from the beer bottle, the strong taste being a reminder of keeping her cool alive while it lasted “she was helping me move.”

"yeah, seems really cool" she makes a mental note on saying the compliment back to her sister, and you're good on making her forget about the rest of the people, about the left conversation she gave up midway— "i'm sorry for not being very polite before" you say, and she's furrowing her brows at the words. "been a really shitty neighbor.”

"well not really," vi states, thoughtfully "you always put music too late in the night, but i'm really willing to see past through it if you're saying sorry."

so you give her this smile she got fond of suddenly and it's enough to make her eyes narrow and know, like a vision from the future, you'll mean nothing but trouble, trouble there as you there stand in her view, hair slightly messy from the wind.

"it's on low volume, you cannot possibly hear," you try to defend your case, annoying cause vi already know she’s going to let you win anyway, "i make sure of it."

"i'm just kidding, you don't need to say sorry" you're not a bad neighbor, all jokes aside she didn't expected to be welcomed in such an active community of people, the cold treatment being something she found usual; before them, she barely even talked to their own neighbors herself "you're good. your loud music is fine, i can live with it."

she's such an idiot. so lame around pretty woman.

"are you enjoying the place so far?"

"well, if you don't count the smell, it's very nice."

"i know," you chuckle, and vi’s liking this whole making-you-laugh thing so far, "most of the inquilines here don't really have sense of smell at this point, so it's useless to try and fix it, been there already."

"shit, i know. we must be the youngest people here" — "sides knuckles, clearly."

"he's twelve," you shake your head while looking at the little kid who lives in 9E with an old couple who's daughter died years ago "doesn't count, i know for a fact he loves the smell since he's always hungry."

and for once, vi's glad she's never seen any video. even when blatantly lusting over your face.

she doesn't want to be weird with you. not when you live next door. when you both share a damn wall, when you're funny; not in a way i-will-seduce-you-somehow funny, but in a sense of i-can-be-your-friend, and not a damn pervert.

"they are good people though. you'll learn to forget about the smell and you wont feel it anymore after a while," you try to stay positive as you’re stuck in the same place that she is "it would be worst if we had something like fried chicken and french fries. that sticks to everything. the food’s good anyways, have you tried it already?"

"not really, you've been here for a while?"

"a year or so," you try to recall the exact date — "they threw a party for me too, it's like a tradition. the last inquiline in 3A wasn't really nice as you are."

well shit, that was a smooth compliment, and vi’s stuck on it for a minute or two as her fingers tighten around the glass bottle she’s holding.

“damn, and i was already feeling special, think you just shattered my heart” there it is again. that laugh that fills out the space for at least three seconds “they gave you hotdogs too? they’re really clever with this, keeping the people in like a cult.”

“we were on a better budget back then an went with burgers,” you reply “don’t take it personal, if it counts, i think the hotdogs taste better.”

so shit. it feels like it would be way easier if you were an absolute bitch and not a kind girl who laughs about every corny joke she's doing, if you didn't look so beautiful as the sun comes down leaving this trace of messy colors behind, clouds submerged in an orange, purple and red color that seems surreal for a moment: did she drink too much beer? impossible.

she doesn't feel dizzy when she's talking to you for the next hours, telling you about the pit fight and her constant failure of boxing career since friday night, oversharing about the broken pipe as you seem invested in hearing what brought her there, pressing your lips in a tight line when mentioning the mold and dying by poisoning.

"you won't die for mold," you reply holding the laugh in "you may have gone a little crazy, some lung issues and such, i'd stick with the orange chicken if i were you."

"well fine, laugh all you want to."

how she's not going to want it? how does violet make herself less interested in getting to know you? by the end of the grill, going down the stairs with you by her side she knows, deep down it's there as a not-so-hidden secret: just like her, you too need a friend, and you're not going to make it easy for her.

violet vanderson knows how to behave.

she can handle a conversation on her own, the way your eyes sometimes linger on her arms as you spend more time back in her place invading her almost every day since the grill, can deal with your comfy looks when no one but her is looking, a new found confidence you share after always knocking her door in a funny pajama pants she laughs at.

vi can even deal with your subtle way of flirting, the same way she don't know if you're actually messing with her or not since it's not a fucking surprise she's developing this huge thing for you, on how her stomach revolves every time she think about the photo she saw on what feels are ages ago.

it has only happen once — twice. but it's not like she's doing it on purpose, like she can help it as her hand goes down her pants and she has to muffle the sound of her own moans with a hand pressing over her parted lips since the walls are thin and she's sure you can listen.

it's a slip anyway, guilt pours over her when she's rubbing on her clit and vi's too deep in her mind, in the constricted face of pleasure you have, your parted lips, full of damn sin. man. fuck hotdozed.

and her fingers itch in need to take her phone and see every fucking video on the page. her irrational part that pulls her on being an asshole overshadowed every single time as she won't even look at her phone in response: she don't want that image of you, that commercial side, no. violet's greedy enough to want the privacy of you, the part you don't let anyone see.

so she allows it to happen for just ten minutes, so wet the arousal coat her underwear, soaked when drool covers her hand and she's fucking herself with the thought of you, your blue sundress, the way you looked and it's enough to make a mess, to curse out loud when she noticed how she didn't put a towel beneath to the point she has to ditch her sheets to the floor, too lazy to change them as she sleeps wrapped in a wool blanket.

friends.

vi's trying hard to be friends. even when she's masturbating in silence fueled by pure imagination, trying to be good as her damn libido seems already over the top, she tries to be this friend you need when you're outside her door with takeout food smelling much better than the pasta she cooked and vi is falling again, cause just like every moment during that week, she's willingly letting you spend some time with her, get closer.

"you don't have to go out tonight?" she asks, sinking in the sofa. after smoking a joint, it seems like the cushions are engulfing her entirely as she shoves more orange chicken from the place she has slowly learned to love; turns out they have special prices for residents and they are good as fuck.

"no" you reply shaking your head "i don't have classes on wednesday."

"classes?" she cannot contain the curiosity when it slips away from her lips, weed made her bolder clearly, but since you've been hanging out with her so much, maybe vi has gained certain privilege in finally asking some questions — "you study overnight?"

"yeah, doing a physics major" you admit, reaching the shrimpy rice box you so happily eat from, like that didn't satisfied part of the hungry monster inhabiting vi's body, thirsty for any kind of information she can get.

"so you're like a huge nerd" the fighter teases, and it's annoying cause it only makes her brain completely stop for a moment like a warning she don't listen to, always too deep in her own needs "that's why you whined about watching twisters the other day?"

"please the movie is plain shit, you just wanted to see the actress."

"pretty sure that's the whole point, the movie being bad. passable bad."

behave. for the first month violet behaves — powder was right even when she don't want to admit it out loud: the place did grew out on her, the mornings when sunshine was meowing outside her apartment, scratching the lower part of the front door until she has to open, enjoying a cup of coffee while rubbing on the cat's belly; the people, the cat, her girl next door.

you spend your free nights with her without a previous need of invitation, invite her to cool places she's never been before and it's hard to not be wishing to become one with you, make you part of her skin and carry you with her. vi becomes aware now of the details and it's dangerous; knowing your favorite color, your favorite dish and the music you like when you shared your playlist and allowed her permission to add music she thought you'd like; dangerous cause she wants to keep getting closer even when knowing you have your guard up in letting people too close.

it's becoming a routine lately, like a strange and comfortable company you two keep on each other while being friends, without any pressure or need to fit in. you're too close and it's easy, easy to let you slip in her life like you were made for it, with strange movie choices and a tendency to follow recipes you find online with vi having to intervene before it's a total disaster.

paradise that come to sad endings.

"what do you mean you're moving out?" heaven has it expiratory date written in the back, must have known it when you dropped the bomb after you're there, fucking using her living room like an study spot, talking about formulas vi don't get at all since you have this huge test in a couple of days.

"been saving a lot of money from work, and i can afford something better," you admit, leaving your flash cards on the floor as you look up to the sofa where she's installed, her blue eyes already making the skin of your face burn when looking at you with the intensity she's pawning — "bigger y'know? that don't smell like food all the time."

"i'm glad for you" lies. partly anyway, cause she's glad you're doing better, but not having you close as in just a few steps away? makes her heart falter for a moment, a phantom feeling settling on her stomach, adding weight to her form as she pulls out this fake smile from her ass she don't really mean to, one you don't really catch on when your eyes light up to the comment, ruins "when are you moving? maybe i can help you out-"

"at least three more weeks, i want everything to be in order, i cant leave without a grill celebration either" you reply thoughtfully before checking on your phone calendar "we can go out to celebrate i survived my exam. i mean, if you want to."

"you want to celebrate that with me?"

it hits right on the spot, a knock out she'd be pleased to give in the arena, painted in black makeup, sweating and spitting blood to the floor, but now? it catches her off guard too, your reaction to her words, the subtle nervousness in your voice when speaking again, made her mouth dry as you try to make up excuses, something decent to say more than the fact that you want her around.

"yeah if you want it too, been bugging you this whole week with this, you deserve a night out, my treat."

"gonna be your sugar baby for the night, huh?" in reality, vi's her own very enemy when she's blushing at her own words before changing on the subject: she's flirting over and over again without any intentions to stop "can't say no when you put it out like that, m'am" — "when is it anyway? two more days?"

"two more days. in fact, thanks for adding to my stress."

well, she's knee-fucking-deep at this point.

you indulge her needs without saying anything two nights after that, just like you promised in her apartment when she convinced you to have some sleep so you could keep studying the next day. buying drink after drink, you're preventing her from getting into fights and pulling vi into the crowd to dance with her most of the damn night.

it's the contact what drives her crazy in the end, a brush of your fingers in her skin, your breathing colliding for a brief second against hers, teasing her all damn night as she has no other option to just observe.

you know you look extra good in that tight dress, that vi's a victim of insanity when your hair gets messy and you don't seem to care about it, skin glistening with sweat and this smile the boxer cannot erase from her mind, replaying it like a movie she overly-enjoyed.

you're dancing to the rhythm of the music, slightly drunk, already on cloud nine and through vi's gaze, it's enough to mesmerize her, following you around like a guard dog and preventing guys from trying their luck and get a way with you, she's not risking any chance.

"you look beautiful like this, when you have no worries stressing you out, and you're just enjoying" well fuck if that wasn't flirting, if that wasn't plain seduction fueled by the stupid amount of alcohol vi consumed, so at your smirk, it's a personal need; she needs to continue "always the hottest fucking girl around, do you have any idea of how hard is to get a grip around you?"

the song seems to pass to second place, transported to another dimension when you're pressing your back right against her chest and vi has the perfect path to just lean right against your ear, nose inhaling the scent of your skin, the cream you use that leaves a subtle shimmer down in your exposed shoulder and she's fucked: fucked, intoxicated, driven already by those guarded needs she keeps drowning deep underwater.

"quit fucking around," the whiskey burns in her throat, still in vi's tongue at the first warning, you're dancing against her, ass right against her jeans and the dress, that hell of a dress goes up with each movement and you don't seem to care enough like she does — "your dress- it's slipping up, gonna flash the whole club like this-"

"then pull it down," the way you say it's almost like a dare, and you love her attention, granting permission to vi's fingers who are quick to slip pass beneath the fabric, brushing against the skin of your sides as she's pulling it to her original state, keeping it there as it insists to fold right at your waist "can you keep it that way? help me out."

you know exactly what you're doing, rubbing yourself against her pants, breathing heavily as she keeps the fabric of your dress hooked in her fingers, a subtle way of pulling you closer against her, make you blatantly rest against her body.

the confidence comes up in this state and she just let it happen, sloppy kisses in your shoulder, vi can feel it against her lips as you make your hair to the side and you smile cause yes — you got her where you want to, hand in your thighs, fighting the urge to grab you by the waist cause it's not correct, you're friends and she values your company, the connection.

but vi's sinking in whiskey, and the way back home it's blurry by a cloud of necessity, impulses combined with a mass of lust at what it's now her worst behavior: she can't keep her hands off you, lingering on your waist, mumbling excuses about having to prevent you from falling, avoiding you from getting too far from her.

"you're not going to invite me back to your place?" you ask, resting against your door at just steps from her own, and vi's having trouble on finding the keyhole before suddenly freezing — "i'm drunk and i can fall too you know? a serious injury that could cost my life- and you won't even know."

it's a clear excuse, you both know it by then, and it makes vi laugh as she's resting her forehead against the wood, letting out an audible sigh soon after: she's doing so good so far. even when you tempted her with your worst, she didn't kissed you like she wanted to, didn't touch you any further even when you're rubbing your fucking ass against the front of her jeans, but having you alone back in her place? it's like asking to fuck with her patience.

"c'mere before i regret it" there's no sense to hide it when you stumble to her door, standing so close she can feel your chest brushing in her right arm, the soft fabric of your dress gently touching her skin as she opens the door and you're invading her once again; like you always fucking do.

you're like a force of nature, driving yourself like it's your place too. you grab her hand as she drags you to the kitchen, sitting in the counter as your legs swing in the air before vi's turning on the lights.

"you're going to kill me" you loudly say, using your hands to protect yourself from the white lights of the kitchen "turn it off- what are you doing?, we're vampires at this hour."

"vampires huh? who drink water after so much alcohol?"

"alcohol-sucking-vampires" you explain like it’s an obvious thing, tilting your head to the side as you watch her take the bottle of water she keeps in the fridge “we'd burn if you turn on the lights, and i won't burn by a kitchen lamp, not when you're near.”

so you’re hooking your finger in the carabiner vi wears in her pants, and her keychain tingles in the air as the only sound in the room, her breathing hitches back in her throat as you're pulling her between your legs, taking the water from her fingers before drinking from the bottle as you try to sober up with half the cold water.

“you okay there?” vi asks, refusing to look down to see the way your dress raises from over your upper thighs, she can already feel your naked legs closing around her waist and too afraid to act upon contained lust — “too drunk?”

“just perfect” it's enough to wash off the trails whiskey on her mouth, hands resting over the counter as all suddenly, vi's taking over your space, conquering the air you breathe as you rest against the white tiles of her kitchen wall behind your back and you seem aware now that there's no escape, nothing but the need to stay there, granting her the silent admission to keep going, wonder further in depth "are you too drunk?"

"maybe i am," it's not a lie, not when the alcohol travels down her blood and it makes vi's knee shake, when she's resting her weight in the counter, so close to you she can feel the warmth of the breathing that comes out of your parted lips "cause i feel that if you don't stop me, i'm going to start spiraling, and i don't want to fuck you here in my kitchen counter. turns me on- but it's impersonal for the first time i'm taking you."

the words roll of violet's tongue with an ease that scares, and when she realizes it, it's too late to take them back when you smile like you just won the damn lottery, this damn smirk she already knows from memory, that look you have when you get something you've been working hard for, an exam, her attention, her touch.

it's too much time being this miserable, too much time standing on her side of the room, keeping her thoughts in a glass that easily shatters with the slightest touch, so vi's allowing herself to surrender, let the guards in your body drive her to the the prisons of your soul, the maze in your heart she crosses with fire in her hands.

you're there. blending in her arms like the strangest material that sticks to her skin, making the limits go blurry cause she don't care now, they are nothing but a stone in your shoe; you're moving out and vi's already feeling a part of her missing, the need to hold you close before you disappear in her arms and never see you again.

the silk dress in her fingers is soft as it wrinkles following the form of your body, and vi wishes to be able to breathe underwater, have any sort of control over the chaos in her mind when she's sucking on your neck until her teeth marks you with a hickey she can see, like a proof she'll need to see tomorrow somehow, to believe all of it is real and not part of her dreams.

moans come out of your lips and that's what she's been missing out, the simple pleasures of life's she's been depraving herself from, her lips find a way to your jaw, working her way up in gentle touches, having you pressed against her body is simply not enough, not remotely sufficient.

"you taste so sweet," is it the whiskey on vi's voice? the soreness on her muscles after drinking so much? it does not matter at this point when her slender fingers grab your chin, angling upwards to meet her gaze "i swear, it's the greatest ambrosia from the gods."

you're not bulletproof, you can't resist the way her blue eyes search yours for a moment like she's studying any sign of regret in your eyes, dilated irises, it's you the very first who stole the kiss, the contact already clumsy, full of teeth and a constant fight, a need for control, demand and get more in response.

inebriates her to the touch, like lsd melting on her tongue to blend within her body; is it the whiskey? when your tongue pushes past her's and your chest graze against her own, vi's fingers sink in your hair to pull your head to the side and fucks sake, is it normal? how something so simple can feel so right?

it's the first kiss that gets vi on her knees already, the second, the third, the fourth: she loses count at that point, but it does not matter when your legs are wrapped around her waist impending any try of putting some space between you and her, when she can visibly notice the color of your panties she's been trying so fucking hard to guard the entire night.

"vi-" you manage to say, the sound of your voice give away so many details she's been overlooking, the raspy tone that wraps her own name — "vi. listen to me-"

"say that again" she asks, like an alcoholic ready for another drink — "violet this time, i need to hear it entirely."

"violet," you repeat, and she likes the way your tongue rolls in the syllables, didn't enjoy being called like that until that very moment when you're whispering it like it's a part of some important spell "listen to me-- i need you to tell me something."

"tell me, i'm hearing" she replies with simplicity as her hands finally raise your dress where it belonged the whole damn night, right over your waist as her hands close over the gloves of your ass and she's squeezing it tightly to prove her point "i can listen to you while i touch, tell me what's so important."

"it's about work, about what i do" she stops for a moment, looking down at you cause she couldn't care less now about the whiskey, the dizziness on her brain as she stares at your face "i should've told you sooner. i'm sorry okay? this escalated so quickly i didn't think we-."

nervous. you're nervous when you speak again and she just wishes to kiss you, make you understand that she don't really care about this whole cam-girl thing with actions more than words.

"i do, like- videos" you state, low like a secret you don't want anyone else to hear — "on my own, you know- well- cam-girl videos that's how i make so much money-- i let weirdos stare at me while i masturbate, pays good money and i get if you don't want to do anything, i needed you to know before uh-."

"you think that's going to make me not-fuck you?" she asks, genuinely interested in the answer "cause you do hot videos online?"

"have you watched them?"

"no, i haven't."

"either you're too polite to say it or a dinosaur when it comes to technology, cause i got a couple of videos blowing up in lesbian accounts on twitter and a bunch of subscribers thanks to that."

"cocky much aren't you? implying i must have seen it" — "you're that big of a deal here?"

"i'm not, i'm basing my data on actual numbers who back up what i'm saying" you try to prove your point rambling an absurd amount of words she don't really pay much attention to, pretty sure you're a top creator on that page of yours "are you even listening to me?"

"do you want me to see your videos?" she asks with new curiosity, blue eyes piercing yours and it's always a fight, a need for taking control and know who's surrendering first "is that what is all about? you want me to see your slutty masturbating sessions? what do you do hm? fuck yourself dumb enough to forget you're recording? got me curious now."

vi's nothing but impulses, kissing your cheek in a slow tender motion, fingers on your face that keeps you there, face pressed against her mouth as she feels your skin burn under her touch.

"i don't care about what you do," — "i only care if you want this too, peach. if you masturbate and record yourself, it's nothing but a huge, damn turn on."

so there it goes one more time like it wasn't enough the fist time, demanding kisses, needy touches to feed the monster inside vi's body: it does not matter, and the knowledge makes you the same it does to her, electricity coming up to your spine.

even when your lips are swollen it's not enough, not nearly proper to satisfy all her needs, but before you're even thinking about keep undressing yourself there this sound coming out from the hallway outside, and you stop before letting her kisses travel down to your collarbones, brows furrowing in curiosity.

"was that a meow?"

"damn fucking cat," vi curses out loud, rolling her eyes as she hides her face in the crook of your neck "gonna install sunshine a door at this point, she comes to sleep close to the window"

"well that's cute," you chuckle before vi's using her thumb to clean up the strings of saliva that connected you back to her mouth, swollen, red lips against her own "go on, don't leave her hanging, she comes to her safe place to rest."

it's physically difficult to remove herself from your body, cursing the way back to the front as the boxer's opening the door to find the small cat entering the apartment without even looking at her, quickly finding her way back to the window.

"is that the cat from 9D?" you ask when stepping out of the kitchen, looking at the cat already sleeping in her designated spot — "funny. i got a visitor like this too, but it's the black cat, rainbow."

"cat likes smart-asses, makes sense" vi teases to your offense before you're taking the bag you leave in the floor, looking out for your keys — "hey- i was joking, you leaving me?"

"i think, we both drink a lot tonight vi" you're right anyway, hangs heavy on her chest when realizing she still cannot feel the very tip of her fingers "and i want you to kiss me sober, touch and talk me like this when you remember me, us."

"i'm not that drunk-"

"come to my place tomorrow morning if you still think that way. i'll cure your hungover any way you want me to" the promise hangs in the air, and despite your words you kiss her again, because it's just another kiss, another one to the infinite you already gave her, lingering there and stinging in her skin like a constant reminder of the contact; quickly this time, soft unlike the needy ones dictated by alcohol "i don't want you to regret me. i need you on your four senses."

"tomorrow morning. i can do that."

she can't.

life would be awesome if violet vanderson wasn't a fucking pussy who can't knock on your door the next day since she's too embarrassed to show up out of nowhere: what if you don't remember anything? what if those kisses where nothing more than that? just kisses who are quickly forgotten?

being left alone with her own mind is dangerous, and karma's a bitch with her lately as vi's roughly pulled out of the car into the street and she's unable to hold her weight when falling into her knees, the cement scrapes her jeans as she can feel the blood already mixing up with gravel — "you owe us fucking big time, violet. we'll take it out of the prize from next week, do you understand?"

"yeah- fuck off."

she resists the urge to show them her middle fingers, the aching pain in her ribs being too intense to even raise her hand from over her shoulder as vi yawns in pain. she can endure the agonizing ache; the loneliness on the other side haunts her mind as she uses the doorknob to stand up, blood already coating her fingers as they press against her shoulder.

awful job. they did hell of fucking job on stitching her up this time: what fucking owing them big time were they talking about? she's climbing up step by step to the third floor, and vi's sure she's going to pass out any moment from now, crawling on her hands and knees — she's going to fucking puke at this point.

she deserves the treatment, this eviscerating cut to her ego, cause it's the second fight she loses now and fuck if it not affects her, not in the state she arrived to the complex; broken nose, injured shouldeer, she's almost surprised she's not bleeding internally. it's what she deserves for being this level of an asshole.

two weeks. what was she thinking when she began to avoid you? when she got scared to the point she's not acting out on her own feelings? when did she turned into this lame version of herself? this part violet don't recognize and now has to live with? not daring to see your face at any random moment of the day, avoiding you like you're the worst disease ever announced and she deserves it.

too good in learning your schedule, of course she's going to work hard in not seeing you, not cross you on the hallways by accident, not even in the morning by your running routines — and like everything before, it works. not seeing you it's medicine for the heart, a bandage of ignorance right to the eyes: what she cannot see, cannot possibly hurt her.

you moving out, leaving her behind: maybe put up some distance it's what she needs to do in order to survive, prevent her from gaining a broken heart, the embarrassment.

"don't sleep on me-" shit, when exactly did she passed out? your hand rub against her cheek as you keep talking to her, eyes open "violet. fucking wake up. don't fall asleep."

she can recognize the sound of your voice when talking to her, the way you seem to pull force out of nowhere as you're making her stand back on her feet, clumsy when you're walking back to your apartment without saying a word, physical effort as you close the door behind your back and you help her get to your bathroom.

"what happened-" you ask inspecting the bruises in her face under the accusing white light, and vi would like to say something, remark how she's fine even when she passed out thanks to the pain minutes before, but she cannot say much when a loud whine of pain escapes from her lips as your hands wonder around her figure looking for any wound "talk to me c'mon- how did you ended up like this?"

"the fight-" she manages to say before you're tossing her tank top to the floor, the black makeup only interfering with your work as you stare at the injury in her shoulder, a cut vi's sure she gained thanks to the pointy, metal brass knuckles her opponent hit her with, the bruises decorating the flesh like a damn universe of different kinds of pain; she'd be embarrassed of being so naked if not being so utterly in shambles.

"shit- you need to go to the hospital."

"no-" she's quickly to reply, too many questions she cannot answer honestly, don't want the authorities getting involved — "i checked out the most and it's already under control- 's this shitty thing in my shoulder- the stitches keep opening."

and violet's in no position to ask for anything, nothing at all when she's been so cruel to you, so distant even when you live at just footsteps, but she's looking at you with this eyes you already know, a pleading face you can't say no to as you're opening the med kit you keep in the bathroom shelf, shaky hands as you mumble something about not being a doctor, about not having any clue on what you're doing.

"look at me," the fighter asks, all that black painting only accentuating her blue gaze as you stare at her, not realizing your hands are being held down by vi's bandaged ones, keeping them steady over her chest, "i trust you. you just need to stop the bleeding. i know you got me."

works fine cause you take care of it, trembling hands, holding on your breath since you're victim of your nervousness, you seem to avoid her gaze so well vi knows, real as her current bellyache, that you're so mad at her you don't even want to look at her bruised face, tending the wound in a deadly silence as she's gaining more color now, better as your fingertips brush against her skin.

"thank you" you hate to hear it, the awkward small talk, her need to fill the silence "for helping me out."

"i don't want you dying on the floor, would be awkward if your ghost is bounded here."

it makes her laugh for a moment, the pain on her chest being a reminder of her poor state as she closes her eyes tightly trying to surpass the pain, the unexpected whine she let's out filling your bathroom walls as your digits press against the cut.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” vi cannot escape from the question now, struggling to breathe as she braces herself at the prospect of anger she deserves — "did you regret our kiss? is that why you're so ashamed of talking to me?”

"i don't-" even when her muscles are sore she's making an effort in denying your words, fingers covered in vi's blood; you're struggling just by breathing the same air "i thought you were going to forget- about me, of our kisses that night."

"do i look like i forgot?"

"let me finish," she insists, giving you a pleading look — "you taste like promises and warm words. like fire, me-- and the mouth is never mistaken. you're there, constant like the moon and the stars and it scares me a little, like i'm always in this ship and there's thick, dense fog surrounding it and sometimes you're the lighthouse guiding me back to safe land, but others you're the angry ocean and i don't know what to do about it. on the intensity of how i feel about you and your kisses, how you felt while holding you in my hands: seems like the only thing i can think lately since i last saw you drunk in my apartment are your damn moans, the face you give me when i said i wasn't going to fuck you in my kitchen counter, you."

"that's you didn't came?"

"guess i'm afraid," vi won't admit it before, won't admit it ever, the prospect of talking about her cowardice being similar to a mistake in her mind "you're leaving next week, and you'll forget about me and this place and i can't deal with that thought, not when you're on your best life and i'm stuck here losing fights, being damn miserable."

"you think i'll forgot about you?" — "that's your worrying?"

"it pisses me off, cause if affects me in a way you don't realize" vi's voice fill the bathroom walls for a moment, and you stop tending on her stitches for a minute; the color has returned to her cheeks, much better now as she barks the truth she guarded so secure — "you seem unbothered by it but i'm not okay with you leaving, with not having you at just inches from my bed- i get that you're winning more money, that this place sucks so much ass but you can't- you can't leave me behind."

"i would never do that to you," you reply in a low voice, and from the position you're in, right between her opened legs, you're kneeled in front of her to take care of injuries better, making vi aware of the way you're looking at her, much closer than you were in the kitchen as her shoulder does not matter now "this whole moving out thing- i'd never leave you behind, you're my best friend and shit- whenever i go, you do too."

"you say that now but what if-"

she cannot continue with the argument, not when you're carefully pressing your lips against hers and you're shutting her racing mind with a kiss; one that's different this time and makes her heart feel too small to endure the loud beatings it gave, sober, patient, vi notices the details that she missed out, the softness in your glossy lips, the taste of apple in your mouth, fresh breath as her hands tangle in your hair to make it impossible for you to seek any distance, any kind of air but what she can offer.

her shoulder hurts at the movements, but the pit fighter don't seem to care about any injury now when you're doing that thing you do that drives her crazy, how you steal kisses like they were yours to take since the beginning.

"stop that," you speak against her mouth "we don't live based on theories vi," — she likes the sound of your voice, that soothing way of talking to her when your eyes meet her's and your thumbs are following an invisible path in the sides of her face before talking again "it doesn't work like that, cause from the moment you threw bad jokes at the grill i can't get you out of my head and it's not that easy- i won't pull you out of my life like you're no one. i don't have much- people around me always leave and i'd never do that to you. not ever."

it's what she needed to hear, what the worms eating away her brain wanted to stop holding her hostage as you lean against her to steal another kiss: you're a thief a she'd let you steal them all without putting up a fight, all when they belonged to you.

"you're really important to me, violet" you admit, and the knot in her stomach tightens at the admission "not only as my neighbor, but as a friend, as the girl i like."

it hangs in the air for a moment, her personal fucking kryptonite to this point cause vi keeps the kisses coming even when they are similar to a fever in the middle of a flu, body tense, sick with tension she cannot get rid of when pushing you to her lap, the weight on her legs unexpectedly good, needed-

"hey- hold up you're injured and in no condition to do whatever you're trying to do here-"

"i'm okay, killjoy" she coos, even close to dying dramatically minutes before, vi's currently going through the strangest adrenaline rush, not even feeling her sore shoulder at this point — "you know i've never been here before in your apartment? it's very similar to mine, but like- the opposite version."

she stays silent for a moment, her lips move against yours but not for a kiss, instead it's a glance, a subtle and barely noticeable touch: "i thinks its a mystery how your life always seem to mirror mine so much."

"i'll make you a bath-"

"i mean it" vi continues on talking as you move around to turn on the water, sitting on the edge of the tub as you settle a warm temperature: she also needs the distance "this cat- what was his name? from 9D?"

"rainbow?"

"you get visits from rainbow, and sunshine's making my apartment her own" she reminds you, making you giggle momentarily — "you live in the apartment next door, my routines fit yours and i have to try- put up a lame show since i don't want to see you on the hallways cause i know the exact hours you leave for classes-"

"you know my routines?" shit. "what's your point with this, weirdo?"

"i mean, it's really obvious here," violet's pushing past her pain when straightening her back, still wrapped around dirty bandages that surely needs changing "i have this theory with a fair amount of proof, cause i think you were made for me, as much as i was made for you."

it's a normalized behavior she wants to keep, cause she likes this image of you when she's using her force to stole a new kiss, multiple ones she starts by giving you from the side of your face until she's touching the corner of your mouth with hers, invading your space like she's meant to do it, lips fitting so nicely against yours — you're sure she's right, that she has more than just proof to back up her words: you are made for her, she's made for you.

"the tub's ready."

"you're nervous" it's not a question but more like an observation as you move around, avoiding her gaze when you're too busy checking the temperature.

"i am," you admit in honesty, tongue travels down the inside of your cheek before adding "it's different. you're different- us."

"yeah?" vi's tone gives away her intentions by the time she's saying it — "tell me more about it, how different is this for you huh?"

"privacy, you need privacy. i'll leave you to undress and shower, is it okay if i get you some stuff to wear from your apartment?" it's so simple to make you like this, stumble over your words even when sober, cute rambles she's been missing the last weeks.

"sweetheart," vi's voice is tender, barely an audible whisper as she shakes her head in denial — "i can't shower alone. you know that."

"but i-" you try to calm yourself down as the vapor sticked to the mirror hanging on the wall, the intimacy vi’s been running from "i need to go find your clothes-"

"you don't have to" violet insists before her fingers begin to unwrap the bandages across her chest, face twitching with pain when making much effort in moving — "i want you to stay here with me. let me have this."

thing is you don't need convincing, not when she's stripping right in front of you, baring the lines of her muscles as you hold your breath for a moment: all this time being partly naked, you're fine with it until it takes a different turn, an unseen shade that got you looking to the floor for a moment when hearing the sound of the fabric falling into your vision field, the bandages that wrapped around her chest followed by a splash and the loud moan she lets out when entering the warm water.

"i won't spend more time without you," vi says from inside the tub, and it makes you malfunction for a long time, stay there for until you make sure you can hold your own weight when walking "please, sit here, stay close."

suddenly it's hard to snap out of it. the air's too hot at this point when she's panting the spot right next to her, looking up to you ready to beg and ask until you're granting her wishes. your heart beats so loud in your ear when you spot her smile only getting bigger as you sit down in the floor right next to the tub.

"tell me, do i look too fucked?" the bruised boxer asks when you're sitting close to her, back hitting the cold tiles as you're comfortably resting right on her side before turning to look, inspecting her face. there's a bruise right under her eye, creeping up to the side of her nose, slip lip, the wound in her eyebrow is closed with fake stitches but it's getting swollen now under the lights of rationality.

"no" it's a simple answer, even when violet looks like she's been paying visits to hell lately, you can't help it when your eyes follow the features of her face, the ring piercing on her nose, the freckles carefully placed over the middle section — she looks stupidly good even when she's at her worst, so your eyes roam against her naked figure in response, her bruised skin now hugged by a comforting warm, making her shiver case she can feel the weight of your gaze, the goosebumps that made her body move involuntarily "no, you don't look fucked."

"get in with me."

vi's as serious as she can be, and it's the kisses that win you over; her way of making you do stuff cause her lips are pressed against your own and it's like the greatest delight ever created.

"please get in with me" she asks again, cause vi wont forgot; she won't let go of the moment as her wet hands close around your neck and the drips of water are soaking through your shirt — "i need you so much closer, please."

even when there's a clear separation between her body and yours, her hands look past it when they're soaking through your pajama, the coldness from her hands as they touch your body like it's holy, wetting everything behind.

"the tub's too small" you try to be intelligent for a moment, a difficult task when she's placing the most gentle kisses in your neck "and your shoulder- i don't think it's a good idea."

"i swear to you if you mention my shoulder one more time-" to be fair, it's hard to think about a threat that's good enough to make you stop as you’re grabbing the sides of your shirt to toss it from over your head, close to the bandages in the floor, it got vi staring at your tits for a while, the lack of bra since you were probably sleeping before she came in like a hurricane really handy.

"you what?" you insist, wanting her to complete the sentence. little fucking tease mocking at vi's words while her hands tug on your shorts, the only thing preventing her from getting you inside — "gonna stop kissing me like you do? leave me hanging?"

"no," she would never mention it even, rolling her eyes in defeat "i have nothing to threat you with, cause all that i got is yours already- you know that well."

it's a composition, a testament as vi's hands roam against your exposed chest, fingers tugging on your nipples before your pants are falling to the floor in a disaster you want to happen, and the intimacy is there before ever undressing, in the vapor and the hot water as you make no sound in entering the water.

"too far," vi protests as you try to sit in the other side of tub, swiftly pulling you upwards just to make you glide against the water so you can rest in her chest, and she winces, a loud sound of discomfort as she moves you enough to not be resting over the bruises in her rib, that spot she knows it's sensitive — "don't move if you want me to keep living."

"fucking insane," it's impossible to try and argue as your chest is already pressed against her's and it turns very complicated to even think about enough reasons to leave the bathroom "the idea of a bath is for you to relax vi, not to have me crushing you."

"what if i want you to crush me?" she wonders as her hand travels down the line on your spine, the skin that's so soft in her fingers as she takes your hair out of the way, the strands out of your neck. vi takes her time in doing so, on treating you like you deserve when she's nibbling on your neck, holding you against her cause there's no pain enough to prevent violet from taking what she wants "do you understand? how fucked you got me? i'm already in pieces hoping you'll put my skin together with your love."

her words cut deep, deeper than any ache as they settle in your heart, you seem to be in sync with her, heartbeats that mix up like a lullaby and breathings that took turns; her chest expands when yours constricts in a silent organization, and it's good. your hair's getting wet, and vi's hand squeeze your ass with a controlled force. you belong there.

"let me touch you," she asks, her hand seems to grow curious by the seconds as vi pants your upper thigh and you seem to get the memo so you're finally straddling her, legs on each side as the water settles down to the level of your belly and she's looking at the skin already covered in drips with a tangible need — "i'll beg if you want me to- i need to have you."

she’s gentle, a need to show you how much she cares about you, how she needs you close, know more about your days. the words find their own way out of her mouth when vi’s admitting against your ear how much she missed you, the times she had imagined that very same scene in the darkness of her room, infinite fantasies that always resume around the same, this face of mischief when you're climbing up from the edge of the bed to sit down on her just like you are in that moment, tangled hair, her fingers make you shiver when they're touching so skillful.

just the same, you're in the perfect place to- worship you, and vi does so when her she's using a hand to make you bend against her mouth so your chest is exposed right to her face and that's what life must be about from now on: pleasing you. making your hair to the side, vi wonders for a moment if she fainted again, this time inside her supposedly relaxing bath.

a happy death, she wants a happy death, so violet vanderson wishes not to be awaken if so. let her die. let her experience an afterlife where she finally gets what she wants, where things go her way. it's an illusion, maybe a fantasy you're indulging like when you bought her drink after drink the night she went out with you, an abysmal difference now as your hand guides her own to you inner thighs.

vi wishes to imprint her fingerprints in your flesh, groping with enough force to make you gasp. she wishes to comply and do good cause she can do so much for you it's making her insane, hard to think in anything else when she has you like this, using a couple of fingers to rub on your clit already greedy for attention, depraved from her touch for too long.

"mmf-what the actual-fuck," the words slur together like a muffled sound when you're biting on your inner cheek — "shit that's so good."

the water moves with you when your hips do so, splashes at the movement before you're raising yourself from above it, leaking against her hand as her fingers push against your entrance, desperate to give you something to hold on to, push further.

vi's teeth pull on your hard nipple, a rough tug that it's delicious as her fingers work their way inside your cunt, wreathed by your pulsating walls who wishes to drag her further inside. knuckles deep, the pit fighter can feel the sting of pure pain when her fingers thrust inside you, the nervous endings pulling on her shoulder wound.

"ride me," she ask when your eyes dart out to her wound, caring about her even when you're drunk in a state vi wishes to see more than ever, nodding as you move against the palm of her hand — "there you go, i'm yours to use. you already know i'm yours to take."

"fuck vi-"

maybe the tub it's the least of the places that this should be happening, the space is to small, uncomfortable, induces to clumsy sex, yet when vi fucks- it's different. you’ve never been fucked like this by just two damn fingers, so devastating, overwhelming like she’s surpassing every barrier you've put out there with effortless grace until she’s there, under your skin, claiming each part of your body when it belongs to her.

“you’re gripping me so tight” vi gulps already feeling heady. a lewd sound filling the bathroom walls as her fingers move with vigorous force, slippery cunt as they curl right where you need her to be “fucking you with the strap must be hell of a ride huh? gonna have to prepare you every time.”

“m’so close-” you state, and she’s nodding at your words, brows furrowing together in understanding, a wish to get you there at any cost — “please vi- please.”

you’re begging even when you’re not sure why for, the mount of her hand hitting against your clit as your tits bounce on each movement you give on top of her, making vi absorbed by the sight, the marks she left on your skin, how you’re making the biggest effort on fucking yourself to oblivion.

“so full of my fingers, i know you’re gonna cum baby” she uses a coaxing tone to speak, only making you even more debased than you already are at her gentle words “let me feel you soaking up my hand- you’ve been doing so good already.”

you’re talking nonsense. an slobbering mess when your body stiffens at the impending release you’ve been holding before it finally coates down vi’s fingers, dripping down to the water in a nasty mix the pink-haired don’t mind as she keeps working you through it.

“make it last baby,” she says pulling you into a kiss, tongue plunging against yours in a salty kiss, swallowing your loud moans — “you have the sluttiest cum-face i’ve ever see huh? those little uh’s- i get why people pay, you’re fucking addictive.”

the comment makes you giggle even when you’re tired, sultry look when vi’s sucking on her own fingers, tasting the release that still makes them shine under the light.

“thanks for being so good to me, so kind with all of this- i know it’s not normal” you reply, big eyes staring at vi’s blue hues before leaving soft pecks in the valley of her chest “you make it hard not to fall for you.”

"there’s no need to thank me, peach” — “never saw your videos, but you are indeed, very popular on twitter. i did saw a censored photo back then.”

"and you never saw anything else?"

“no, i want you to cum because of me for the first time i’m seeing you” vi replies, simple and quick “not on a phone or laptop screen, but here against my skin, flesh and bones.”

“when did you find out?”

“before the grill? i dunno i was trying to be polite, i would hate to make you feel uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention at all.”

“that’s months ago” you playfully hit her in her sane shoulder, earning a whine on her behalf — “and you resisted all this time?”

“i wanted to respect your privacy- i got curious about you way before twitter so again, privacy s’important.”

“privacy- i’m doing porn and you think about my privacy, sweet jesus i’m gonna eat you alive” your words makes her blush as you stay silent for a while before you’re looking up to her, the water’s already cold and wrinkling in her skin before you add with the biggest smile vi has ever seen — “i think you should stay tonight, really. we have some movies to catch on, science purposes.”

you’re kissing her until vi’s lips are red and sore before standing up and her shoulder’s fine. the stitches are fine. it’s a long nite and vi will have no trouble to survive, despite her usual negative way of seeing things; she’s staying positive this time.

for science purposes.

"you can take it," vi whispers as pushes deeper inside you, the perfect view of your drenched pussy taking her in, opening for the intrusion — "it's okay- make room for me you're doing so fucking good."

the sound of your moans mixes with the sounds on her phone speaker, the image of you spread against a wood desk collapsing her brain as you're there, in her screen while you're rubbing this fuck-doll against your cunt and you're so wet as you show yourself to the camera, it makes vi moan as she spreads your ass-cheeks further apart, using the same grip to pull you against the strap.

"take your time, beautiful" she says as a hand slaps the flesh of your back rear until it's red, fingers marking on the flesh before she's moving slightly, only to tease your reaction with her nestled inside "weren't you so cocky before? saying you can take massive cock like a regular tuesday?"

you're begging in the video, crying to be stuffed and it's not a distant view from what she has already, forehead pressed against the king-sized mattress, your breathing gets shallow when vi's pulling out almost entirely just to slam it back in, making your legs shake. it hits all the right places, tingles against her cervix as you present yourself to her like a christmas-fucking-gift. ready to be discovered.

"you feeling good?" her words are so kind even when her fingers are pulling on your hair, making your head backwards with a force that makes you get high on lust, nodding at her insistence as she keeps hitting it from behind.

"yes-" you struggle to respond for a moment, voice like you've been hitting the gym with hell of a cardio routine "fuck yes- yes do your fucking worst, please."

the bed creeks, the headboard smashes against the wall but vi cannot bring herself to care at the loud sounds you two make. her hips piston in a deliberate fast pace, and the sound of your skin smacking against hers makes her head spin; the sight of you rubbing your aching cunt in a recorded video goes so well with the one of your pussy wrapped up around vi's cook, already hanging on by a thread.

"look at that pretty pussy, the camera does not make you justice enough" she praises, pounding faster, deeper as she's making you watch the video with her, eyes glued as her fingers hold your face close to the screen — "all shaped up to take my fingers, my cock, my tongue-"

and your relationship with vi's always there in the site itself, making sure of commenting on each video, appear on every livestream asking you to go faster, deeper, moan out her name louder than the rest: when someone buys a pair of your underwear? she's there to make a mess with it, take the photos in seductive lingerie she fucks you in after, your girl next door, your formal neighbor who now invades your apartment most days of the week claiming she's tired of the orange chicken smell.

it's a routine you grow fond of: dates, messages, movies, music, fun, fucking, kiss, cuddle, showers, love, repeat.

violet vanderson's having the best year of her life when powder's parking the car in front of the building— she's moving in again, but this time? it's your apartment.

[mokulule]

Haunt is where the Heart is

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny)

Summary: Danny is down on his luck. He meets Jason. Both of them are a bit weirded out by their own behavior, but it works out in the end.

Chapter 1

Danny sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He leaned on his elbows at the tiny kitchen counter in his one room apartment. He crumbled up the final notice in his hand.

He was out of options. Damn Skulker just had to find a way to Amity when he’d just managed to find a job willing to give him a chance and that was that; he was out of a job before he even got his first pay check, whatever he had earned was deducted to cover the damages.

It was a week ago they turned off the utilities and in two days he was out of an apartment entirely.

He slid down on the cold floor and looked up at the mold that had started to creep in on the ceiling after the tenant above him had a broken pipe.

Dread coiled in his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the mold or the cold or the fact he’d charged his phone at the library the last week because he had no power and everything to do with the thought that he might have to move back home.

Home, a house wired to kill him the rest of the way… He shuddered at his core at being back there, always alert, never knowing what tweaks his parents had made to the defense systems and whether they remembered to make an exception for his oddly high ecto-signature.

But what choice did he have?

His parents would be delighted, they still didn’t understand why he moved out. Especially not for that sad excuse for a flat. Especially not when he could follow in the family footsteps. They didn’t require a high school diploma from him after all. He could just hear his mom: really Sweetie, it is for the best.

He could help reassemble the portal, for some reason they just couldn’t seem to get it working.

He closed his eyes wishing himself away. To Sam and Tucker who were thousands of miles away and not even in the same direction, but he had asked them to follow their dreams. To Jazz who used to serve as a buffer between him and their parents.

Maybe he should have broken the portal from the inside, stayed in the ghost zone instead of this.

He should have left Amity when he had the chance, should have found a new haunt, but what if ghosts found a crack to slip through? Like Skulker had done. And well, now he couldn’t afford it.

His thoughts circled back to home, and he held himself tightly. He couldn’t go back there. But Amity was too small or rather the Fenton’s were too known for him to be homeless, it would be noticed.

He just didn’t have a viable solution.

Oo o oO

Five days later he sat in a diner at a rest stop a little way out of Amity, thinking if he widened his job search to outside the city perhaps he could find someone who would give him a job. With the ability to fly it wasn’t like the commute was a problem.

Officially he’d moved the few belongings from the apartment back to his parents house, but he’d yet to sleep there. He just couldn’t get himself to do so. Every moment in that house he was on high alert, and after trying for hours that first night he’d finally relented to his body’s need to get the fuck away and found an open box of packing peanuts in a warehouse to crash in - the fact that Danny kinda missed Boxy had been the topping on a very long day.

His parents didn’t understand Danny’s need to look for a job, but at least they hadn’t been overly insistent on keeping him at home.

He turned the page in Elmerton Times scanning the job listings for something without unreasonable expectations. Why did a cleaning job require three years of experience? Also did cleaning his parents’ biohazard of a lab since he was eight count?

With a frown he noted it down as a maybe.

The door opened and a young man looking to be around Danny’s age walked in drawing Danny’s attention, though at first he couldn’t tell why…

Sure he looked well enough aesthetically: fit, broad shouldered - but if a pair of muscled shoulders and a nice ass was all it took to draw Danny’s attention Dash would have been a contender. The leather jacket and motorcycle helmet was cool, but it reminded Danny of Valerie.

Really, Danny wouldn’t normally be staring at a stranger at all like this. He’d realized a couple of years ago that his crush on Paulina was just because everyone else was doing it, and young teen Danny had been desperate to fit in.

So what was it that made him stare?

The stranger turned his head revealing a lock of snow white hair in his bangs he was definitely too young for. He narrowed his eyes at Danny and Danny’s eyes widened in turn before he was quick to look down at the newspaper and his by now cold coffee.

Tension wound up his spine when booted steps approached his table ominously. Danny couldn’t decide what he was feeling. Embarrassment for staring? Fear? Excitement?

The stranger cleared his throat and spoke in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

“Can I sit here?”

Danny looked up with wide eyes, gaze running over the subtle lines that to his eyes clearly held concealed weapons before settling on the man’s face. There was a deceptively friendly smile on his lips, but his blue-green eyes were hard and assessing. A gruesome scar scar ran from the corner of his upper lip all the way up the left side of his face - Danny quickly focused back on his eyes before shrugging.

“Sure.”

Danny purposely went back to the newspaper noting down another maybe as the stranger sat dow across him, bumping Danny’s knees with his long denim clad legs. Danny’s heart sped up in his chest for no determinable reason.

“Looking for work?”

Danny looked up then looked pointedly back at the paper open on the job section. “Geh, what gave it away?”

He got a smirk in response that was more genuine than the earlier smile and his own lips tugged up in response.

“Guess, I asked for that.”

The waitress came over with a big plate of still steaming scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon as well as a cup of coffee. Danny couldn’t help eyeing the plate. When was the last time he had such a substantial meal?

“I’ll have another of those,” the stranger told the waitress indicating the plate before pushing it across to Danny rumpling the paper in the process.

Danny looked at him surprised. He was about to open his mouth - to protest or thank him? He wasn’t entirely sure - but he got waved off.

“None of that. Just eat. You look like you need it.”

Danny frowned thoughtfully, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. At the first bite he moaned and leaned back as the greasy food hit the spot in his stomach.

The stranger let him eat for a while. He was observing Danny with a peculiar frown on his face every time Danny stole a glance at him. It didn’t take long for his own plate of food to arrive and Danny was glad for the distraction. Could it be that for some reason Danny was just as interesting to the stranger as the stranger inexplicably was to Danny?

Finally Danny pushed the plate away.

“So looking for work?” The stranger tried again after a moment of silence.

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” Danny said firmly crossing his arms and leaning back.

The man barked a short laugh in surprise.

“What makes you think I’d involve you in anything illegal?”

Danny’s gaze flicked pointedly to the barest outlines of the hidden weapons, before he raised an eyebrow.

“Point,” the stranger grinned tapping a finger thoughtfully on the table. What Danny would give to know what went through his head. Then he offered a hand towards Danny for a handshake.

Danny suspiciously took the glowed hand in his own and gave it a firm squeeze.

“Jason.” The stranger gave his name expectantly, and Danny felt compelled to offer his own, it was only polite.

“Danny.”

“Nice to meet you.” He said as he let Danny go.

“Remains to be seen.”

He grinned again at Danny’s sass. After a moment he pursed his lips thoughtfully before finally speaking.

“So here’s the deal. I’m moving back to my hometown and I’m looking for a roommate slash housekeeper to take care of the apartment when I’m gone since I travel a lot.”

Danny blinked in surprise. Then narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not having sex with you either.”

That stumped this Jason character, and Danny could believe the idea had not even occurred to him. That was at least one point in his favor and Danny relented.

“You gotta realize how weird and creepy this is? So what’s going on? We don’t know eachother.”

“I don’t-“ Jason rubbed his forehead, then leaned back almost as if taking a step back considering his actions. Hesitantly he said, “You seem a bit down on your luck, and I really could use someone to live in the apartment when I’m not around. A mostly empty apartment is easy pickings for break-ins. And it is big enough.”

He tilted his head, somehow the green in his eyes looked more pronounced when the light hit them like that. “And you seem trustworthy, somehow.”

“Well you don’t.”

He outright laughed at that. He really was nice to look at when he smiled, Danny mused. It made him look his age, took away the hard calculation in his gaze. Made him look less like some kind of hitman - which was Danny’s current theory as to Jason’s profession.

And - Danny supposes - there were worse jobs than being a live-in housekeeper to a hitman as long as he kept Danny out of his work. For one it would solve his housing situation - and just the thought that he was gonna have to go home to his parents' house at the end of the day to make an appearance crawled like skittering insects down his spine.

Once Danny was out somewhere more stable, he could also look for something new.

It didn’t solve his worry about the ghosts coming to Amity despite the portal being shut down, but while Jason did not at all ping Danny as trustworthy, there was still that something that drew Danny’s attention. Something he knew would eat at him if he left things at this.

“Okay, so say I agree, what then?”

Jason blinked in surprise clearly at this point not expecting Danny to agree - that made two of them.

“Uh, I suppose I give you the address. It’s in Gotham. You could ride with me, but you probably need to pack. Do you need funds for travel?”

He was already reaching inside his leather jacket and pulling out a roll of cash. Danny started laughing because this whole situation was ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” he said, placatingly holding up a hand and trying to stop laughing, “I just can’t believe I’m doing this.“

Jason huffed. “I will give you that the entire situation is odd."

Their eyes met, two pairs of blue with a hint of hidden green. Danny couldn't help the smile that spread his lips. Jason rolled his eyes, but Danny could see him fighting a smile of his own.

Hitman or not, Jason seemed an okay sort - and, Danny mused, when taking a leap of faith it was a big advantage that one could fly.

-

Alternatively how early days Red Hood acquired a protector spirit for the fallback safehouse where he actually keeps his belongings.

Okay so I don't know when I will continue this, the future of this fic is still pretty vague in my head it's mostly like a mood of ace-spectrum Danny and Jason occasionally living together while Jason prepares to and eventually does upend the Gotham criminal underworld and everything goes up in fire.

Anyways, did you like it? Thoughts?

Edit: now with a masterpost you can subscribe to

[agneslovestheinternet-blog]

stilinski's reputation

lacrosse star!stiles x fem!cheerleader!reader "whatever you do, avoid number twenty-four at all costs" 6.5K Words, 50% plot, 50% smut, reg high school au (no supernatural), scott's your friend not stiles', protected p-in-v, blowjob, slight mutual masturbation, nicknames "princess" and "daddy" but not the actual ddlg dynamic

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

“alright, huddle up ladies!” leslie, the cheer captain exclaims. the group of girls in ponytails and athletic shorts break from their formation on the mat to form a tight-knit group around her.

“first off; great practice. we just need to make sure we’re remembering our facials, ok, not getting too lost in the routine to actually perform and we will be fucking golden tomorrow night!” she praises, and a round of whoops and applause ripples through the cheer squad.

“now since tomorrow is the first game of the season, we need to go over some ground rules,” her tone becomes more serious but most of the girls around her roll their eyes. 

“number one: if you choose to drink at any of the parties this season, do not post about it. i don’t want to have to ban y’all from games but coach does so please, just keep it off socials,” she pleads and the girls nod reluctantly.

“basically just don’t get sloshed around anyone that might film you. especially not the team,” the brunette co-captain to leslie’s right pipes up in a dry tone.

“yeah, exactly, thank you, megan,” leslie concurs and continues her list.

“number two: do not neglect your schoolwork,” the group lets out a groan, “i’m serious! we study as a team in the library every tuesday night for a reason. you don’t get to be a cheerleader if you’re not at least a decent student,” she scolds.

“and lastly and most importantly, number three: do not sleep with any of the players,” leslie states and an awkward silence falls over the team.

“seriously it’s not worth it. don’t believe the stereotype of the athlete/cheerleader golden couple. all high school guys are douchebags, even if they can shoot a ball into a net good,” megan continues, backing leslie up to a soundtrack of giggles from the squad.

“yes, yes. but there is one player in particular that’s been a…” she pauses, exchanging a knowing look with her co-captain, “problem in previous years. whatever you do, avoid number twenty-four at all costs,”

“who’s twenty-four?” an olive-skinned girl with matching jet-black pigtails inquires with a raise of her perfectly manicured hand.

megan smiles mischievously but leslie keeps a steely look on her poreless face.

“stiles stilinski,” leslie spits out, accenting the syllables of his name with sharp staccato pauses.

“he’s relentless,” megan remarks in an almost awestruck tone.

“yes, he is, and cheerleaders are like pokemon to him; he tries to collect them all,” the captain continues, bristling at the laughter her comment elicits from the girls.

“what’s so bad about him sleeping with cheerleaders?” a blonde girl with pink lips smothered in gloss asks rather mockingly.

“he just drives girls crazy. once he sleeps with him, they like, totally lose all focus and become obsessed with him,” you respond with contempt, having heard this warning many times. several girls around you nod in agreement, having witnessed this phenomenon firsthand.

“yes and i need my team focused, ok. so don’t go anywhere near him. if he offers you a ride in his jeep, call one of us to drive you instead. if he invites you to a party, bring a buddy and don’t let her out of your sight. and if he asks for your number, so help me god; give him a fake one,” she lists, her tone getting more desperate as she goes on.

“and remember; stilinski’s a whore, but he’s an ethical whore,” megan chimes in, matter-of-factly, wagging a finger, “he always has a condom, he’s very open about getting tested every couple of months, and he is surprisingly respectful. none of those are reasons to sleep with him,” she reiterates, letting her blue-eyed gaze pierce through each and every one of her teammates.

“yes, just because he’s not a teen dad and he’s not rapey doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. don’t let him pull you in with the bare fucking minimum. higher standards ladies, please!” leslie finishes and she takes in the expressions on the faces of her team. 

some are shocked, some annoyed, and some are confused, which worries her the most. confusion leads to curiosity which leads to learning this lesson the hard way, something she’s expressly trying to avoid.

“alright, practice dismissed, cyclones on three,” leslie pivots, putting her hand in the center of the circle, the rest of the team’s soon following, “one, two, three,”

“cyclones!” the team shouts and disperses into lively conversing groups in a matter of seconds. megan hangs back, grabbing her water bottle from the ground and putting an arm over leslie’s shoulders as they walk back to the locker room to change.

“so how many victims do you think stilinski will claim this year?” she asks with a grin. megan takes a sick pleasure in the star player’s slutty antics and almost bet money on who he’d end up taking down last year, which leslie had scolded her severely for.

“optimistically, none. realistically, a few,” she sighs, and then remembers, “but he’s a senior. one more season of this madness and then beacon hills cheerleaders will be free of him,”

“we’re lucky he’s an only child. i bet he’d train his little brother if he had one,” megan jokes.

“no shit,” leslie agrees, horrified at the concept of another stilinski terrorizing the female population of beacon hills high school. the one they have is plenty chaotic already.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

your locker opens with a metallic clang and you deposit your heavy history textbook inside of it, since you won’t need it until the last period. your best friend scott slides into the peripheral vision on your left side, a cheery expression on his face.

“morning. got you a matcha,” he greets, handing you the warm paper cup with tendrils of steam escaping the plastic lid from his right hand, keeping his left clutching his own drink.

“oh my god, thank you so much,” you respond gratefully, turning to face him as you take a generous sip.

“game day makeup already?” he asks, his dark-brown eyes scanning your overlined maroon lips, heavily blushed cheeks and sparkly eyelids.

“yeah, we’ve got the assembly after fifth period,” you remind him, taking off in the direction of your shared homeroom.

“oh right. is this one gonna go better than last years?” scott asks, sidestepping a group of guys that rudely decided to walk directly down the middle of the hallway.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, accusatory. 

“didn’t you give paige body dysmorphia or whatever last year?” your friend asks with an overexaggerated smile.

“oh my god, my hand slipped! i didn’t even know she’d gained weight, jesus,” you shoot back, referencing an unfortunate fall that paige the flier had experienced at last year’s assembly that may, (or may not), have been your fault. leave it to scott to always remember your worst moments better than you do.

“it was a whole three pounds, y/n,” he responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “everyone was saying you gave an eating disorder,”

“yeah, well, if i did she should thank me. i’m pretty sure eating disorders are a requirement to become a flier,” you respond, knowing scott won’t take your dark humor seriously. the hallway narrows into a smaller corridor and your friend squeezes closer to you as you walk.

“did leslie mention that in her big speech at practice yesterday?” he asks, taking a hearty swig from his coffee cup.

“ok you know way too much about how the cheer team operates,” you retort.

“you’re my friend, i know about your stuff,” he counters warmly.

“that’s not why you know so much. you’re hoping that all these years of friendship will lead to me hooking you up with one of my teammates,” you bite back. as if on cue, a gaggle of cheerleaders wearing the same gaudy makeup as you round the corner and walk past both of you. you smile and wave and scott’s eyes follow them eagerly.

“no i gave up on that being a possibility like, two years ago. but a guy can dream,” he sighs, shaking his head slightly to break his gaze from the girls.

“gross, don’t,” you say, being unfortunately reminded of your friend’s sexuality every time your squad comes around, “and for the record, all leslie really did was give the ol’ “stay away from stilinski” speech,”

“you better have listened,” scott retorts, holding the door to the classroom open for you, “if you text him again i will have zero sympathy left,”

“listen, issac dumped me right in the middle of last season so i tried to hop on some community dick. it happens, we all make mistakes and-

“pretty fucking massive mistake, y/n” scott responds, setting his backpack down next to his desk.

“-now i know better and it won’t happen this year, ok. you live and learn,” you list calmly, removing a notebook and pencil from your bag as you sit down.

“at least he didn’t fuck you,” scott responds, dryly finding the positive of your lapse in judgement.

“thank fucking god for that,” you respond through gritted teeth as the bell rings.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

the harsh led lights illuminate the lacrosse field for the crowd packed in the metal risers surrounding it. the material creaks and groans under the weight of their stamping and cheering.

you stand in formation, shivering slightly with the chilly breeze. the game has been going well, but the opposing team took a late lead in the third quarter, leaving the cyclones down by one. there’s a minute and ten seconds left in the game and all eyes are glued on the infamous number twenty-four. they wait with baited breath for stiles stilinski to keep the cyclone’s near perfect record intact.

you watch his movements from the sidelines, relying on muscle memory to guide you through the routines you’ve spent three years performing.

he seems like more than an athlete when he’s playing. there’s a certain grace about him that’s more comparable to a dancer than a lacrosse player. he shoots the ball with laser precision into the net, tying the game. thirty-five seconds left.

“ending on a tie isn’t bad for the first game,” a dark-skinned girl with a high ponytail of tight braids mutters to your left as she shakes her poms furiously.

“stilinski never ties. they’ll get one more goal,” a girl behind you responds, her voice raspy from cheering.

when play resumes, it is as if someone lit a fire beneath stiles’ feet. he races with vigor towards the opposing net, bodying several players on his way. the impact barely seems to phase him as he hauls the ball into the net for the upteenth time tonight to uproarious applause. the cyclones win, 8-9.

you watch him get smothered by the testosterone-fueled mob of his teammates. you can almost see the flash of his cocky grin from all the way across the field.

great, he’ll be in rare form tonight, you think, reminding yourself once again to avoid him at tonight’s party.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

stiles crosses the crowded living room, getting several pats on his back and encouraging cheers as he goes. red solo cups litter whoever’s house this is and the music seems to shake the very foundation. a nice buzz courses through his body, not enough to make him stumble but enough to bring a flush to his mole-littered cheeks.

“hey,” he says almost innocently as he reaches the couch you’re lounging on.

“nope,” you say abruptly, rising from your spot and walking away. stiles stands with his lips slightly parted and his eyebrows furrowed for several uninterrupted seconds.

“um, excuse me?” he calls after you, following somewhat clumsily behind.

“i’m not doing this tonight, stilinski. the season just started for god’s sake,” you respond firmly, weaving through the crowd to get to the kitchen.

“i’m not doing anything!” stiles defends.

“you’re talking to me and that means you’ve marked me and that’s a fucking problem,” you rant, pouring yourself a heavy-handed vodka redbull. it’s more the former than the latter.

“‘marked’ you? what am i, a fucking hunter?” he snorts, grabbing a bottle of smirnoff and refilling his own cup.

“yes, and i will not be your prey tonight. find some other girl, stilinski,” you smirk, intentionally bumping his shoulder on your way back out of the kitchen. stiles continues his pursuit, taking a swig of liquid courage as he does.

“hey, i just wanted to talk. i thought you liked talking to me,” he smirks, referencing last season’s indiscretion. he jogs slightly beside you as you make your way to the pool outside.

“i did,” you correct forcefully, “i had a severe and continuous lapse in judgement. it won’t happen again,” you reassure sarcastically, flopping down on an open pool chair. he stands over you, his toned form all-too-apparent under his tight white t-shirt.

“i don’t bite, y/n” he coos suggestively, “unless you want me too,” he adds, eliciting an eye roll from you that’s so forceful it threatens to detach your retinas.

“go take a bite out of lydia, i hear she’s your squeeze of the week,” you retort, recalling the image of him kissing the red-head on the cheek as he entered the party. stiles nudges your legs to the side, taking a seat on the edge of your pool chair. he deliberately ignores the deep sigh you exhale.

“nah she’s back with jackson,” he replies easily. you furrow your brow in confusion.

“dude you made out with her in your car in the school parking lot like, four days ago,” you reply bluntly, remembering your teammates scoffs of disgust when you’d discovered them after practice one night.

“yeah. she wasn’t with him then,” he responds cooly, not at all phased by your confusion.

“so what, she just flip flops between you two?” you ask sarcastically.

“yeah,” stiles responds earnestly, “we have a system. she breaks up with him on the last day of winter break, gets with me,” he smirks and your eye roll plagues you once more, “then if the first game goes well, she gets back together with him,” 

“i-” you falter, mind reeling at that information, “-have so many questions,”

“ask away,” stiles invites, the smile not leaving his face even as he takes another swig from his cup.

“why the fuck would jackson be ok with you fucking lydia while they’re broken up?” you blurt out and stiles chuckles.

“it’s uh, like a motivation thing. he plays better when he’s jealous, i guess,” he shrugs his shoulders and places a hand on your shin. you shake your leg as if you’re trying to get a bug off and he quickly removes it.

“that’s psychotic,” you scold.

“maybe. but he has four d1 offers so it definitely works for him,” stiles responds. he’s eerily ok with this objectively insane arrangement. 

“what if this first game doesn’t go well? would she just stay with you?” you continue your questioning, morbid curiosity replacing disgust with each answer stiles gives.

“i don’t know,” he responds with a far off gaze, “it’s never happened so i’ve never had to find out,”

“so what does lydia get out of this?” you ask, trying to resist the urge to call him a cocky asshole for the “it’s never happened” comment. as egotistical as stilinski is, he’s not unrealistic; the cyclones have only lost one game since he joined the varsity team his sophomore year.

“well, a girl’s got needs,” he smiles mischievously and your disgust returns ten-fold, “that and uh, she likes to be earned,” he finishes, looking down at the ground.

“earned?” you clarify.

“yeah, she wants jackson to put in effort to keep her. she also wants him to know that she’s got options,” he motions to himself with his free hand.

“does no one know how to maintain a normal fucking relationship around here?” you ask, your eyes searching wildly as if the answer will appear before you.

“guess not,” stiles laughs, maintaining eye contact for a little too long. his eyes are pitch-black in the low light of the porchlights and carry an oddly sincere gaze. 

“so what do you get out of this arrangement?” you ask dryly and the boy hesitates, despite leaning in closer.

“i feel like if i tell you, you’re gonna hit me,” he whispers, his eyes glinting and his lips curling into yet another punchable smirk. you swing your legs out to the other side of the pool chair that he’s not blocking and slug him in the shoulder as you stand up, fulfilling his prophecy. 

“where are you going?” he asks, a twinge of disappointment coloring his tone.

“away from here. i’ve had enough stilinski charm for one night, thank you,” you respond smartly, not turning to face him as you walk back towards the sliding glass doors. in a matter of seconds, stiles is standing in front of you, a strong hand gripping your left wrist. not hard enough to be threatening but just hard enough to keep you in place.

“hey, you can lie to your friends and your squad, but i saw you looking at me tonight,” he mutters gruffly and you blush crimson. he leans down to whisper in your ear, “when you’re ready to act on that, meet me upstairs,” he lets go of your wrist, turning his body to let you pass.

“you’re a fucking asshole, stilinski,” you snap, trying to clear the dry lump that’s formed in your throat as you walk past.

“i know, sweetheart,” he purrs, gratuitously observing the way your hips sway from side to side as you saunter back through the sliding glass doors.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

“so…” stiles whispers, letting both of his calloused hands slide up your torso to grip your tits, “does this count as the same lapse in judgement as last year…” he lets both hands travel to your nipples, where he pinches them gently, “...or is this a new one?”

“i don’t know…” your voice flutters back, your mind too preoccupied with the feeling of your core dampening in response to his gentle touch to be properly sarcastic, “...you should ask my friend scott, right after he-” you stop your sentence to moan slightly as stiles rolls both nipples between his nimble fingers. “-kills me for sleeping with you,”

“oh please…” stiles scoffs, smirking as you writhe beneath him. both sets of clothes have been lost to the floor of whoever’s bedroom this is and the door has been carefully locked behind you two. you lie on your back on the bed, your legs spread all-too-willing as stiles kneels between them, his knees low to the bed and his hard cock resting gently on your groan, agonizingly far from your pulsating opening.

“...scott probably wants to fuck you just as bad as i do,” stiles smirks, reveling in your pleasure as you buck your hips upwards. the blood throbs in his cock, as if begging him to insert himself into you, but this is the part he really gets off on; getting you wet with just his fingers on your hardened nipples.

“gross,” you moan, partly with pleasure, partly with disgust at the sudden image of your friend’s face while you’re in such a compromising position.

“i’m just saying…” he reaches his right hand down to stroke his cock gently, keeping himself as hard as possible for you, “...i don’t think any guy could be friends with someone as hot as you and not want to fuck you,” he states, almost matter-of-factly as he pulls a nipple upwards with his left hand and then releases his grip suddenly, eliciting an undignified whine from you. 

“you like that, baby?” he coos and your stomach twists.

“don’t call me that,” you mutter tersely, not acknowledging the question. you don’t have to anyways; stiles can see by the way you puff your chest forwards into his hands that you need his touch more than you’d care to admit right now.

“sorry, what would you prefer? sweetheart?” he asks, pushing your tits together with both hands and using just his thumbs to swipe at them, “angel? princess?” he asks and watches intently as you snake your right hand down to your core, inserting several fingers and begin to pump them desperately. you are in dire need of some friction down there as stiles still refuses to put his dick to good use yet.

“oh, i think we have a winner,” he coos suggestively, sitting back slightly to watch your fingers slide in and out of your core with a hungry look in his eyes. “are you getting yourself ready for me, princess?” he asks in a sugary-sweet tone, placing his left hand on your hip and his right back on his member, where he begins to pleasure himself to the sounds of your moans.

“mhm,” you groan, adding another finger to stretch your walls further. stiles quickens the pace of his strokes, the soft slapping sound of skin on skin filling the warm room. after losing himself in the friction for a moment, he remembers his task, forcing himself to let go of his leaking cock. several drops of precum drip onto the grey duvet cover as he grabs your rapidly moving right hand.

“may i?” he asks in a husky voice. you nod vigorously, unsheathing your hand. he flips his palm upwards and inserts his two middle fingers to the hilt, using his free thumb to rub uniform circles over your clit. a jolt of pleasure seizes your stomach and you push your hips forwards. he keeps his fingers still, letting you fuck yourself on them in a steady rythm and admiring the desperation on your face, as its clear you need more stimulation.

he shifts slightly and lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, taking it in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it slowly. your whimpers are completely undignified now and you don’t have enough cognitive function to care.

“fuck that feels good,” you mewl, your eyes shut tight now.

“really?” stiles questions mockingly, removing his lips from your nipple. “what happened to “you’re a fucking asshole, stilinski”?”

“you are…” you whisper breathlessly, “...but you’re good for certain things,”. stiles insert a third finger as you continue thrusting yourself upon them.

“y/n, you’re so desperate for me that you’re fucking yourself on my fingers…” he teases darkly, straightening up and once again bringing his left hand to his cock, “...i think we can move past insults,”

“yeah, cause you’re not enjoying this at all, stiles,” you moan sarcastically, lifting your head to see him once again stroke himself with a needy look in his eyes.

“i’m just waiting,” he groans, trying and failing to keep the pleasure from warping his tone.

“for what?” you ask, dropping your head to the pillow again.

“for you to beg,” he whispers ominously and you let out a barking laugh.

“in your wet fucking dreams, stilinski,” you spit back, aware that the euphoric sensation you feel from his fingers stretching you out deliciously directly contradicts your mocking tone. he removes his hand abruptly and your breath hitches in your throat. 

stiles disappears to the bedroom floor, rustling the belt of his jeans slightly as he searches for something and reappears between your thighs, ripping a small foil packet between his teeth. he removes the thin latex ring and slides it easily over his shaft without missing a beat.

“you are way too quick at that,” you remark, almost in awe at his swift contraception skills. the other guys you’ve slept with, (and to be fair, there’s only been two), had struggled greatly with condoms, clumsily opening the packages and never rolling it over themselves on the first try.

“lots of practice,” stiles mutters and you find yourself rolling your eyes but keeping the sarcastic comment to yourself. he grabs his cock and begins rubbing it exceptionally slowly up and down your folds.

“now, what was it you were saying about not begging?” he asks gently, watching your face contort with annoyance at his teasing. your inner walls are practically pulsing his name in morse code but you choose to keep up your aloof cover.

“i don’t fucking beg,” you spit out, mustering a great deal of mental power to be able to get that sentence out. 

“come on, y/n,” stiles coos, rubbing your clit with his free hand, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, “you know you want this….i know you want this…” he pushes his tip forwards, expanding your opening for just a moment before pulling it back out to your disgruntled whimper, “...why lie to me?”

“you don’t…” you pause to bite your bottom lip, not wanting your moan to escape, “...deserve the…satisfaction,”

“but you do, princess,” he retorts back, once again inserting himself a few centimeters and then promptly pulling his cock back out and rubbing your glistening pleats.

“ugh,” you huff, every inch of your body craving his. you cannot stand another second of stiles taunting you with his agonizingly brief friction so you finally cave. you make a mental note to threaten him with bodily harm should he ever attempt to divulge the following words that fall from your lips.

“just fuck me, stiles; please?”

“deal,” he mutters under his breath, lining himself up eagerly, and thrusting his throbbing tip into your willing hole. he slides himself slowly inside, reveling at how tightly you remain wrapped around him. he lets out a moan of his own as he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting yours with a soft bump.

he stops moving for a moment, remaining fully sheathed inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his large size. white spots burst in the corners of your vision but dissipate as you get used to the feeling of him filling your cavity so nicely.

“wow,” he marvels, his voice hushed as if he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud, “you took me really well,”

you focus your blown pupils on his, taking in the thin layer of sweat on his brow and his quivering pink lips.

“are you surprised?” you ask in a daze.

“kinda,” he admits sheepishly, “i’ve been told i’m kind of big,”

he is. you thought you were being spoiled in your last relationship by your boyfriend’s five-incher but stiles has to be over seven, with girth to boot. a distant part of your mind finally connects the dots that this may be why girls go a little nuts after sleeping with him. you hope you won’t go too insane after tonight but the way he so easily spreads your walls further apart with practically no effort at all has you internally screaming for more.

as if stiles could hear your thoughts, he begins to deliver you some pleasant friction, rolling his hips forwards and backwards slowly, watching your face contort in ecstasy. his own pleasure swells in his groin as your pussy grips his cock with a great deal of suction.

“fuck, you’re really tight,” he murmurs, again more to himself than you. he’s enjoying the pressure of your enclosure wrapped around him, but he’s almost finding it hard to move. it’s as if your body refuses to release him. 

he tentatively pulls most of his length out of you and rams it back harder, hitting your cervix with a soft thump that causes your hips to buck in response. almost immediately your pussy ensnares him once more, constricting around his manhood tighter than before. it’s stiles’ turn to see spots in his vision that briefly distract him from his mission.

“jesus, y/n, where have you been all my life?” he mewls in a low tone full of lust. 

“i feel good, stiles?” you ask in a breathy tone that somehow increases his arousal even further. you’ve given up on fighting him. however cocky he is about his sexual prowess, he deserves it. you find every fiber of your resolve loosening with each jab of his shaft.

“good?” he asks, quickening his thrusts and gripping the plush of your thighs with his large hands, “you fucking…ungh,” he groans, only half aware that his jaw has gone slack and he looks completely entranced, “...fit me like a glove. i…” he stares down at where his cock disappears inside you, marveling at your wetness, “...could get used to this,”

“me too,” you mutter against your better judgement, reaching your hands out to grab his hips as his thrusts become sloppier, “stiles you’re huuuuuuge,” you moan out, extending the word into a high pitch squeal that falters with each thrust.

“you take me so well…most girls can’t handle all of me right away…but you…fuck…y/n,” his voice becomes needier with each passing syllable. stiles is slowly unraveling inside you. his body count is in the dozens and he’s done it in just about every imaginable position and location but missionary with you is topping nearly every sexual encounter he’s ever had.

“stiles, i wanna switch,” you breathlessly request, remembering your favorite position through your dick-induced brain fog. stiles forces himself to slow his hips, almost whimpering in pain at the loss of his beautiful momentum.

“what do you mean?” he asks, taking the moment of pause to caress your thighs. you pull yourself off of him and sit up.

“i want you from behind,” you order, pushing his sweaty chest out of the way and positioning yourself on your hands and knees. stiles nearly drools at the sight of your pretty cunt from this new angle and can’t help himself from kneeling down and running his tongue across your clit for a moment. your knees buckle slightly at the touch of his mouth, but he straightens up quickly, pumping his cock as he brings himself to your opening.

“you can have me wherever you want me, princess,” he coos, shoving his tip inside you and groaning at the renewed contact. “you’re fucking dripping for me, ugh you feel so good,”

this new position was exactly what you needed. stiles’ massive cock slamming you from behind slowly works your body into a writhing mess. you grip the sheets on either side of you, letting every moan that forms in your throat to fall, no longer feeling embarrassed at showing him that you’re enjoying yourself. stiles’ hands grab your hips, stopping the movement of his own in favor of slamming yours back and forth.

“stiles just like that,” you moan, feeling your pleasure build in your core. you force your knees even farther apart, desperate to get all of him as deep as he can possibly go. your arms buckle beneath you, sending you face down, ass up as you take all seven and a half inches of stiles’ throbbing cock.

“aw princess, are you gonna cum?” he asks, trying for an almost mocking tone but failing as a whimper escapes him.

“mhm daddy,” you whine and stiles’ thrust pause for a millisecond.

“did you-did you just call me “daddy”?” he clarifies in a stunned tone, resuming his rhythm.

“too much?” you ask through your pleasure-filled vocalizations.

“fuck no,” he exhales, gripping your hips harder, a deep flush coloring his sweaty face that he’s grateful you can’t see.

“then fuck me harder, daddy,” you whine. the pet name sends stiles into a frenzy all over again and his load threatens to spill itself into the condom buried in your heat. he musters every bit of stamina he possesses and rails you even harder, his soft tip sending shockwaves of pleasure through you every time it slams into your cervix.

the euphoria builds until your knees are shaking and you’ve gone lightheaded. you feel the brink of your orgasm teeter in your core, fresh white sparks exploding in your spotty vision.

“come on y/n, cum for daddy. cum on my cock, princess, i wanna feel it,” he grunts out, his short fingernails digging into your hips as his rhythm continues.

“stiles…i-” is all you can choke out before it finally comes. your orgasm wracks your body with spasms that threatens to collapse your position entirely. stiles holds your body in place as your walls constrict even further, leaking your white liquids all over his rock-hard dick.

“oh, good girl, y/n,” stiles praises, rubbing a hand over your stomach gently. “did you have fun?” he asks in a tone bordering between condescending and sincere.

“yes,” you whisper, utterly dick-matized.

“good, good, you felt fucking amazing, princess,” he pulls himself out of your pussy, watching your cum slowly leak out of your swollen hole as he removes the soiled condom, “fuck, you came hard,” he marvels, reaching his fingers forward to feel your wetness as you lay yourself flat on the bed. you twitch slightly at the contact of his fingers on your too-sensitive cunt.

“i-i kinda needed that,” you confess sheepishly, your cheek still flat on the mattress.

“oh, trust me; i know,” stiles reassures in a knowing tone, sitting at the head of the bed next to your prone form. he places a warm hand on your back, drawing small circles on your flesh with his thumb. many minutes of silence only punctuated by the background music of the party on the floor below you pass until you realize something.

“wait, did you cum?” you ask, lifting your head. stiles laughs gingerly.

“uh, no,” he admits quietly.

“wait, what??” you ask, more incredulous this time. you push yourself upwards and turn to face him, “how the fuck did you not cum?” you demand.

“what the fuck do you mean?” he responds, his tone slightly bewildered.

“you’re a teenage boy and you just railed me for like,” you check the alarm clock on the bedside table and realize you have no idea how long you’ve been laying face down so the time doesn’t help you. you decide to make a rough guesstimate of, “twenty minutes and you’re telling me you didn’t cum?”

“i have incredible stamina,” he smirks, amused at your shock.

“what are you, god? i mean i used to think i was lucky if i could get my ex to fuck me for five minutes without busting. i mean, your dopamine receptors must be fucking fried or something,” you mutter intensely, getting off the bed and kneeling beside it, using your hands to pull stiles knees towards you. he chuckles with a far-off look in his eyes and then realizes what you’re doing.

“wait, what’s happening?” he questions, his tone suddenly uneasy.

“i’m gonna suck your dick, lucky you,” you mutter sarcastically, moving your hand to grab stiles’ manhood.

“uhhh,” he mutters, his facial expression slightly panicked.

“you good? sorry i thought you’d want this,” you ask concerned, removing your hand swiftly.

“no i do! trust me, y/n, i really,” he leans forward, maintaining his burning eye contact, “really do. i just-um,” he falters again, his unflappable confidence failing him.

“stiles it’s fine, i’ll leave, i get it,” you respond, going to stand up.

“no no, wait, please, uh, please don’t leave,” he pleads, guilt coloring his tone as he scrunches up his face in discomfort, “i really want that, i just don’t think it’ll work,” you lower yourself back to your knees.

“‘don’t think it’ll work’? it’s not rocket science, stilinski,” you mutter incredulously and stiles rolls his eyes. 

you keep yours fixed on his face as your hands find his shaft once more. you watch his face go from concerned to at ease as you stroke him slowly, feeling the blood rush back in as he once again becomes stiff from arousal. stiles slides his knees slightly further apart and when you lower your head you look up into his eyes. he meets yours with a lustful gaze and gives a small nod, which you take as your cue to take him in your mouth.

stiles’ breath hitches in his throat and his right hand easily threads its slightly shaking fingers through your hair. you meticulously swirl your tongue over his shaft, feeling the subtle twitches of his body as he reacts to you hitting the sweet spot of nerves right under the tip. you look up at his face to see he’s once again gone red in the face, his pink lips parted slightly.

once you feel he’s nice and warmed up, you begin slowly sucking on his shaft, taking him deeper and deeper down your throat. 

“fucking hell, y/n,” stiles can’t help but mutter and you wink up at him with watery eyes. the knot in stiles stomach begins to unravel and arousal overtakes him. whimpers fall from his lips as you take his entire length, your lips brushing slightly against his well-groomed pubic hair. he feels his orgasm teetering precariously, growing closer with every slight jab to the back of your throat.

“jesus, princess, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he moans, bucking his hips forward slightly. but as soon as the wave of pleasure washes over him, it soon subsides, and stiles finds himself feeling slightly empty as you continue your task so earnestly it almost makes him feel guilty. he positions both his hands on your cheeks and gingerly pulls your mouth off his cock.

“what happened?” you ask, wiping your mouth quickly, disappointed at the sudden disconnect.

“nothing, y/n, nothing. i’m just kinda drunk and also exhausted and i just don’t think it’s gonna happen,” stiles explains carefully, almost as if he’s rehearsed this exact speech before. the words sound hollow as they leave his throat. he grabs his boxers from the ground and pulls them up himself hastily. “i’m sorry,” he mutters in a tone that’s much more genuine.

“you’re fine,” you say reflexively, kneeling on the ground to locate your own clothes. you then realize you should probably be more reassuring. “but like, i mean it. like it’s all good, that’s understandable,” you continue, your voice warmer as you pull your own underwear back on. “i’d say call me, but we both know you won’t,” you add and stiles smiles knowingly as he pulls his t-shirt on.

“i will,” he nods slightly as his head reappears.

“come the fuck on, stilinski. i’m cheerleader number-what number are you on now? like, thirty-five?” you ask incredulously and stiles remains completely unbothered by your comment.

“something like that,” he confesses easily, reaching down to pull his jeans up as you hook your bra behind your back.

“so i am not at all special and you don’t need to pretend you’re going to call,” you finish with bravado and stiles grin deepens.

“i will call you…” he starts earnestly. he buckles his belt easily, the muscles in his hands flexing rather devilishly as he takes several steps towards you. you straighten out the dress you just pulled over your head and meet his eyeline, “...the question is whether you’re going to pick up,” he finishes, pointing a finger lazily in your face.

“you take care of the first part and i’ll see what i can do about the second,” you retort quickly, your tone completely aloof now. stiles sticks out his right hand and you reluctantly give him yours, shaking it in one quick motion.

“deal, princess,” he coos and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as he unlocks and opens the bedroom door for you, once again watching your hips sway as you exit.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

[sescoups]

on my knees - choi seungcheol

masterlist

summary: your best friend and roommate is out of the country, and you come home to find nothing short of a disaster. who else would you have called but her brother?

word count: ~9k oops

a/n: I have no fucking clue what happened to me, but I just started writing and then didn't stop for like 4 hours so. here you go. you're welcome and also I'm sorry.

18+ MDNI!! warnings under the cut!

warnings: heavy kissing, seungcheol is the epitome of a Simp, p in v sex, unprotected sex (don't), oral sex (f receiving), slight size kink, let me know if I missed something!

You had been best friends with Sua since you were both six years old. One of the older boys had pushed you onto the ground, wanting to be ahead of you in the line for the slide. Most of the other kids had laughed as tears started pouring down your cheeks, your knee rubbed red and raw and your pretty dress covered in dust and gravel.

“Are you really so immature you can’t even wait your turn?” a small voice had piped up.

Through the haze of your tears, you had seen a pretty black-haired girl kneel down to help you out. She had brushed away the worst of the dirt from your dress, and leaned in to look at your knee.

“I don’t know much about scrapes,” she said thoughtfully, “but I think you should clean it. That’s what my mom always says to me and my brother.” Then she smiled before standing up and glaring at the boy again. “You’re a poopyhead, and I will never play with you.”

Thinking back on it as adults, you always laughed at her phrasing; even more amusing was the way the little boy had taken Sua’s comment way too seriously and tried to fight her in the playground. Before any of the adults had been able to intervene, Sua’s older brother had stepped between the two of them menacingly, arms crossed across his chest. He was three years older, so the other boy quickly back-tracked when faced with Seungcheol’s nine-year old frame. After the little boy had run away out of fear, crying, the two siblings had helped you off the ground and to your parents.

The rest was history; playdates as children, study dates in middle and high school, and spending every single summer vacation together. You had gone from climbing trees to shopping at the mall, and from learning the alphabet to crying your way through chemistry together. Well, you more than her, but still. The suffering was mutual.

Your dynamic remained largely unchanged throughout the years. You were the crier, and Sua was the fixer. You hated the way you cried at the smallest inconveniences, and often felt bad for Sua for having to fix it, but she always said it was cute. She said you were just like that, and that was okay. Sua had her own quirks, mainly being quick to anger - you reassured her that you didn’t mind holding her back from fights and silencing her before she could yell insults at undeserving people, so really, you were the same. Just, you know, in a different way.

Another thing that never really changed was the way Seungcheol took care of the both of you. He helped out with homework when he could, taught Sua how to fight (truly a dubious decision considering her anger, but that was his business and not yours), and scared away any icky boys that were mean to you.

It was a very different dynamic to how other siblings seemed to act, but since you were an only child, you wouldn’t really know. Though, to be fair, he seldom held back the snarky comments when the opportunity presented itself. He would roll his eyes whenever you cried, call Sua an idiot when she didn’t understand a math problem, and generally be a dick when you played games together. It was all in good fun, you supposed.

Now, being 24 years old and two years out of college, Sua was your roommate and your rock. She was the one who put up with your generally messy habits and lack of cooking acumen, and she only complained once a month or so. In return, you were the one to make sure bills were paid on time and keep the freezer stocked with ice cream during the hot summer months. A symbiotic relationship, if you’d ever seen one.

You saw significantly less of Seungcheol, though he was far from an uncommon fixture in your household. He knew the code for the keypad on the door, so sometimes he just showed up unannounced to raid your kitchen and take a nap on your couch, but you didn’t mind. He did tend to fix anything that was broken and clean up whatever you couldn’t be bothered to, so the transaction was fair in your opinion.

One fateful Tuesday, you received a call during your lunch break at work. Usually, you wouldn’t answer, preferring to take your 45 minutes to scroll down your social media feeds aimlessly while eating your food, but Sua had always had special privileges, so you picked up anyway.

“Hey, sorry, I know I’m interrupting your scheduled vegetable time,” she started, and you snorted in response.

“I am not eating anything with vegetables in it, and I think you know it.” You were opening the store-bought lunchbox while speaking, your phone tucked between your elbow and your cheek.

“If I didn’t cook you dinner every day, you would have scurvy,” she shot back without a second’s hesitation. “No, dumbass, I meant your own brain-turning-to-vegetable time. Duh.”

“Oh, that,” you replied, unphased by her insults and generally snarky tone. You were used to it. And also kind of deserved it.

“Yeah. Well anyway, something came up at work and I’m gonna have to take an unscheduled work trip.”

“Cool. Where to?”

“Tokyo, so not that far,” she sighed, and you could picture her running her fingers through her hair. She never did well with unexpected travel plans. “I have to leave tonight. I just thought I’d let you know, so you can make plans to get takeout tonight.”

You scoffed down the line, placing a forkful of bulgogi in your mouth and chewing quickly. God bless convenience store lunchboxes. “I know how to take care of myself, mom.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you slob.” Again, you could picture Sua’s nose crinkling in disgust. “I’m kidding, by the way. I know you can take care of yourself. Just letting you know I’m leaving so you don’t think I’ve been kidnapped or killed or something.”

“Thank God I don’t have to deal with the paperwork for a missing person,” you deadpanned and took a drink of your Sprite. “No but for real, enjoy the trip. I’ll be fine, and so will you.”

“Thanks,” your best friend sighed back. “I’ll be back in a week or so. I’m gonna go home and pack now, so if anything’s a mess when you get home- actually, nevermind. That doesn’t bother you at all. Bye.”

“Hey-” you started to protest, but the line went dead and you rolled your eyes.

Well. At least now you could have sushi for dinner without having to listen to Sua complain about the smell of raw fish.

You were so ready to become a couch potato as soon as you came home. One of the new employees at work, Jun, had screwed up a pretty important document, so you’d had to stay late and help him fix it. It wasn’t his fault, he was still new, but you were tired nonetheless. You took your shoes off by the door and turned the lights on in the kitchen, placing the bag of takeout on the counter before you heard it.

The water.

You had never had any issues with the pipes in your apartment, but something had obviously gone wrong with the pipes under the bathroom sink, because the floor was absolutely flooded. You gasped and shut your eyes tightly for a second, willing the problem to be miraculously gone as soon as you opened them again. Alas, no such luck.

The tears pressed behind your eyes, begging to make their escape. You tried to hold them back as you thought about what to do to solve the problem. The faucet wasn’t on, so it was definitely the pipes. Damn. You thought about calling the apartment management and asking for help, but their turnover time was two days at the best of times, and the office was already closed for the day. You heaved a deep sigh as you settled on the best option you could think of. You pressed the name in your contacts and begged the universe that he would pick up.

“What’s up?”

Seungcheol sounded relaxed and unbothered, and you could hear the chatter of a TV in the background. You hated to bother him, but hey, it was his little sister’s apartment too. You cleared your throat to try and get rid of the thickness in your throat brought on by the tears.

“Hey, Cheol,” you began, and you heard him sit up immediately and pause whatever was playing on the TV.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He sounded worried; he usually only called you an endearment when he was worried or teasing you. Clearing your throat had evidently not been enough to get rid of the tears in your voice. Some of them finally escaped in tracks down your cheeks, and you swore, leaning your forehead against the doorframe.

“So uh, I just got home, and Sua isn’t here because she’s in Tokyo and I-”

“Y/N, I don’t care about Sua right now. I know she’s fine, she landed half an hour ago. What’s going on with you?”

“The guest bathroom is flooded, like completely, and I don’t know what to do.”

You heard the rustling of clothes and what sounded like keys jingling through the phone. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were fucking dying,” Seungcheol scolded, and you hiccupped a little, apologizing. “No, don’t worry darling, I’m coming over to help, okay?”

“Okay.”

You were sniffling, and you heard him curse under his breath. You hung up after a quick goodbye, and then you were left alone with the mess again. Looking closer, you realized that the bath mat was soaked along with a towel left on the floor. You sighed and took your socks off, deciding to do something productive while waiting for your knight in shining armor.

You took a picture and sent it to Sua, who replied immediately with a bunch of question marks and swear words directed to the apartment management. She also realized they would be no help at this hour. Great.

Once the soaked bath mat and towel were hung up and dripping into the tub as opposed to the flooded floor, you started clearing out some of the decorations that were taking up floor space. There was a giant plant, two laundry baskets, and a really heavy wooden dresser that held all your clean towels - you didn’t want the wood to rot.

You heard the door open while you were in the process of moving the plant. Honestly, you should have waited for Seungcheol to move this one; the plant was heavy as fuck and really awkward to carry, and you could feel your back protesting before you had even gotten it outside of the bathroom.

“What the hell, Y/N.”

The voice was closely followed by a pair of hands grabbing the plant from you and heaving it outside of the door in mere seconds. Showoff.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asked after placing the plant down on a towel, grabbing your upper arm gently. You nodded, and he sighed, squeezing your arm. “Let’s see the- oh fuck.”

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. Hysterically. The bathroom floor was covered in two inches of water, and the sound of more spraying out was echoing off the walls. Your best friend’s brother glared at you for two seconds before he started laughing too. It wasn’t funny, but it kind of was. How had this even happened? And how had Sua not seen anything when she was home to pack?

“Sorry, Cheol,” you giggled, wiping under your eyes to get rid of the tears that were still falling. Typical. “I, uh, wanted to move the plant and the dresser to make more room and-”

“Darling, that plant was almost heavier than you are. Not to mention that dresser. What were you thinking?”

His voice soothed your panic. He had been solving your problems for the past eighteen years, after all; this was nothing he couldn’t handle. He looked ruffled, you realized. He had been relaxing after a long day at work when you called, and had gotten to your apartment as fast as he could just to help you. And now he was here, being all nice and caring and calling you sweet names. You felt like a stupid child.

“I-I’m sorry. For calling you, I shouldn’t have, I-”

“Absolutely not. You can call me about anything at any time, you got that?” he asked sternly, gazing directly into your eyes. You swallowed, but nodded. His words gave you unwelcome butterflies, the intensity of his gaze making you look away.

“Got it,” you replied when a nod didn’t seem to be enough for him. “Uhm, so how do we deal with this?”

For a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady spray of water coming from under the sink. You realized that all the products underneath would be useless now, and you would probably have to change out the entire cabinet housing the pipes. You felt a migraine start a steady throb against your temples, and you deflated even more, resting against the doorway.

“It’s okay, I’ll fix it for you, darling,” Seungcheol said softly, pulling you in for a hug. Your stomach erupted in butterflies again. You seriously needed some psychological help.  “Just go change, okay? You must be exhausted.”

You shook your head, but relented when he lifted an eyebrow at you. You went to your room and closed the door. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at nothing. Your bathroom was flooded. And your best friend’s brother was helping you fix it, calling you sweet nicknames and saying shit straight out of a romance novel - as if your dumb crush on him needed any more encouragement. You sunk onto the edge of your bed for a moment, just breathing deeply and blinking back more tears. Enough was enough.

When you were fourteen or so, you’d had a crush on Seungcheol. Who wouldn’t? He was tall, pretty, smelled good, and helped you with your homework. Ever since then, it would come and go, usually at the most inopportune times. You appreciated his looks pretty often, particularly when he came over to fix stuff for you and Sua, but you tried not to think about it much - mostly out of self preservation. He was still pretty, still nice, still smelled good, and whenever you let your mind wander for more than five seconds, you knew you were in danger.

You definitely should get it under control. First of all, he had known you since you were six. He had seen all your weird phases, watched you find your own identity, and that came with some really cringy stuff. Additionally, you were his little sister’s best friend. You had some loyalty to her, sure, but more than anything you were sure that he saw you as an extra sister or something. Considering the amount of time you had spent at their house growing up, that would only be logical.

Armed with the reminder of why he would never be into you, you shook it all off. You located your regular home attire - bike shorts and a big t-shirt which origins you forgot - and put your hair up and out of your face. Then you steeled yourself again, vowing not to cry at the sight of the water, and walked back towards the accursed bathroom.

You found Seungcheol on his knees in front of the open cabinet from where the water came. He was hunched over, hand in front of him to block some of the water and seemingly looking for something. His white t-shirt had been sprayed with water, and it was sticking to his chest. You gulped at the sight, repeating that he saw you as an annoying crybaby to yourself in order to stop the stupid butterflies that had seemingly taken up permanent residence in your guts.

“Do you need a flashlight or something?” you asked timidly, making him look up at you. He paused and blinked at you once, twice, before clearing his throat and nodding. You got out your phone and turned the flashlight on, carefully stepping in behind him so as not to splash him.

“I, uh, think we need to remove this middle shelf from the cabinet,” he said, having positioned himself to shield you from the spray.

“Alright,” you replied, placing your phone to the side and leaning to grab the shelf before being stopped by one of his hands. He had placed it carefully on bare skin so as not to get your clothes wet. Damn him. “What? I’ll just grab it and get it out of the way for you.”

He scoffed. “You’ll get wet.”

Now it was your turn to blink at him stupidly, eyes wide and questioning. You could feel your cheeks burning, as did your arm where his hand was resting. This stupid, stupid man was going to make you fall in love with him, and that just couldn’t happen. At all.

“Who cares, Cheol? It’s just water. Let me get it out of your way, and I’ll hold the flashlight again, okay?”

He grimaced, but let go of your arm. You grabbed both sides of the shelf and lifted it. It took a bit of pressure, but eventually it came loose. You backed up slowly and brought the shelf over the tub with the soaked bath mat and dirty towel. Gross.

Even though you had been fast, Seungcheol had been right; your entire torso was soaked with water. You decided that you could do something about it after the leak was dealt with, and so you just ignored it and grabbed your phone again. Your friend was staring at your front with a wrinkle between his brows, mouth open a little, and you rolled your eyes affectionately.

“Cheol.” He looked up at you. “It’s fine. I know you wanted to shield me or whatever, but it’s just a shirt. Now please, help me solve this?”

He nodded wordlessly and turned back to the considerably more spacious cabinet, taking a deep breath. His pout was cute, and you hated your heart for beating faster at the sight of him.

Seungcheol seemed to finally have found what he was looking for, and reached into the cabinet. You altered the angle of the light to make sure he could still see what he was doing despite the shadow of his arm. He grabbed ahold of something and started tugging, his biceps flexing distractingly and his eyebrows screwing up in effort. You were definitely not holding the flashlight in a particularly helpful way anymore, but thankfully your helper didn’t seem to mind.

After a second or two the water slowed before stopping completely, and you cheered out loud. The sound had somehow become grating after only an hour, and the silence was very much welcome. Seungcheol stood up with a wince, holding a hand to his back like an old man. Without thinking, you pulled him into you and gave him a bear hug. You felt tears prick at your eyes again, but held them back. You were just so grateful to have him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You felt him laugh against you before he wrapped an arm gently around you and returned the hug. You pressed your cheek to his chest, just standing there and enjoying the embrace for a while before your brain would inevitably come back online. You felt his chin press against the top of your head for a second before he pulled away suddenly.

“Shit, sorry, I’m all-”

“I said I don’t care, stupid,” you scoffed, but your cheeks were definitely getting red now. How could you have just grabbed him like that? And embraced him? You would have cried if you hadn’t been so tired your head felt like it was full of cotton.

Now that you thought about it, you were extremely tired. It felt like a movie effect, the way your blood pressure just suddenly dropped and you swayed to the side. You were expecting a splash and a very uncomfortable kiss with the tile floor, but instead you found yourself back in Seungcheol’s arms. Oh.

Again with the stupid romance novel shit. The universe was testing you for sure. How were you supposed to resist him, really? You were doomed. Even the thought of your infatuation with him being one-sided could no longer bring you back down to the ground. You were simply fucked.

“When was the last time you ate anything?”

And he cares? Fuck the universe, seriously.

“Uhm, I think it was lunch. I stayed pretty late at work, so-”

“Please tell me you have food.”

“Y-Yeah. It’s uh, it’s on the counter in the kitchen.”

Without hesitation, the man picked you up and carried you into the kitchen. Your heart was going crazy, as were the butterflies in your stomach. You were at a loss for words, just going limp in his arms as he brought you to the dining table and placed you on one of the chairs gingerly. You continued to simply blink at him as he disappeared back into the hallway and came back with his hoodie, pulling it over your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

You wanted to scream and kick your feet, because was this man even real? You had no idea how you had deluded yourself into thinking your feelings toward him were sisterly, because currently, your pussy was screaming for him to come ruin you. And honestly? Both your heart and your head kind of agreed at this moment. You were so screwed.

When he came back with your sushi all plated and a glass for the drink you had bought, you couldn’t help but let the tears come back. You hated that you were so weepy, especially in front of a man you apparently were head over heels for, but it was just who you were. You were sad? You cried. Happy? Cried. Angry? Waterworks. You were helpless to it, and apparently to him, too.

“Good job picking up food on the way back home,” he teased, placing the plate in front of you. Then he poured your drink into your glass for you, promptly ignoring the way you were wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Shut up, I’m an adult,” you pouted back. He snorted loudly and sank into the chair opposite you, looking at you as you picked up your chopsticks and got ready to eat.

“Sometimes, maybe,” he drawled with a smirk. You glared at him, but your teary eyes had little to no effect, and you knew it. “I’m kidding, baby. I know.”

He was still studying your face as you placed the first piece of heaven into your mouth, sighing happily and smiling in delight. It made him smile, too, and you could have died at the sight of his dimples. At this point, you had just accepted the butterflies and their claim to your stomach; doing anything else seemed futile.

“I’m sorry I’m so weepy, Cheol,” you said between bites, pouting a little. He shook his head but you interrupted him before he could speak. “No, really. There was no reason to cry so much, or so many times, but I just- I don’t know. I literally got home right before I called you, and that was, what? At around-”

“9.30.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair and tilting your head back in exhaustion. “9.30. I’m just tired, is what I’m trying to say.” You sat back up and huffed, sending him an embarrassed smile.

“And what I’m trying to say,” Seungcheol said while you readjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, “is to not worry about it. I know you’re an emotional person, but that’s okay.” He paused for a second, smiling when you almost dropped your sushi into the soy sauce. “Being emotional is just a tiny part of who you are. You excel at so much; it’s okay to have a few flaws. We all do, I promise. Besides, being emotional isn’t really a flaw, it’s just part of being human.”

At this, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. First of all, he was way too well-spoken to be a man in his twenties. Second of all, if he was implying that he, of all people, had any flaws, he was dead wrong. You had never seen him fail at anything, had never seen him do something awkward, even as a child. God, you wished he had, because maybe then he could have remained the brother of your best friend instead of becoming so incredibly meaningful to you.

“As if you have any flaws,” you mumbled, sticking another piece of food in your mouth. At least the sushi was good.

“Oh please, sweetheart. I’m twenty-seven and single. There’s plenty wrong with me.”

You shook your head vehemently. “Being single is not a flaw, you dummy. It’s just a relationship status. Who cares.”

“As if that’s all it is,” he laughed back.

“Okay, so the fact that I’m single reflects badly on me? ” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

Your plate was empty, and your chopsticks were resting on the edge of it. The only sound in the apartment was a steady, slow drip from the drying bath mat in the bathroom. You were staring at one another from across the table. Why the tension suddenly was so thick was anyone’s guess. All you knew was that the air in your little kitchen suddenly felt suffocating.

“You’re single?” he asked after a while, and you laughed a little.

“Yeah, Cheol.”

“What about that dude, what was his name… Mingyu?”

“Ew,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “God no. We went on like, one date and then decided it was weird to be anything other than friends. He feels more like a brother than anything.”

“What about Chan?”

“Wh- Chan? That was four years ago,” you laughed, shaking your head. At the curious tilt of his head, you kept going: “He was fine, we just got stressed during college and broke up. It happens.”

Something about this line of questioning felt momentous, for a few reasons. One, he was inquiring about your dating life, a topic the two of you generally never talked about. Two, he remembered the name of potential partners that had been in your life, even ones that hadn’t stuck around for long (or at all, in Mingyu’s case). And three… the way he looked at you was different. There was something in his gaze that you couldn’t place, something you didn’t know if you dared hope for.

“Well he’s obviously an idiot,” Seungcheol said under his breath. You were probably not supposed to hear it, but you did. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he looked at you guiltily, as if he had done something wrong. “I just meant that- uhm.”

A few seconds passed in silence. You barely dared to breathe. You were hoping he would keep going, hoping he would clarify before your thoughts went way too far again. The tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Finally, he let out the heaviest sigh you’d ever heard.

“No, you know what, I meant it. He was an idiot for breaking up with you, because anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Time stopped. What do you say after that? You wanted to scream with joy and jump his bones, of course, but you couldn’t exactly do that. What if he didn’t mean it like that? If he didn’t feel the way you hoped he was implying? Because he, or more specifically his sister, was such a huge part of your life, and awkwardness was just not an option.

“Are-” you started, but blinked and started over. “Are you… serious?”

“Of course I am, Y/N.” He sounded almost exasperated. He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, making it fall over his forehead in the most attractive way you had ever seen. Fucking. Unfair. “I’m not- I mean. I get it if you don’t feel the same or anything, but-”

“Feel what, exactly?” When he stared at you in confusion, you elaborated. “Please be clear with me, Cheol. I don’t want to keep guessing.”

It had come out as a whisper, but he had heard you. His expression softened, and the wrinkle between his brows disappeared. His mouth was slightly open as he seemingly looked for the right words. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you almost felt it in your throat.

“Baby,” he started, and it made your breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as dense as you are.”

“Hey!”

“No, seriously,” he kept going, not a single trace of evidence that he was joking, “do you actually mean to tell me you don’t know how I feel about you?”

“Look, I don’t-”

“I guess you don’t, and in that case, that’s my bad.” He got up from his chair and rounded the table, crouching next to your chair and grabbing your hand. “I am so ridiculously into you, it’s not even funny. Sua literally won’t stop teasing me about it, neither will my parents or my friends. No matter how hard I try I can’t stop thinking about you, but I’m honestly not sure I would want to even if I could. You mean so much to me, Y/N, and I really don’t want to be overbearing but I- fuck, I can’t-” he shuts his eyes in an attempt to collect himself, “I love you, baby, and if you don’t feel the same that’s fine, but I at least need you to know that I’m on my goddamn knees for you.”

Your glass, still containing some of your soda, toppled over from the force with which you left your chair. The way you threw yourself at Seungcheol forced him back, but you took the opportunity and placed yourself in his lap as you kissed him deeply. It took him half a second to respond, but then he was kissing you so ardently that you never wanted him to stop.

His arm wrapped around you from behind and pressed you to his chest. You could not give less of a shit that he was sprawled on your kitchen floor, or that you were down there with him, because you were kissing him. You were kissing the man that you most definitely had been in love with since you were a teenager, and fuck did it feel good.

“I, uh, take it you feel the same, then?” he asked after having reluctantly pulled away. You pressed your forehead to his.

“I bet that I have loved you longer.” You were breathing heavily, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours.

“Absolutely not,” he replied before kissing you again.

This time, you couldn’t hold back. You nibbled gently on his lower lip before soothing it over with your tongue. Seungcheol groaned deep in his chest and brought his left hand into your hair, pressing you even closer to him. He opened his mouth, letting your tongue tangle with his, and you felt the way he became jelly underneath you. You were not faring much better, your panties hot and sticky and your hands shaking. Despite this, you snaked one hand into his hair and tugged on it; his hips jumped in response, the action seemingly completely involuntary. You didn’t think you’d ever experienced anything hotter.

“Please, baby,” he heaved as you trailed your lips down his neck, “I can’t take it.”

You rolled your hips against his slowly, and that seemed to be his breaking point. He rolled you underneath him before standing up and taking you with him, carrying you into your bedroom while you followed the shape of his jaw up to his ear with your mouth. A shudder streaked through him as you sucked on the spot behind his left ear, his arms tightening around you and a hoarse moan leaving him.

You barely noticed him closing your bedroom door, only brought back to reality by the sensation of falling when he dropped you on your bed. You whined at the loss of contact, which made him smile; he loved the way you craved him, because honestly, he felt the exact same way about you. So he was quick to cover your body with his, his lips back on yours with a shuddered sigh from the both of you.

He felt so big above you, and yet you felt so safe. Not once had he done anything to hurt you. In fact, he had always been the one to take care of you and prevent you from being hurt. (Along with Sua, but you didn’t really want to think about her at that moment). His weight on top of you made you shudder in delight, your hands starting to wander. You played with the hem of his white t-shirt, still damp from the earlier bathroom catastrophe, but you didn’t care at all. All you wanted was to feel his skin against yours.

He was breathing as if he had run a marathon when he pulled away from your lips. He stared into your eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance, but not finding any.

“Are you sure, darling?” he asked, and your heart swelled about three sizes.

“I’m so sure, Cheol. Please, please, I need you.” You were properly whining now, but you were far past caring.

“Okay baby, okay,” he breathed, pulling away to get his shirt up and over his head. He was about to lay back over you, but froze and let his eyes wander your body. He shut his eyes, his forehead wrinkling once again as he took a few deep breaths. “You in my hoodie and underneath me, I can’t- Y/N, baby, I need a second, I’m so-”

You giggled a little before grabbing the hem of said hoodie, pulling it up and over your head. Apparently, that didn’t help, as Seungcheol’s grip on the sheets tightened and he cursed under his breath.

“I thought this would be better,” you said in confusion, blinking up at him.

“I’m actually going to die,” he gritted out, sounding as if he was genuinely in pain. “I don’t think you realize what seeing you in a wet t-shirt did to me earlier, sweetheart. What it’s doing to me now is just torture.” You flushed at his words, having forgotten that little detail. “Wait. Is that my shirt?” You glanced down and flushed even more when you realized it must be. “Fuck, gonna be the death of me, gonna fucking-”

He cut himself off by pressing his lips against yours again. Your head immediately got fuzzy again, the only thought you could formulate being that of his dick inside of you. When he ground his hips against yours and you felt the outline of it, you let out the most sinful moan Seungcheol has ever heard, which caused his hips to keep grinding into you without his brain’s permission. You disconnected your lips from his for just long enough to pull your wet shirt off your alarmingly hot body, and the man on top of you didn’t even have the strength to look at you without a shirt. He might actually have came in his pants if he did.

You didn’t even mind, because you finally had his skin pressed against yours. The heat of him poured over you, driving you absolutely insane and making you whimper against his lips. If he didn’t do something in the next minute, you would just have to take care of yourself.

“Cheol-”

“Please say it again,” he begged, his lips trailing down your neck toward your breasts.

“Cheol,” you sighed, and he moaned against your skin, his dick grinding perfectly against your clit even through four layers of fabric. You barely recognized your own sounds even as you felt them leave your lips, so high on his proximity you couldn’t have produced a thought if you tried.

When you repeated his name one more time he finally closed his lips around your right nipple, his deft fingers playing with the other and his cock still pressing deliciously against your pussy. Your hips lifted to grind back on him, and he actually whined for you.

“Seungcheol,” you whined, and his only response was a harsh thrust of his hips and another whine. “Please, take my shorts off, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

He let go of your nipple, chuckling as he looked into your eyes and dragged his hands down to rest on your hips. “Want these off?” he asked, flicking the elastic of your bike shorts against your skin. You nodded frantically, pressing your hips up into his again. He looked like he wanted to protest, so you decided to do the only logical thing and beg for his cock.

“Cheol, please please please, take my shorts off? I need it, please,” you begged, your eyes big and innocent as you stared into his. “I want your cock, baby, want it inside me, please.”

Honestly, it was no surprise that his confident facade crumbled along with his will to tease you any longer. If he was telling the truth, and you had no reason not to believe him, he had been in love with you for a long time. You had played dirty by begging him for his cock when he had already been on the verge of losing his mind - especially with those big, innocent eyes of yours. How was he supposed to say no to you?

“Evil, evil woman, fuck,” he muttered to himself as he all but tore the shorts down your legs along with your panties.

The sight of you, his absolute dream, naked beneath him made him believe in God for two whole seconds, for who could have accomplished something like you but an almighty deity? He must have shaped you with his own two hands, he thought, before coming back to his senses and thinking that no, you were a creation of your own. No one but you could have accomplished something like you.

With very little preamble, Seungcheol lowered himself between your thighs, kissing up the inside of each thigh as he went. He looked up and met your gaze, and you had never seen a more erotic sight. Sure, other people had gone down on you before, but none of them had been Seungcheol; none of them had been the one that counted. His big brown eyes met yours, and you swore you saw raw hunger in them.

“May I, baby? Please?”

“You- You’re begging to eat me out?” you asked, in complete and utter shock. You had figured this was somewhat of a chore to him, something that needed to be done both to woo you and to prep you for his cock. One look at his glazed eyes had you changing your mind.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. His voice was hoarse and his eyes desperate, that simple look giving you enough material for many fantasies in the future. “Please, let me eat you out?”

What were you supposed to do, say no? Absolutely not. You simply nodded at him, and he fucking dove for it. His tongue explored your folds gently but firmly, and as soon as the flavor of you met his taste buds, he was in heaven. His hips ground into the mattress of their own volition as he was lapping at you, his tongue mapping you out and figuring out what brought you the most pleasure.

Seungcheol’s eyes were shut in pleasure, your juices covering his chin all the way up to his nose, but he couldn’t think of anything better. He wanted to drown in you, on his stomach between your legs, or - if he was allowed to dream - underneath you while you were grinding all over his face, taking all the pleasure you could from him.

You weren’t exactly complaining, either. His tongue felt divine, moving to gently circle your clit before he sucked it into his mouth. When your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging in pleasure, your lover let out a grunt that sent vibrations traveling through your entire body.

“F-Fingers, Cheol, please-”

He just grunted an affirmative and pressed his middle finger into you slowly. The warmth surrounding his finger drove him insane, making his hips press harder against the mattress and his eyes squeeze tighter. Having something to clench down on brought your pleasure to even greater heights, and you started to feel the familiar tightening signaling your release. You had felt the outline of his dick earlier, and you knew you would need another finger to make him fit.

“Another, I need you to fit later, baby.”

Your voice came out shaky, but the man consuming your pussy like it was the best meal he’d ever had didn’t seem to mind. He simply let his ring finger join his other inside you, grunting when he felt how tight you were around him. The tightening in your lower belly grew more and more intense by the second, the filthy noises of Seungcheol devouring you bringing you that much closer to the edge. You let out a mewl that sounded like it came straight from a porno, and felt his grip tighten on your thigh.

“I’m so close, baby, so close, please-”

“Come for me,” he growled hoarsely before resuming his delicious torture of your clit.

You followed his request a second later, moaning loudly and squirming around on the bed. His free hand pressed down over your hips to keep you still as he coaxed you through it, and he didn’t stop until the overstimulation almost hurt.

His fingers left your pussy gently, absolutely covered in your slick. You blushed as he put them in his mouth, moaning at the flavor as if you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. And to him, you were. He would remember the flavor of you until the day he died.

Your chest was rising and falling as you gulped down air. The way Seungcheol couldn’t help but grind into the mattress again made you want to cry, because how could he be so perfect? And how could he want you, of all people?

When he kissed you again, you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and you loved it. It was a reminder of just how voraciously he had just eaten you out, and you took the opportunity to reach down and cup him over his underwear. He hissed and pulled his hips back, panting already.

“I- you can’t.”

“But, baby I just want to return the favor-”

“My love, if you touch me again I can’t guarantee that I will have faculties to be inside you.”

His words made you laugh, both because of how ridiculous his phrasing was, but also because of the effect you seemed to have on him. Had he really been driven so far by making out with you and making you cum? It seemed like it.

“I love you so much,” you ended up breathing out. He gazed into your eyes so adoringly you felt like time stopped again.

“I love you more, Y/N.”

His response prompted you to kiss him, and he deflated on top of you. As he sunk further into your embrace, his still-covered dick brushed against your wet core, and the whine he let out was almost pathetic.

“I hate to ruin the moment, but please, let me be inside you now. I think I’ll die if I can’t,” he confessed. You laughed out loud again before nodding, kissing and sucking a trail down his neck while he removed his boxers. “Condom?”

“I don’t have any, but I have an IUD and I’m clean.” You could practically see Seungcheol’s brain grind to a halt. “But, I mean, if you don’t want to we can just wai-”

“No!” he almost yelled, his entire face flushing pink. “No, I’m clean too, and I- fuck, I would love to be inside you without a condom.”

You nodded, and he took a deep breath. The thought of having him inside you without a barrier excited you to no end, and it seemed he felt the same. You kissed him passionately again while he lined himself up with your core, and moaned through a sigh as he pushed into you. He didn’t have a monster cock or anything, but it was still bigger than what you were used to taking.

As he bottomed out, he let out a punched out sigh. You could feel him shaking on top of you, and did your best not to move or clench down on him. Unfortunately, your pussy didn’t exactly obey you and clenched down anyway. It made Seungcheol’s breath hitch, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight so as not to look at you while he was trying not to cum.

“I swear,” he wheezed, “you are going to kill me.”

His words made you chuckle, which in turn made him groan and bury his face in the crook of your neck. You were ready for him to move, and told him as much, but he still needed a second. You could feel tears sting the corners of your eyes, as per usual feeling weepy as soon as you felt a big wave of emotion. To distract yourself, you locked your lips with his and kissed him with all the passion you had left to give.

As your tongue tangled with his he groaned low in his throat, and his hips thrust into you of their own accord. Once he had started, he couldn’t stop, and you didn’t want him to. He started out fairly slow, taking his time to make sure you weren’t hurting at all. Then you accidentally clenched down on him, and he could no longer hold back.

He started pounding into you, his cock reaching the deepest parts of you and making you dizzy. You moaned out every time the tip of him hit the spongy spot inside you, and you couldn’t help the way you were clenching around him. You were hurtling toward your end so fast it was almost alarming. He filled you up so perfectly, so perfectly thick and long, it was as if you were made for one another.

Seungcheol was mumbling an endless stream of praise, grunting every time your cunt squeezed him a bit tighter. He felt like he was in heaven, your slick walls molded around him in a way that made him mourn the time spent doing anything other than this. He wanted to keep you like this, impaled on his cock and making you feel as good as you ever had.

Sadly, he was so wound up he wouldn’t be able to last as long as he usually did. While he didn’t blow immediately as he had been worried he would, he started feeling his balls drawing up around five minutes in. The way your nails were scratching down his back wasn’t helping his situation.

In an effort to save himself from cumming before you, he lowered a hand to circle the nub of your clit gently. The extra stimulation was exactly what you needed to build the rest of the way to the edge, and you tangled your hands in his hair as your thighs shook.

“Please, Cheol, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Oh thank God, please cum around me, baby, wanna feel it,” he begged, and it did the trick.

Your orgasm was spectacular, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as you exploded around him. You were moaning his name, clawing at his back and arching your back to the high heavens. Your toes actually curled. It was the orgasm of orgasms.

Seeing you like that, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he brought you pleasure was enough for Seungcheol to follow you over the edge. He came so hard he saw nothing but white, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into you. His face was pressed into your neck, but his moans could not be concealed even if he tried.

You both lay there, panting and soaked in sweat, for a pretty long time before he finally pulled out and rolled off of you. He sprawled on his back and stayed like that, his eyes shut in complete and utter bliss and his heart beating out of his chest. Your hair was an absolute bird’s nest around you, and there were tear tracks running down your cheeks and into your hairline.

You clumsily flopped over to rest against his side, and he pulled you in until your head was resting right over his heart. You slung your bare leg over his waist, and he groaned in what sounded like agony.

“You can’t do this to me,” he whined, and you giggled lightly at him.

“I just put my leg on you, baby,” you said, looking up at him innocently, and he had to shut his eyes for a second and remind himself he wasn’t dreaming. You, yourself weren’t entirely convinced all this wasn’t a dream; and if it was, you never wanted to wake up.

“Okay, well you’ve just seen what seeing you in a hoodie and bike shorts does to me, so,” he reminded you, and you bit back a grin. It was good to know you could tease him easily.

You laid in silence for a while, just listening to his heart beating against his ribcage. Every once in a while it would slow down, and then he would look down at you and it would speed back up. Your heart seemed to match the pace of his, and you found that you loved it that way.

“So, “ Seungcheol started, and you pulled yourself up on your elbow to look at him as he talked. “That… just happened.” You snorted into a laugh, and he joined you, flicking your forehead gently. “I uh, I’m going to a work thing on Friday. I usually don’t bring a date because, well, because I’m usually single, but maybe, this time, I could bring you?”

You blinked at him slowly, admiring him in the light from your bedside lamp. He was pretty no matter what, but with his cheeks glowing and his eyes glittering, he was beyond what was natural, in your opinion. You stroked a bit of his hair behind his ear and hummed.

“I mean, are you not single anymore?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uhhhh-” he was interrupted by your laughter, and he pouted at you jokingly. “Don’t do that! I get scared I fucked up,” he said and rolled over to wrap his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” you giggled, “I just don’t know either.” You paused. “Hey Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

At your words, his entire face lit up. He started giggling and buried his face in your hair, trying to hide from view. Even still, you knew he would be blushing. His arms squeezed tighter around you as he pulled you even closer, and you didn’t even mind that you couldn’t breathe.

“I was going to ask,” he ended up whining once brain function had returned to him. “Can I?”

“I mean, sure?” you answered, trying your hardest not to just lean in and kiss away his pout. Your willpower sucked, so you did it anyway.

“Great! Hey, Y/N, would you be my girlfriend?”

You bit your lip to hold in your laughter, but all it did was summon your boyfriend’s gaze to your mouth. You released it and broke out into a huge grin, nodding.

“I would love nothing more.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Sua said thoughtfully, “you finally put him out of his misery?”

It was a week later, and you were sitting on your balcony with Sua and drinking coffee. The bathroom floor was now dry, and while the stupid bath mat had been unsalvageable, everything else had been fine. The apartment management had gotten the leak fixed after five days, proving that calling Seungcheol had been the right choice for more reasons than one.

Even thinking about him, you couldn’t help but smile. Your boyfriend. The one who had brought you to a work function as your first date, and the one who had gotten jealous because you had greeted a coworker of his when he was getting you a drink. The one that had helped you save your apartment from water damage. The one you had loved for the past decade.

“Okay but how could I have put him through misery if I didn’t know he liked me, hm?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at your friend. She had her eyes closed, face turned toward the sun like an old lady.

“You cannot be serious,” she said incredulously, turning toward you and opening her eyes wide to show her shock. “You’re telling me you didn’t know Cheol was in love with you? He has been so down bad for you since we were like fourteen, man. He bought you flowers for your graduation. He reminded you to take your allergy pills before going to a dog café.” You flushed a little at your own blindness, but Sua just sighed and turned back toward the sun, her eyes closed again. “At least it will be easy to kill him if he hurts you.”

a/n: if you liked this, please don't forget to like and reblog! <3

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[st7rnioioss]

۶ৎ HANDYMAN!CHRIS x NEIGHBOR!READER

neighbor!reader getting back at handyman!chris after he stole her underwear..

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... mentions of masturbation (m), swearing

the soft sound of your feet padding across the floor was the only thing that could be heard as you opened your front door, and stepped outside. keeping the door open, you took one or two steps onto chris’s doormat, knocking three times on the door.

waiting patiently, the cold breeze from the staircase gently blew by you, leaving a small trail of goosebumps. suddenly, almost messily with a faint ‘fuck!’ behind the door, it flew open.

your eyes met chris’s, before they trailed down his form. he was wearing a white tank top, along with grey sweatpants. his hair was tousled, and you could tell he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. “oh- hey there,” he then spoke with a gruff voice, rubbing his eye. it left you to wonder if you’d just woken him up, but that made no difference.

“hi, chris. um- i was just wondering if you could help me with the sink? it’s, um, well. it’s rather messed up,” you smiled with a soft voice, pointing over your shoulder to motion for your apartment. “i mean, if you’re not in a hurry or anything.”

he definitely wasn’t. he’d just been woken up by your knocking, almost shocked when he saw your pretty face ask for help.

“uh- yeah. sure, it’s not problem. i’ll just go get a few things.. just wait inside, you uh- you must be cold,” yeah, he knew you were cold from the way his eyes trailed down to your hardened nipples beneath the tank top you had on. his eyes trailed back up to your face, offering you a smile before he turned back around to find whatever he needed.

returning the smile, you went back inside, leaving the door open for him. no, the sink wasn’t broken. the sink actually worked perfectly fine for that matter. you just wanted to see chris, who’d snooped through your underwear, so what else could you do than loosen the pipes a little?

not long after, chris stepped into your apartment, closing the door behind him. you returned from the bathroom, giving him a small wave. “come on, it’s in the bathroom. there’s, like, a wet mess under the sink,” you said while walking him to the bathroom, before you both stepped inside.

“oh, yeah. that’s not a problem, it’ll only take a second,” his eyes flickered from the wet stain back to your eyes, while you just nodded, acting completely dumb and clueless. “thank you!” you chirped, watching him awkwardly fit under the counter, just like you’d done prior.

while he worked on the pipe, you chitchatted. he explained that his door was acting up, and you were confused as to why he didn’t just fix it—he knew so much anyway. you talked about your studies and how boring university is, while chris spoke about his business,

“have you also.. lost some clothes?” you said with a smirk, that he couldn’t see, leaning against the counter. you knew exactly where those panties you lost a week ago had gone—chris’s pocket. immediately he went flushed, which you also couldn’t see. thank god for that.

“um, no. uh- not really. ma-maybe, like, a sock?” he lied straight through his teeth, well aware of the panties he had sneaked out of your laundry basket and later fisted around his cock.

“but um- no. nothing other than that. it’s odd,” he muttered, getting back up from under the counter. “yeah, it’s odd.. well, it’s whatever. thank you again!” you smiled at him again, meeting his eyes in a form of unannounced stare contest, that he then broke off.

“it’s no problem. just- just give me a call if you have any other problems,” he rubbed the back of his neck, praying that the pink tint had worn off his cheeks. it hadn’t.

more neighbor!reader x handyman!chris here!

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