#I would draw all these but my brain is buzzing too much so I just wanna put this out before I forget it

[somegrumpynerd]

I feel like there's so much fun to be had with Nightmare and Dream being from a time where language had very different meanings, especially with queer stuff.

Like, the word queer used to just mean odd or unusual. Imagine Nightmare and gang visiting an au they're not familiar with and Nightmare points out one of the residents and says "he looks awfully queer" and the gang is like "whoaaa boss you can't say that" and he's so confused.

Girls used to be the word for all children regardless of gender. Just picture Dream off-handedly telling Ink and Blue about how he and Nightmare used to get along so well "back when we were girls" and the other two just wordlessly accept that these two ancient emotion guardians are trans and super casual about it. Bonus if this is also happening in Nightmare's gang and when it all comes out both groups have to explain gender identities to their leader.

Gay meant joyful and carefree. You could go 50 different ways with this. Killer tries to come out like "boss... I'm gay" and Nightmare is like "??? alright... I'm glad you're happy". Dream sighs wistfully and says "I just wish we could all be a bit more gay" and Ink can't decide which joke to make he just has to go lie down. Nightmare rallying his boys before a mission like "my brother believes the entire world should be positive but there must be balance, we cannot all be gay." and they share a worried look like "shit was one of us supposed to be straight??"

[wheeboo]

all yours | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which you get a bit too drunk on your special day. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of drinking alcohol and throwing up, reader has long enough hair to be pulled back, cursing, terms of endearment WORD COUNT. 1.4k

requested from anon: Hi hope all is well, just wanted to say Congrats on the milestone! You deserve it! And if it’s okay I would like to request #29 and #52 from prompt list 1 with Jeonghan thank you in advance if you do it. Congrats again to 2k you honestly deserve it :) - #29: "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it." - #52: "Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

notes: thank u sm anon 😭🫶 ur so so sweet ily AAAA sending consensual smooches ur way 😚😚 also genuinely did not know what to title this lmfao

join the 2k celebration!

Okay, maybe you've had a bit too much to drink tonight.

It's your birthday anyway, so surely you have the right to go a little bit overboard on your special day... right?

"Ugh, I feel like shit," You mumble groggily, your body drifting and hitting the bathtub right next to you with a thud as the sounds of the toilet flushing bounce off the walls of the bathroom.

Jeonghan just crosses his arms together, leaning against the doorway with a sly smirk to his face. His eyes peer over your flushed face, slightly tousled hair and overall cute, disheveled appearance. You huff a breath as your gaze meets his, and a small, almost dreamy smile of your own forms on your face despite knowing how absurd you look right now.

"How do I look?" You ask, drawing your words out drunkenly.

"Honestly?" Jeonghan starts, and you lift a brow in anticipation. "You look ravishingly awful."

The words that leave his mouth has your face twisting in confusion, your brain hardly processing whatever the hell he just said (you'll take it as a compliment nonetheless, thanks to your cloudy mind).

However, Jeonghan just chuckles, fully stepping his way into the bathroom and towards where you are plopped down on the tile floor. He carefully sits himself down on the rim of the bathtub, expression softening right away with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth on your face from the alcohol to his fingers.

You lean into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a few seconds. "My body is going to hate me in the morning."

Jeonghan retracts his hand slightly, but not before his fingertips lingers your cheek, sending a jolt through your already-buzzing body and causing your eyes to flutter open. You can feel the heat creeping back up your neck, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"Hmm, not if I take care of you real well, yeah?" he muses teasingly, and you could only groan in response, feeling the alcohol earlier make your head spin once more. But a tiny, sober part of you registers the warmth in his gaze.

That is, until you can start to feel something bubble up your throat, and before you can react, your stomach lurches, and you're scrambling for the toilet just in time to expel the contents of your stomach. You heave and retch, feeling utterly miserable as Jeonghan helps by pulling back your hair and rubbing your back soothingly.

As the wave of nausea passes, your hand releases its hold on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat. You lean back once more, nearly toppling over before Jeonghan's hands catch you by the shoulders, helping to straighten up your posture. You let out a sluggish sigh.

"Well, maybe you're not wrong about your body hating you," he says jokingly, then squeezes your shoulders right after as if reassure you. "I would not want to be the receiving end of all... that."

You roll your eyes in playful annoyance and yank his grip off you, his laughter ringing in your ears. "I... Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

A feigned gasp leaves Jeonghan as he dramatically clutches his chest. But the inebriated glare you throw his way doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. You catch the way his face quickly dissolves into his horribly distinguishable shit-eating grin.

"Ah, you figured out my secret, my dearest," he responds with an exaggerated flair, cupping your face gently with his hand. "You getting wasted made you more perceptive than I thought."

You swat at him weakly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"Only for you." He cheesily presses a kiss to the top of your head. "How are you feeling? Can you stand up?"

"Mmmh... help me?" You laggardly open your arms up to him, a pout forming at your mouth.

Your eyes are too heavy to catch the way Jeonghan is gazing at you so adoringly right now. He takes your outstretched arms and helps to hoist you up to your feet. For a moment, you're eye-to-eye, your head spinning slightly from the sudden movement and the world tilting a little as you stand.

Jeonghan secures a hand at your lower back as he carefully leads you out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom, catching a glimpse to the remains of the party from earlier scattered about the room. Balloons hang lazily at the ceiling, confetti laying across the floor𑁋you can deal with it in the morning.

"You're a hot mess," he comments teasingly, though there's a fondness in his tone as he guides you to the bed.

You flop down onto the mattress with a groan, the softness of the pillows cushioning against your throbbing head. Jeonghan disappears for a minute to retrieve a bottle of pills from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen, placing it on your bedside table before sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush hair away from your forehead.

You crack open an eye to look at him, feeling yourself trying so hard to not fall asleep on the spot.

"Do... you think they know?"

Jeonghan looks back down at you. "Who?"

"Every... Everyone who came today, uh..." You mutter, motioning the air with your hand. "I didn't... do anything weird out there, right? We haven't really told anyone about us yet..."

Jeonghan purses his lips together, eyelids fluttering as if he's trying to remember the events of the party. He crosses his arms together, and you should probably know from the smirk appearing at his face that𑁋

"Hm, like, weird as in when you tried to kiss me earlier after you sang karaoke? Or𑁋"

"Are you being serious right now?!" There's a long, drawn out unintelligible sound that you whine as you bury your face into the pillow, the cool fabric soothing against your flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm so stupid..."

"My love, I still don't entirely understand why we have to hide it," Jeonghan says gently, his fingers trailing lightly along your arm. "Your affection is pretty obvious, you know."

You snort at that, but you can't really deny it anyway since yeah, you are pretty affectionate with him. And it isn't that you don't want people to know. The thought of people knowing is completely fine, but it's really just that your friends can be absolute nutcases sometimes, and you really don't want to be at the teasing end of the stick right now when all you want is a bit of privacy, at least in the beginning.

"I just... I want you all to myself, you know?" You ramble drowsily, words still slightly slurred. "Just wanna... um, keep this between us for now. N-Not that I'm ashamed or anything, I just... want this to be ours."

Jeonghan lets his eyes take you in for a few moments, a soft look gracing over his features. He glances down at the way his hand seems to seems to instinctively find yours, your fingers intertwining loosely. Frankly, he’s already yours𑁋been yours from the moment the thought of you started to become a frequent visitor to his head.

"Of course," he assures lightly, not taking his eyes off you even while adjusting the pillows so you're in a more comfortable position. "Get some sleep now, okay?"

"M'kay," You utter out, feeling the weight of the bed lift when Jeonghan stands up. Yet as a thought crosses your mind, you call out to him, "Jeonghan?"

He pauses, turning back to look at you with gentle eyes.

"I... I do love you, you know," You confess slowly, almost hesitantly, like that small flicker of sobriety had finally peeked through the haze of alcohol. "Even if I'm shit at showing it."

Jeonghan feels his heart racing in his chest, and the heat flaring at the tips of his ears. On the surface, it's normally hard to detect such reactions to whatever loving, cheesy, romantic stuff you've said to him (since usually, he'd rather tease you into the grave instead). But on the inside, his heart is practically doing cartwheels, somersaults, and backflips all at once𑁋he would quite literally do anything for you.

"Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?" he remarks playfully.

You only shrug loosely, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. "I might... maybe. But, uh, at least you know, right?"

His lips just curl up lovingly. Even if you don’t remember it, those three words would be the first things he would say every morning anyway.

"I love you too, angel," he says against the skin of your temple. "Happy birthday."

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[perlelune]

Happier Than Ever | Rafe Cameron

Loving Rafe was a rollercoaster you could never get off of. Sometimes thrilling, but mostly terrifying. And some way, somehow, he always found a way to draw you back in for another ride.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Drug Addiction, Drunk Driving, Kook! Reader, Toxic Relationship, Abuse, Emotional Blackmail, Suicidal Talk

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

You smile as Marissa tells her story once more. No matter how many times you hear it, it never gets old.

“Who does that? I mean he didn’t even have his driving license. I was so embarrassed-”

The rest of the girls in the circle you formed in the living room gasp. You nurse your beer before taking another sip. You take a bite of the birthday cake, humming in appreciation of the cinnamon and pineapple undertones. For a minute, you soak it all in. The soft pop pouring from the speakers in your friend’s living room. The casual chatter between friends.

You fold your legs beneath yourself, enjoying your cake in a corner of the couch.

It’s been a while since you’ve been able to enjoy a night like this. Quiet and calm. Not since your breakup. Spending time with your friends always fell to the wayside in your previous relationship, your ex finding issues with how much time you spend with them instead of him. It wasn’t uncommon for you to drop everything whenever he called. Girls’ night outs. Sleepovers. Even birthdays, like today.

He was the sun around which your entire life orbited and he couldn’t stand anything or anyone stealing your attention away. It took you a long time to leave. More than you’re comfortable admitting.

It’s not like things were bad all the time. In fact, most of the time, they were good. Not just good. They were great. So great you easily forgave and forgot. Forgot about the tears. Forgot about the rough hands on your skin. Forgot about the cruel words. Forgot about the screaming and nights lying awake, wondering what you did wrong for him to be so angry at you again.

He was a magician. With the right words and that twinkle in his ocean gaze, he could make all the hurt vanish. Like none of it was ever there to begin with. The same eyes that made you feel small could make your stomach flutter. The same mouth that would praise you could tear you down as easily.

Your heart was never at rest, as you never knew which version of him you’d get on a particular day. The sweet and kind version. Or the paranoid and volatile one.

So many little things could set him off. A throwaway comment from his dad. An argument with his sister. Some stranger's gaze resting on you half a second too long. 

Nothing you did could ever get that chip off his shoulder. No amount of care, patience or love could ever reassure him enough. It was exhausting, which is why you left. Well, more like…ran away. Avoided his side of the island. Ghosted him. Hid away really. 

It’s been a few weeks now. You are slowly retrieving some semblance of peace in your life. It’s easier when he’s not around. Easier to breathe. Easier to move around.

Marissa turns to you.

“I’m so happy that you could make it.”

You beam at her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She pauses, her fingers tapping the side of her beer bottle.

“You did last year,” she points out. 

You tense. Last year. You never even told her what that was about. You were dressed up and ready and he stopped you on your way out, questioning why you were looking this good for “just some chicks’ get-together”. You shudder as the memory flashes through your brain. Needless to say you never made it to your friend’s party.

“Yeah…sorry about that,” you mumble, scratching your arm.

She smiles in reassurance, squeezing your arm.

“It’s okay. But no more missing my birthday, okay?”

“Okay, promise,” you reply, nodding.

The conversation is halted by the buzzing of your phone. Your chest clenches at the sight of the familiar name across the screen. Marissa steals a glimpse from across the couch and tilts her head in disapproval. The two of them were oil and water, never getting along. In fact, she got in his face quite a few times. And he seemed to enjoy riling her up even more.

“Don’t answer that.” She nudges your shoulder. “I already told you, you need to block him.”

In theory, you know you should sever all ties. But you haven’t found the nerve to cross that bridge yet. Sending him straight to voicemail and leaving him on read is the height of what you can achieve right now. Besides, you shudder to think how he’d react to you blocking him. He damn near broke your door down the day after you texted him that you two were over.

“It could be important…” You get to your feet, stepping away from the couch and your friend’s critical stare. “I’m just gonna tell him to stop. I’ll be right back.”

You head to the balcony. You inhale a lungful of courage before swiping to accept the call. 

“Hey, angel. Miss me?” Rafe slurs drunkenly. 

Your brows knit. “You shouldn’t drive when you’re like this, Rafe.”

He barks out a derisive laugh. “You hear this shit, bro? Acting like she cares about me all of sudden.”

Your chest twinges, his words hurting more than they should.

Another familiar voice faintly echoes in the background. 

“Is that Topper?”

Your frown deepens. They both sound too inebriated to be driving anyone home, let alone themselves.

As you ponder if you should call Sarah or Ward, a crashing sound echoes through the phone, the boys’ laughter dying. Your stomach drops. 

“Rafe?” you call. 

You frantically text him. When you get no response, you try Topper. He doesn’t pick up immediately. 

At least twenty minutes slog by in terrifying silence.

Chewing on your thumb, you wait for the call to reach him.

When you finally hear his voice, relief seeps through you. If he’s fine, then Rafe must also be, right?

But your hopes are swiftly pulverized when he informs you that Rafe is being transported to the hospital. Panic flutters through you. You don’t want to care. You and him aren’t together anymore. It’s not your problem…Except it is. You can’t quell the worry pooling in your gut, the racing of your heart at the thought that Rafe could be hurt. Or worse.

Anxiously rubbing your hands, you head back to the living room. Marissa won’t like what you have to say, but dread has wrapped its fist around your heart since you heard that horrifying sound on the other end of the line, and hasn’t eased up since. The not knowing is worse than anything.

Noting the contrite pinch to your face, your friend heaves out a deep exhale.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to see him,” she says.

You chew on your lip. You know how this looks. Like you’re that girl who picks a guy over her friends again. Still, you remind yourself it’s not like the other times. You aren’t together anymore. You’re over him. You’re way past that. You’re just making sure he’s safe.

“I think something happened. Something really bad.”

Marissa shrugs and takes a swig of her beer. You try to ignore her and your other friend’s pointed stares. Their quietness speaks volumes, the weight of their judgment bearing heavily in the room.

“He always does that. Who knows if he didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You mean crashed his car on purpose? Marissa, come on…”

She tosses her head backwards, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“Whatever. I’m used to you bailing.” She glances at her freshly painted nails. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her accusation aches but you shove it aside. You bid everyone goodbye and grab your keys from the lobby. 

The entire drive your heart is in your throat, your clammy hands tight around the wheel.

The worst scenarios keep playing in your head like a horrible nightmare. The picture of Rafe, a white sheet draped over his unmoving body, won’t stray from your raging thoughts. Why do you feel like this is your fault? He always had troubles with overindulging in liquor and other party favors. It’s something the two of you often argued about. But he had gotten better about it lately, before the breakup. He’d thrown away the drugs, eased up on the drinking. He was better. It’s part of why leaving felt okay.

Your eyes well up with tears. You wipe them in frustration, focusing on the dark road ahead. 

Sucking a wide breath, you remind yourself. You’re not responsible for Rafe. None of this is your fault.

Still, as you pull into the hospital’s driveway, guilt lingers within you.

Thanks to Topper’s instructions, you find Rafe’s room quickly.

You’re a breathless mess when you arrive, having raced through the white corridors. Sarah and Wheezie hug you as soon as they see you. You return it, having missed them in the last few weeks. You had come to think of the youngest of the Cameron siblings as the little sister you never had. You often went out to have ice cream while she told you of the gossip from her school. As for Sarah, the two of you go way back. While not the closest, you’ve been in the same circles since kindergarten. The puffiness of her brown eyes doesn’t escape you. While there’s no love lost between her and her big brother, she seems as shaken as you are.

Ward greets you with a nod. Meeting his gaze is difficult. He always told you you were a good influence on his son. A good girl from a good family. That you were exactly what Rafe needed to set himself straight and finally grow up. You can tell from the way his blue eyes are trained on you that Ward is a little disappointed, that he expected you to stick it out through the storm with his son. The people-pleaser inside you shrinks a bit at that.

Rose at least appears to empathize with your plight, flashing you a quick smile. She too seems to have cried, which stuns you the most. It’s no secret she and Rafe have never gotten along.

The Camerons make space for you to tiptoe further inside the room.

You take shaky steps towards Rafe. It hurts seeing him like that, hunched over at the edge of the bed in a hospital gown. While he’s not attached to tubes and wires, your chest seizes as you note the sling around his left arm, his busted lip and the long cut running across his brow.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Ward says, gesturing at his daughters to vacate the room.

Silence hangs for a while after the rest of the Cameron clan leaves, giving you and Rafe privacy. Eyes clinging to the floor, you girdle your breath until he speaks.

“You came.”

You look up, Rafe’s cool tone startling you. You approach him.

“Of course I came.”

The muscles of his jaw clench.

“You didn’t have to,” he says curtly.

You cup his cheek, “Rafe-”

He slaps your hand away, his eyes rolling back as he unleashes a heavy sigh.

“Don’t,” he snaps. He sniffs and chuckles but it lacks humor. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You don’t give two shits about me.”

Disbelief strikes you. How could Rafe utter such words after everything you’ve been through together?

Your brows furrow as you graze his arm, whispering softly, 

“That’s not true, Rafe and you know it.”

“Do I?” He taps his temple with his healthy arm, stammering angrily, “C-Cause I had so many thoughts in my head when you left…”

“Rafe-”

“I know we weren’t perfect but I thought we were pretty happy, y’know?” 

A surge of tears presses beneath your lashes.

“We were.” You pause and take a deep breath. “Sometimes. But you weren’t…” Your lip quakes as you’re hit with the remembrance of how bad his mood swings were. You rub your neck, the phantom sensation of Rafe’s fingers squeezing it tight sizzling your flesh. Your voice comes out small. “We weren’t good for each other, Rafe.”

He bites his bottom lip and slowly releases it before sneering, “Bet you’d have preferred if I died tonight, get it all over with.”

“What? How can you even say that?” you say, your pitch spiking with shock.

“Y’know maybe I should…Maybe I should just get my dad’s gun, blow my fucking brains out and stop being such a burden to you.”

He mimics the gesture of shooting a gun through his skull and tears spill over your cheek.

You cradle his face.

“Don’t say things like that, Rafe. Please…” you sob.

“What else am I supposed to say, huh? You left me. Bet you think I’m a fuckup too. Just like my dad.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I wanted to die.”

“Rafe.”

His watery gaze dives into yours.

“When you left, I wanted to fucking die.”

Your breath falters.

“Being without you is hell, angel.” Desperation oozes from his voice. “I just wanted to feel…I don’t know, anything else.” He buries his face in his hand, mumbling under his breath, “I-I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take.”

Your heart sinks. You never imagined breaking up with Rafe would send him in such a state. A wave of guilt consumes your insides. Perhaps it was selfish, taking your distance the way you did. 

You place your hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know things were this bad for you. I’m sorry.”

He snorts. “I mean, how could you? It’s not like you answer when I call.”

The air chills around you. Your lips clamp shut at that, your head lowering. You did ignore all of Rafe’s calls. And now you find yourself wondering if there were cries for help, if he was drowning and needed you to pull him ashore. If you had picked up, just once, maybe he wouldn’t be here right now. 

The doctor comes in and you step back. Rafe is thankfully cleared, presenting no concussion or major injuries besides his broken arm. You meet Topper outside and are relieved to find him in much better shape than your ex. Outside of a nasty scrape on his cheek, he’s completely unharmed. 

“Were you drunk too?” you can’t help but ask him.

“I…Yeah, but I wasn’t the one driving.” Topper hesitates, nervous as his eyes meet yours. “Rafe, he…he took some other stuff at the party.”

“I figured,” you sigh.

“He just kept driving faster the more he ranted about you.”

Your chest clenches. You glower at him.

“You’re supposed to be his friends, you and Kelce. You’re supposed to look out for him.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies.

Your gaze darts around the hospital corridor.

“Where’s Kelce, anyway?”

Topper scratches the back of his neck.

“He…passed out in a bush at the party.”

Your shoulders sag. Typical Kook shenanigans. Not one of those boys could actually behave responsibly. All they ever do is enable each other and egg each other on to do stupid shit. Then they let someone else clean up their mess. Fatigue settles over you. You’ve been here before. 

You glance at your phone. It’s beyond late. You walk up to Ward.

“I should probably go back home now. I only wanted to check on Rafe, make sure he's okay."

Crossing his arms, the Cameron patriarch astounds you when he utters, “Why don’t you stay at Tannyhill tonight?”

You flash a nervous smile.

“Mr. Cameron, Rafe and I-”

“I know you two are broken up, and I get that.” He heaves out a weary sigh as he considers Rafe. “I know my son has…issues, sweetheart, but he always did better around you.” His piercing gaze travels from Rafe to you. “He hasn’t been doing well since you left him.”

You recline into silence. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Rafe look this defeated. It worries you. You have no desire to give him the wrong idea but you also don’t see yourself just going home after hearing the things he shared with you. While you don’t plan on getting back with him, you can’t just abandon him.

“Okay. But just for tonight,” you specify. 

Ward beams at you. “That's all I ask, sweetheart.”

You end up getting into a car with Ward, Rose and Rafe. Wheezie trails behind Sarah, as you let her borrow the keys of your truck to drive Topper back home. She promises to return them to you in the morning. A heavy quiet coats the air as you share the backseat with Rafe, his stepmom sitting in the front with Ward. He’s not even looking at you, his blue eyes glued to the window. Dejected, you twine your hands in your lap. You’re used to that, Rafe ignoring you when he’s upset. But tonight it stings even more, fueling the guilt simmering inside you.

As Ward’s car pulls into the long alley of the Cameron’s mansion, nostalgia tugs at your heart.

Tannyhill was practically a second home to you this past year. Your parents travel a lot for work and Rafe used to coax you into staying with him most nights, just so you’re not alone.

You don’t even think as you follow Rafe to his bedroom, your feet carrying you absently since you’ve done it so many times before.

You inspect the room. Nothing’s changed since the last time you were here.

He grimaces as he struggles to remove his clothes while wearing the sling.

“I can’t get this fucking shirt off,” Rafe grumbles.

You trudge up to him.

“Let me help you.”

Rafe observes you, falling strangely quiet while you slip off his shirt for him. Your cheeks heat when you do the same for his pants. 

When you’re done, you try to head for the door.

Rafe’s hand clutches yours, halting your departure.

“Stay… please, angel? You can wear one of my shirts like you used to.”

A forlorn expression decorates his features. Despite your best efforts, it tugs at your heartstrings.

You gnaw on your lip. “It’s probably best if I stay in the guest room.”

His thumb sweeps over the inside of your palm.

“I won’t try anything funny, I swear…if that’s what you’re worried about.” His brows draw together. “I’m just in so much pain, and I can barely move my arm.”

You unleash a resigned breath.

“You promise to stay on your side of the bed?” When a playful smile creeps on his lips, your tone sharpens. “Rafe, I’m only here as your friend. I’m serious.”

His gaze narrows, suspicion sneaking in his tone. “Why? You’re like seeing somebody now or some shit?”

“No, I’m not.” You pause before adding cheekily, “And even if I were, it’d be none of your business.”

His cheek pulses.

A flicker of jealousy ignites his gaze, indicating that, in Rafe’s opinion, who you're seeing now is still very much his business. But his features smooth over quickly, his voice mellowing.

“I’d just feel better if you slept next to me, angel. I don’t feel like I’m asking for much, am I?” He pauses before sneering, “Or do you hate my fucking guts so much that I can’t even ask for a little favor?”

“I don’t hate you, Rafe.”

He cocks his head, hope lacing his deep timbre.

“Really? You don’t?”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried,” you admit.

A wide grin blooms on his face at that. He curls his hand around your waist, pulling you a little closer. 

“Then prove it. Stay with me tonight.”

His blue eyes are honest, pleading. Your resolve thaws like ice in the summer heat. 

“Fine,” you yield. You gear yourself to leave, announcing, “I’ll go change in the bathroom.”

The hand on your waist tightens as he teases, “Why not here? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

“Rafe,” you scold, prying his fingers off your waist.

He snickers, lifting his hand. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

A pang of melancholy pierces your chest when you pick one of Rafe’s shirts to wear in bed. It feels a little weird sharing a bed with him when you’re not together anymore.

When you step out of the bathroom, you steal a glance at him. The blanket only covers half of his body, exposing the bare, suntanned muscles of his chest. You ignore Rafe’s smirk as he catches your lingering gaze. Averting your eyes, you make your way to your side of the bed.

You slip under the covers, reassured that he’s respecting your wishes by giving you space. But it doesn’t last.

In the middle of the night, you’re forced to berate him for breaking the boundaries you set.

His good arm snakes around you, his broad chest draping over your back.

“Rafe…”

He nuzzles your neck from behind, humming as he basks in your smell. “Please, just let me have this,” he begs.

You sigh. You don’t have it in you to deny Rafe tonight. Not when he could have died. Not when you feel some responsibility for that. 

“Okay, but no wandering hands.”

He nods and snuggles even closer to you. You can’t help but grow a bit dizzy as the familiar scent of Rafe’s cologne clogs your senses.

You close your eyes and drift into sleep.

In the morning, you wake up to Rafe dragging his fingertips along your cheek, an entranced expression etched on his features.

“I missed waking up like this,” he rasps.

For a while, as you get lost in how bright and blue his eyes look in the soft morning glow, you forget. Remembrance settles over you however when Rafe’s thumb travels to your bottom lip. This is the kind of thing you can’t allow anymore.

Clearing your throat, you sit up and remove his hand from your face.

“Well don’t get used to it.”

Rafe’s brows crumple. “Ouch. When did you get so mean, angel?”

“I learnt it from you.”

He actually seems taken aback by that, speechless as he gapes at you.

His surprise allows you to make a beeline for the bathroom.

“Dibs on the first shower,” you chime, slamming the door closed before he can make another comment that sends your heart in a frenzy.

You use Rafe’s time away in the bathroom to focus on another task. A very important task. One you call the post-bender sweep. It’s a little tragic that you even have a name for it, or that you’ve had to do it so often. So you roll up your sleeves and begin rummaging through all of Rafe’s drawers. No corner of the room is left unchecked.

It’s how he finds you as he steps out of the shower, damp blonde locks grazing his forehead, the towel hanging low on his tapered waist. 

Confusion fills his cobalt eyes. 

“What are you doing?”

“I know you weren’t just drunk last night Rafe. Topper told me everything.”

“Fucking snitch,” Rafe hisses. He inches closer to you. “Look, I’m gonna get it together, alright?”

You crouch near the bed and reach under the mattress. Rafe’s face goes taut as you feel between the wooden slats. “Angel-”

Your fingers dislodge a plastic bag between the slats. You examine its insides. 

“Coke, expected. Well that…is new. Is that meth?” you list sourly. You wish you could say you were disappointed. Instead, you’re just exhausted and vaguely angry. This is a step back. A huge one. “This is poison, Rafe.”

You get to your feet and dash to the bathroom. As you empty every ounce of powder, crystals and every single pill into the toilet bowl, Rafe grips the side of his head. Panic flickers on his face.

“That’s 10k down the drain.”

“Well, Barry can go through me. I’m not letting you do this to yourself again.”

You flush the toilet and meet his eyes. Their intensity has you shifting in discomfort.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

His lips slowly curve upward.

“You still care about me.”

Your heart skips a beat. You blink and shuffle away from the toilet. False hopes, you recall, you weren’t supposed to give them to him. You decide to steer him away from that line of thought.

“Of course I do,” you reply. “You’re my friend.”

Rafe’s smile vanishes. His tone becomes clipped. “Friends, huh? Okay.”

Your plans to only stay the night are thwarted at breakfast. After sharing a copious meal with the Camerons, Ward pulls you aside, practically begging you to prolong your presence at Tannyhill for his son’s sake. 

“You and I both know he needs you, sweetheart.”

At first, you’re hesitant. This wasn’t the plan. You’ve fought so hard against the instinct not to put Rafe’s needs and wants before your own. Tooth and nail quite frankly. The first week after your breakup, not picking up when he called made you physically ill.

You wept about it for days, and almost ran right back into his arms. Without your friends, you probably would have.

Now, your life’s back on track. You can breathe again. You’re happier. The crippling fear of what Rafe would say or think does not hover over your every move anymore.

When Sarah returns your truck’s keys, you consider driving yourself back home and never looking back. Your fingers curl around the keys. It’s right there beneath your palm, your freedom. But there’s just one tiny issue. Rafe’s misty eyes catch yours across the table. And in less than a second, you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

So you remain at Tannyhill much longer than you’d like, taking care of Rafe and spending nights in his arms. The ambiguity of the situation fosters doubts in your mind, threatening the fragile equilibrium you found.

So as soon as Rafe’s noticeably improved, you elect to go back home. One morning, you rise with the sun and start collecting all the things you left behind in his room. It’s imperative to create some distance between you and him again. After all, you’ve gone above and beyond. Initially, this was about checking on your friend. A blind man could see that Rafe wants more than that however. You fear things will spiral to a point of no-return if you don’t leave now. You did so well these last few weeks, getting over Rafe. Or trying to at least. Now all that hard work is on the rocks.

Displeasure paints Rafe’s features as he watches you shove as many of the stray objects you scattered in his space inside your bag. You ended things so abruptly the first time that you never bothered coming back to collect everything you left in Rafe’s room.

“Come on, you could stay a little longer,” he pleads.

“It’s time for me to go home, Rafe.”

“Then just stay the night. You can leave tomorrow.”

“Rafe, it’s been well over a week.”

He sucks his teeth, sniggering meanly, “That excited to be rid of me, huh?”

Your forehead creases.

“It’s not like that.”

Rafe scoffs, “Nah, I get it. You’ve moved on and you never want to see me again, right?”

“Rafe…”

His fingers thread through yours, drawing you back to him. Towering above you, he whispers, “It's just one night. It won’t be different from the other ones. I just want to be able to feel you one last time.”

You purse your lips. You could never say no to anything Rafe asks when he looks at you like that. Like you’re his lifeline, the only thing keeping his head above water. 

It's probably not a great idea. Rafe’s been getting handsier than you’d like these last few days, and you didn’t have the heart to push him away. But what’s one more night? You’ll be gone tomorrow anyways.

“Okay,” you concede.” But I’m really leaving tomorrow.”

A victorious grin breaks out on his face.

“Of course, angel.”

At first, your last night at Tannyhill does indeed seem like the others. You slip under the covers next to Rafe, as you’ve done every other night. His light snores fill the room, his arm finding its way around your waist. Like always. You’ve gotten used to this. You don’t protest, finding comfort in the knowledge you’ll be done with everything Rafe Cameron the next day.

So you let him get close once more. His heat encases you as he nestles his head in the crook of your neck. You don’t even give much thought to the thick bulge poking the small of your back. This is Rafe. He grows hard half the time when you cuddle. Usually, you get him to back off with a frown and a light shove on his chest.

But tonight’s different.

He starts rubbing against you, his hand sneaking below the shirt covering your body.

“Rafe? What are you doing?” you whisper, your voice high-pitched from shock.

“Shh, quiet, angel,” he hushes, trailing sloppy, heated pecks along your neck and shoulder.

“Rafe, you can’t…” Your voice dwindles to a gasp when his digits creep between under your ass, teasing your folds through your panties. He pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingertips. You bite down a sharp cry. 

“I said I wanted to feel you one last time, angel.”  

He shoves a finger inside your panties and sinks between your walls. The embarrassing squelching of your cunt echoes in the room, Rafe beginning to pump inside you at a steady pace. Naturally, he knows exactly how to move his fingers to turn you into a panting, shivering mess against him. You try to resist it, ignore the fire rising in your core, but your skin is easily set ablaze by Rafe’s familiar touch. Your belly knots. Tingles bloom on your flesh. He sweeps along your tender spots and you choke on your spit.

Heat gathers in your face as you grow slicker beneath Rafe’s hand.

He tugs on your panties, sliding them down your legs.

Rafe shifts position. He places himself above you and shimmies out of his boxers. Alarm bells ring inside your head when his thick tip prods at your entrance.

“Rafe…”

Words wither on your tongue as he buries his cock inside you in one blunt thrust. A quiet scream flies from your mouth, your chest heaving.

“Don’t be like this,” Rafe grunts, arrogance dripping from his lustful timbre. “I know you’ve been missing how my fat cock feels inside that tight little pussy, right?”

“We’re broken up, Rafe,” you wheeze out, struggling to catch your breath as your walls strain at his size.

“So?” He pulls out of you, only to sheathe himself inside your wet heat again. Your eyes roll back, your fingers clutching weakly at the sheets.

Rafe’s half-lidded gaze darkens as he drinks you in, his tone getting possessive.

“You’re in my bed, wearing my shirt. I’d say that makes you mine.”

The protests on your tongue evaporate, your thoughts dipping into a tailspin as Rafe slams his cock inside your dripping cunt. Desperation and lust marks each of his deep, pointed thrusts. Your head tosses over the pillows.

Stars fill your sight, pleasure swirling through your limbs. Air dwindles in your lungs as he stretches you out deliciously. His thick cock brushes against your sweet spot repeatedly and your lids flutter. Rafe’s own breaths grow more ragged. His throat bobs, his hard muscles clenching with his motions. He balances his arm above your head, looming over you as sweat dots on his brow.

His warm breath grazes your face as he chuckles.

“It’s like coming home, right? Like I never left.”

“I’m gonna get my shit together. I swear to you, angel.” He rests his forehead against yours. Rafe’s masculine scent floods your senses and your mind spins. You keen as he snaps his taut hips into yours, helpless as Rafe cages you with his frame. “Just don’t leave me again, okay? Please, I need you.”

Over the next few weeks, while his arm is healing, you and Rafe relapse into old habits. First, it’s that night at his house, the one that stirs your unease for a while. Then it’s a quickie in the back of his truck after he offers to drop you off one day. Progressively, it becomes more than that. Dates and late night calls, like before. 

Rafe complaining to you for hours about Sarah or the weight of his dad’s expectations. Rafe sending flowers to your doorstep. Rafe making butterflies swarm in your stomach when he tells you that you’re the only one who understands him.

The walls you erected crumble day by day, shattered by his persistence to win you back. He showers you with gifts and attention on a near daily basis now, even going as far as planning the most romantic evening for Valentine’s day. Though you had plans with your friends, Rafe is so adamant to have you all to himself that you ditch Galentine's day cocktails to be with him.

Slowly but surely, the Cameron heir weasels his way back into your heart. 

Most of your friends aren’t thrilled with your decision, of course. Marissa in particular.

“Guys like him don’t change,” she tells you one night as he’s blowing up your phone with texts inquiring about your whereabouts. You fervently disagree. He’s just worried about you, you convince yourself. That's how much he cares.

Of course Rafe has changed. He’s earning your trust, one day at a time. He has his temper in check. He’s better now. He’s proven it several times.

Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?

Besides, though you struggle to admit it, there’s something intoxicating about being Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend. A feeling so heady and electric. One you shamefully kind of missed.

You trust Rafe. Those are the words that keep playing in your mind as you wait for him downstairs. You fiddle with your solo cup, taking a tiny sip of your beer. Techno music blares from the speakers in Kelce’s living room. The girls next to you gossip about a crush on some guy you don’t know. You feign interest, giving a dull nod and a smile every now and then. Lavish, hedonistic Kook parties aren’t exactly your scene anymore. Rafe practically had to drag you here.

The initial plan was to meet with your friends tonight. But Rafe closed off when you told him that. He then pleaded with you to come. You caved in, because refusing him has been incredibly difficult since the accident. So you’ve stopped trying to argue with him. 

You go along with most of what he asks, even if it stirs your discomfort at times. 

You glance at the time on your phone. 

Rafe said he needed to go to the bathroom earlier. 

That was nearly thirty minutes ago. Your brows draw together. Taking a leak shouldn’t take that long in theory, right? Or are you this paranoid now?

Still, you can’t quell the dread tickling your insides. A sense of deja vu seeps through you.

Your feet carry you upstairs, guided by your urgent need to find Rafe. 

Kelce’s house is huge and you nearly get lost multiple times. Your cheeks flame as you stumble upon a couple in one of the guest rooms. You hastily apologize and slam the door shut, resuming your search. It takes you a long time of blind wandering through endless corridors before you find him. 

He’s indeed in a bathroom. At least that, he didn’t lie about…unlike the line of coke he’s snorting above the sink.

“Rafe?” you call, frozen on the doorstep. “What are you doing?”

A brief glimpse of panic flits across his face before he bursts out in laughter.

He makes his way to you and tilts your chin upward.

“It’s a party, I’m just having fun. You should try it sometime.”

You scowl at him. “That’s not the point. You promised...”

Rafe sniffs, wiping the remnants of white powder beneath his nose.

“Come on, just relax.” He crowds your space, placing his hands on each side of you on the door. It slams shut as Rafe presses his body against yours, his voice sinking to a lewd rasp. “Why don’t you and I get into the hot tub downstairs and…”

“No,” you assert. “You promised, Rafe. No more drugs.”

When he tries to cup your cheek, you shove his hand away. His jaw clenches.

“Why do you always have to be such a stuck up bitch?”

An astonished breath leaps off your throat.

“I’m sorry?”

Instead of apologizing, a broad grin stretches on his lips, “I’m just saying. Maybe you’re the one who needs to loosen up.”

You note the hollowness in Rafe’s eyes and the sweat glistening over his bare skin.

Tears rush to your eyes. You’ve learnt to recognize the signs. Empty promises, like always. Why did you expect things to be different this time?

You jump back from the door, slipping beneath Rafe’s arm. Wiping irate tears, you glare at him.

“This was a mistake. My friends were right. You’re never going to change.” 

You are such a fool. The depth of his deception didn’t hit you until you saw him bent over that sink. You caught him this time. Who knows how many times Rafe lied right to your face?

Once more, you allowed him to drag you into his spiral, offering no resistance and believing every sweet word and promise.

Closing your eyes, you suck in a deep breath. You think back to the last few weeks, to every time you surrendered an inch and Rafe took a mile. And you just let it happen. You land on a decision. This is the last time you let Rafe Cameron puppeteer his way back into your life.

You make a beeline for the exit. He impedes your path, towering over you as he stands before the door.

“Get out of my way, Rafe,” you hiss.

Rafe squints at you, taking slow, threatening steps towards you.

“Why? So you can leave me, again?” Something lurks in Rafe’s gaze, turning his blue eyes almost black. Chills crawl over your spine. You shrink, retreating as far as the restricted space in the bathroom allows. “No way, you’re not leaving me.”

You chew on your lip, a surge of adrenaline spiking through your veins. You try to run past him but he grabs your wrists and slams you harshly against the bathroom wall.

Your voice comes out a quivering sob.

“Rafe, don’t you dare…”

As you try to wrestle out of his hold, he bangs your head against the tiles. Sharp needles of pain pierce through your skull. You grow dizzy as your legs start shaking. Rafe uses the momentum to push you onto the floor. 

“Dare what, huh? Take what’s mine?” he snarls. His broad body drapes over yours. You taste the liquor on his tongue as he steals your lips in a rough, possessive kiss. A sick laugh leaves him when you bite his lip, drawing blood. A metallic taste fills your mouth. Through your hazy sight, you watch with horror as Rafe unbuttons his pants. 

He reaches under your dress, tearing your panties with one tug of his hand. Fear floods your veins. You writhe underneath him as he guides his length to your entrance.

“I think you’re forgetting, angel. You’re nothing without me.” His taunting whisper sears into your skin like a hot knife. “I made you, little Kook princess.”

Your mouth opens, a scream building in your throat. But it never makes its way past your lips, Rafe wrapping his hand around your neck as he impales you on his cock. Helpless whimpers roll off your tongue as he sets an unforgiving pace right away, ignoring each of your tearful pleas for him to stop. His scalding breaths ghost over your face. Beads of sweat drip from his skin to yours. Sobs shake your frame as you writhe beneath him, left with no other choice but to be the vessel for his anger and lust.

“I need you, just like you need me,” he mumbles hotly, trailing bites and kisses alongside your neck. The room dims around you with each painful stab of Rafe’s cock inside your bruised core.

The hand around your neck tightens, Rafe’s wrathful baritone edging on a roar.

“Don’t you ever try to leave me again. I won’t be able to take it, angel. In fact…” His lips skim over your earshell as he whispers, “I’d rather fucking kill you and myself before letting you walk out on me again.”

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Ring My Bell

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, mdni 🔞

Based on a fun worldbuilding convo in the SHOM discord that’s still buzzing around my head. Credit to @itcanbepalped and @jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s for vibing on this one

Steve’s parents never wore rings. They said it was gauche; very new money of them.

“Why bother with jewelry on your fingers that will get banged up on your hands when you can wear a necklace,” Clarissa would say when she spotted someone at the club with a ring, or god forbid two! Her own betrothal and bonding necklaces were layered, drawing the eye to her bite.

That was the whole point of a necklace. Either it emphasized a bonding bite, or it highlighted the fact that the wearer’s bonding gland was intact.

Steve had been given a necklace after he presented, a simple gold chain with a bejeweled padlock.

Pretty fucking gauche if you ask him.

Steve wouldn’t have worn it, but it was expected. Plenty of omegas wore something similar; he’d rather have his grandmother’s old claddagh ring, but his mother said it was low class.

So he wears his necklace every day, a reminder that he belongs to his father until he is mated. Then, he’ll belong to his alpha. Legally. At least until Congress hot its act together and passed some of the proposed equity laws.

Maybe his mom was right, rings were more easily lost. They tainted the scent of your hands with harsh metal.

It’s just that he’s seen some interesting ones, shapes so far beyond the standard lock, circle, and eternity knot. Meanings far more individualized than his necklace.

Which is why when the pups start following after Eddie Munson, Steve really notices his rings.

He gets what the book means. Or, he thinks he does. Munson doesn’t wear blockers, ever. His scent is an open book.

And the skull could be one of those gothy, ‘I mate for life’ things.

But the pig makes no sense. And no scents. Pigs don’t typically have a smell worth advertising.

The ring on his right hand is so simple in comparison that Steve gets stymied there, too.

He drops it, not wanting to reveal his interest in anything to do with Eddie Munson.

Steve is perfectly ready to let it stay a mystery until the night he comes to pick Dustin up after Hellfire only for Eddie to be the only one left in the lot, hauling his stuff out to his van. 

“Sinclair got his permit; your chuckleheads all went with him so he could show off.”

“Oh,” Steve says dumbly, only for his brain to catch up and spit out, “And they’ve never heard of a phone?”

“Real butthead behavior on their part,” Eddie agrees with a smirk. “Anyway, sorry you came out here for nothing.”

“Eh, could be worse.” Steve’s thinking monsters or g-men.

Of course, Eddie doesn’t know that. He gives Steve an appraising look. Then he surprises Steve. “I could make it up to you,” Eddie says with a crooked grin.

“How?” Steve asks, swallowing back the ‘not your fault’ that almost slipped out automatically. Because it kinda is.

Steve wouldn’t be here if not for Eddie’s club and the hold it has on Steve’s merry band of twerps. So he’s open to whatever Eddie’s offering to make them square.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Eddie pulls a joint from his pocket, sets it in his mouth to light, and inhales.

He holds it towards Steve as he blows out a stream of smoke. “We can hang, take the edge off your night.”

Steve takes the joint. Eddie grins and skips over to his van, opening the back door and giving a joking bow.

Steve laughs. He didn’t expect to be charmed so easily.

But he is, and after a couple hits he feels relaxed and loose in a way that would be fine in the safety of his bedroom, not so much when he has to drive.

He’s going to say as much, tell Eddie he should clear his head, when his eye catches the shine of silver on his fingers.

It’s like his brain isn’t connected to his mouth as he asks, “Why the pig?”

Eddie looks up from the box of cassettes he’s looking through and furrows his brow. “Huh?”

Steve’s brain must be cut off from his body too, since he reaches out and snatches up Eddie’s left hand.

“The pig,” Steve says, tapping on the offending ring. “Like, the book and the skull I think I got, but I’m coming up empty on the pig.”

“I’m surprised you knew it was a book.”

“But it’s book-shaped!”

“You mean rectangular?”

“But it is a book right?”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s about your scent,” Steve feels smug as he says it.

“I don’t smell like books,” Eddie says, clearly confused. “That’d be pretty awesome, though. Old books smell nice. Unless they’ve been in a basement too long.”

Steve nods sagely. This is obvious wisdom. No one wants to jump your bones if you smell like a musty basement.

Then he remembers his point. “You don’t smell like books, you are a book. Easy to read your scent ‘cuz you don’t wear blockers.”

“Don’t like ‘em. Make my head all fuzzy, and not in a fun way.”

“And the skull is a ‘til death’ thing right?”

“It’s actually a vampire skull.” Eddie points out the elongated canines. “You know, ‘the eternal kiss’ or whatever. I think bites should mean something.”

Steve nods again, feels a weird pull low in his belly. “That’s cool. Not enough alphas I know have that opinion.” He’s seen too many broken bonds at the country club and his father’s company Christmas parties.

Seen too many couples who shouldn’t have bonded in the first place.

“So, what’s the pig?”

Eddie looks down where Steve is still holding his hand. “Ever heard of a truffle hunter?”

“Like the chocolates?”

“No, the mushrooms! You’re rich, don’t you know about fancy mushrooms!”

Steve shakes his head, feels dumb. 

But Eddie just accepts his ‘no’ and moves on, “Well, they’re these rare mushrooms, and pigs like to eat them, so they’re really good at sniffing them out. And that’s me. I fully plan to sniff out my scentmate, and until then…” He shrugs. “Plenty of hot omega pussy to smell.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Eddie slaps his right hand over his whole face in shame. “Shit, sorry. Not appropriate in front of an omega. Or anyone. I promise I’m not a creep trying to get in your pants.”

But Steve’s mouth has gone dry. He wears blockers still, for work, the scent neutralizing deodorants and perfumes good at covering up his scent. The only place he doesn’t apply it is his crotch, because no one should be getting close enough anyway.

Suddenly he wants Eddie to be close enough.

He’s still holding Eddie’s hand, can still smell the edge of his woody scent over the weed. “It’s okay,” he says. Turns Eddie’s palm toward him and brings it to his nose.

The metal smell is there. But also pine and herbs, deepened by dark musk. His tongue darts out for a taste.

His hand mostly tastes like skin, a little like salt and smoke, but the scent is still there. Makes him want more. He pulls back, looks at Eddie who is staring at him with awe on his face.

“Okay, Mr. Trufflehunter, how do I smell?”

“You’ve got blockers on-”

“Not everywhere.”

His movements are slow, giving Eddie every chance to back out as he slides his fingers into Eddie’s hair, gripping the side of his head, and guiding him down towards Steve’s crotch.

Towards his wet pussy.

continued in part 2

[berenwrites]

A Simple Question - Steddie - PG13

for @steddie-week Day 2

Prompt: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

rated pg-13 | 1155 wds | tags: kissing, fluff, everybody lives, post vecna, mentions of sex

Eddie is a little tipsy and he has a question for Nancy.

(Also on AO3)

A Simple Question: Ha! What Boundaries?

Eddie was on his way to drunk, which was why he sat on the couch next to Nancy and cut himself off. Ever since his brush with death, he was something of a lightweight. At least everyone else seemed to be pretty buzzed as well. He’d passed on Argyle’s weed because of the aforementioned lightweight status, but the others hadn’t.

Jon and Argyle were currently lying on the floor having a deeply philosophical discussion about mushrooms, and not even the magic kind. Steve and Robin were draped all over each other in the corner giggling. And Nancy had been staring into space until Eddie sat down.

“Greetings, Wheeler the Badass,” he said with a smile as she looked at him.

“Eddie the Not-So-Banished,” she replied with a smile, “to what do I owe the honour.”

That made Eddie giggle.

“Came to ask you a question,” he told her. “Probably an ill-advised question, but I figured you’re too mellow to hit me.”

Nancy lifted an eyebrow at him for that.

“You’re probably right,” she agreed much to his surprise.

“Really?” he asked, because he would have shut his mouth if she’d objected.

“Really,” she said. “Ask away.”

“So,” he began, drawing out the ‘o’ sound, “Steve…”

“Ah,” Nancy said with a smile that Eddie couldn’t quite interpret.

“What do you mean by ‘ah’?” he asked.

“That your question?” Nancy replied.

“What? No,” he protested.

“You only get one,” Nancy told him.

“You’re changing the rules,” he complained.

“I could go and talk about mushrooms,” Nancy said.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie said, pretty sure if he had had one less beer the conversation would have been a lot less annoying, but then again, they probably wouldn’t have been having it at all. “So, Steve, reputation with the ladies deserved or hyped up?”

Nancy snorted a laugh and patted him on the leg in a rather unsettling way.

“In a sexy way or romantic way?” she asked.

“Um … sexy,” Eddie admitted quietly.

“Totally deserved,” Nancy told him, “and actually in a romantic way too. Probably would have eaten that shit up if, well, the stuff that happened hadn’t.”

She looked sad for a moment, so Eddie patted her hand in what he hoped was a sensitive gesture.

“So totally deserved?” he prodded when no more was forthcoming because his brain to mouth filter was on low power.

“God yes,” Nancy said, turning to look at him. “You would not believe how good he is with his hands, oh and his mouth. Fuck, his hands and mouth in combination.” She beckoned him closer. “Jonathan’s good,” she whispered, “but he’s never given me three orgasms in a row.”

“Three?” Eddie whispered back.

Nancy nodded.

“And that was just for starters,” she assured him. “I think he gets off on getting his partner off,” she revealed.

“Wow,” was the best Eddie could do with that information.

“You should shoot your shot,” Nancy said and all but shocked him sober.

“What … me … but …” he babbled.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Nancy said quietly.

He wondered if she was actually as high as she was pretending, because the look in her eyes was anything but vague.

“I’m that obvious?” he asked, sagging into the couch cushion.

He’d come out as bisexual to this older group of friends when Robin had accidentally outed herself at another of their exclusive get-togethers and panicked. That Steve had known since Starcourt and been Robin’s number one cheerleader really shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it had really.

“Only among friends,” she told him, wrapping her hand in his. “You should talk to him.”

“He’s straight,” Eddie pointed out.

“Not if the way I saw him making out with Argyle is anything to go by,” Nancy replied.

“Argyle?”

“Yes, my dude?” Argyle asked, so possibly Eddie had said that louder than he had meant to.

“Just passing on your haircare tips,” Nancy covered for him.

“Always here if you need advice, Brochacho,” Argyle replied with a wave before going back to talking to Jonathan.

“I couldn’t hear what they were saying,” Nancy said, leaning in again, “but I did see Steve thank Argyle and walk away with that, wow I’ve discovered something face he does when he’s processing new things.”

“The one with the adorable little crease right here?” Eddie asked, pointing to the top of his nose.

Nancy lifted both her eyebrows this time.

“Wow you have it bad,” she commented.

“I know,” he admitted and sighed dramatically. “But he’s Steve and I’m me. He’s an adonis and I’m a wet cat.”

So maybe he deserved the laugh from Nancy for that one.

“Talk to him,” Nancy encouraged.

“But what would I say?” Eddie asked kind of desperately.

“You could try, ‘Steve fancy kissing me’,” an all too familiar voice said from just behind him.

It was at that moment he realised Steve and Robin were no longer in the corner, far, far away from the current conversation. He kind of froze, only turning very, very slowly to find Steve standing directly behind the couch with a couple of cold sodas in his hands.

Apparently, adrenaline was amazing stuff, because Eddie felt one hundred percent sober in that instant. An embarrassing squeak escaped from his throat.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Robin said, throwing herself onto the couch on the other side of Nancy, “the romantic tension was getting really annoying.”

“Says the woman who still hasn’t made it to first base with Vicky,” Steve bitched back.

Robin just made a kissy face at him, while Eddie continued to freak out.

He’d been daydreaming about Steve ever since he’d woken up in the hospital with Steve standing guard over him like some angel from heaven. Apparently, nobody argued with Steve Harrington when he looked like he might bring down the wrath of God at any moment, which had given the rest of the Party enough time to get Eddie’s name cleared. The whole ripping a demobat in half had started it for Eddie, and that had totally clinched it.

Steve was looking at him now in that earnest way he had that kind of melted Eddie’s insides.

“Hey Steve,” he finally said, “fancy kissing me?”

It was all kinds of pathetic, but it was all he had.

With a cocky smile, Steve passed the sodas he was holding to Nancy, leaned over the back of the couch and slipped one cold hand into the hair as the base of Eddie’s skull. The kiss was long and deep, and Eddie never wanted it to end. Of course it had to, especially when Jonathan, the traitor, wolf whistled.

Steve picked up a cushion and threw it at Jonathan’s head as Eddie sank back into the couch with what he was sure was a dreamy expression on his face. Nancy leaned in.

“Wait until you get the full magic hands too,” she whispered.

The End

[deathblacksmoke]

today’s filthy, disgusting thoughts are brought to you in part by a request i got from @somebodyels3 that’s been burning a hole in my brain. liberties were taken (and it’s a little longer than i planned). enjoy a little nicky x noah x f!reader phone sex thingy 🩷

part of the euclid polyverse / 18+ nsfw below the cut

nicky is back home in richmond for a little bit while you’re staying with noah in LA.

it’s a lot of lazy days in — lying on the sofa observing while noah is fucking around in the home studio, sprawled on the living room floor or on the couch having anime marathons, mid-afternoon naps all bundled up in bed with the AC blasting.

an early morning make out session in bed — slow grinding bodies, whispered praises, and roaming hands — devolves into something else when there’s an unbearable, painful pang in your chest.

“i wish nicky was here.” you say. you just can’t help it. it’s the only thing you can think about sometimes, how wrong it feels to be doing anything without him, how incomplete it all is. noah’s expression lets you know that he feels largely the same.

“i miss him too, sweetheart.” he responds, pity in his tone laced with what you know to be sadness. longing. the a lot goes unspoken, but you know it’s meant to be there. the so much is unsaid, but it doesn’t need to be. it’s clear in his tone, in the energy that lies heavy over everything when nick is gone. noah misses his boy just as much as you do. a gentle hand strokes your side, drawing you closer to him. “only a few more days until he’s back with us.”

you let yourself sink into him, barely soothed but happy to at least be here with one of your darlings. you love him so much and he is so good to you; he deserves to feel appreciated even if there’s a pit of misery in your gut as well as his.

it’s a comfort to the both of you when you start making your descent down his body, placing kisses to his exposed skin until you reach the waistband of his sweats. his belly tightens and relaxes beneath your palms and it dizzies you. his sigh when you pull down his waistband and sink your mouth onto him sends a rush of blood to your head — you almost miss the distant ringing and a familiar voice.

“hey, no.” comes a voice that can only be nick’s, and an excitement buzzes through you. you remain focused on your task, hoping to hide the sudden thrumming beneath your skin caused by the sound of your love’s voice. it’s something you’ve discussed before, for when the boys are on tour. you didn’t know it would be so soon, or like this, but you can’t find it in you to be displeased. you don’t want to.

“hi, nicky. we miss you, baby.” noah tells him. you work your mouth further down on him to distract yourself, wait your turn. noah gasps, it breaks off into a moan and he sounds so pretty — you find yourself basking in the sound of nick’s sweet laugh.

“i miss you both so much.” nicky responds, and you feel a little pitiful. you wish he was here. you miss him more. “what are you two doing?”

“our darling is a little occupied.” noah says as he runs his fingers through your hair, pushing it away from your face. you flit your eyes open to meet his, and there’s something mischievous in his eyes. you do your best work, gagging on him and feeling your eyes brim with tears. “do you want to talk to her?”

“please.” comes nicky’s reply without pause, and you feel as your cheeks heat. noah hands the phone down to you, but he shakes his head, a hand on the back of your head when you try to lift your head up. it becomes clear what he needs from you, as you work harder, sloppier, noisier for the both of them. “oh, sweet girl. our noah is putting you to work, huh?”

normally you’d nod, and he’d tell you to use his words, but you have a task and he’s not here. all you can do is whine, and nick’s groan is so unmistakable, and you really wish he was here with you. you wish he was here to help move your head on noah and hold your hair back how you know he likes to.

noah takes the phone back, clicks it off speaker and puts it up to his ear. it’s torment, but it only serves to make you work harder, make both of your boys happy and proud.

“yeah, nicky, her mouth is so good. you miss it, don’t you?” you wish you could hear the other end of the conversation — you wish you could hear nicky. the way he speaks to noah, so gently and so teasing, the way noah tenses and relaxes. you need to know what he’s saying, what causes noah to tighten his hands in your hair and buck his hips into your mouth. “i wish you were here. we wish you were here.”

almost none of the attention is on you other than noah’s hand in your hair, lost in flirty conversation with nick. envy courses through you and you find yourself needing noah to finish. the sooner he does, the sooner you can get the phone back and nick back in your ear. you pull almost all the way off, sliding your tongue through noah’s slit and basking in it when he yanks on your hair again and releases a painful, broken groan. there’s barely a tug on your hair as a warning when noah spills down your throat.

it’s with pleasure when you crawl back up his body, kissing him deeply before snatching the phone from his hand and putting it up to your own ear.

“come back soon, nicky.” you say. his breathing is heavy in your ear — it seems you interrupted something. you’re pleased to help him finish, too. “you miss my mouth too, don’t you, honey?”

[treeofnonsense]

So I'm going to preface this by saying: I am cis as all hell. I'm not any form of trans or nonbinary, I have never been any form of trans or nonbinary, and thus I tend to stay pretty quiet on that front over here. Ain't my place to tell people who know better what to do, and I'm not trying to do that here. However, after having made a lot of friends under the trans umbrella, after being lucky enough to have some of those friends share with me some of their struggles, their joys, their lives, and after noticing a couple of patterns in their journeys... I think there is one message I would like to share that may help some of you to hear, if you'll give me a minute of your time, and I think it may have to come specifically from a cis person.

The message is this: If your cisgender friends are good friends, you being your true self is not a burden to them.

For the people in the back: If your cisgender friends are good friends. You being your true self with gender. Is not a burden to them.

I didn't know my friend in high school was trans until he transitioned socially and I heard his new name. He didn't tell me first because I was raised fundamentalist Christian and probably did not look like a safe person to tell; when I pulled him aside in class so no one else could hear us, told him he could tell me to buzz off if he was uncomfortable, and politely asked for confirmation on pronouns, I remember the surprise and joy on his face. It took me about five minutes of chanting his new name and pronouns in the shower to get it to stick in my brain. That tiny amount of effort was nothing compared to seeing him pull himself out of the depressive funk dysphoria had put him in, of celebrating senior year when he legally changed his name, of drawing him a snowflake dragon for Christmas and hiding the trans flag colors in the shimmer of the ice so it would get past our conservative school's radar. We became closer friends after he came out because I knew him better and he knew he could trust me. He got me my first ace ring. I was not only supporting him, but learning from him, and sharing in his joy.

The genderfluid roommate in college took me a little longer to adapt to, I'll be honest, I was still learning, but hey - it turns out it's not really that hard to check the pronoun pins on a lanyard before you address someone. It's pennies when that person comes along to teach you the wonders of thrift shopping and takes you to meet a drag queen for the first time. I've met so many people online whose identities I do not always intuitively understand, but who I support anyway, and who have made me consider so many new things. It's not a burden to know about my friends' journey when it comes to gender, it's a privilege to know them more deeply and be trusted in that way. It's a new dimension to this person I already love, that's all.

Look, I am not saying that all your cis friends are going to be perfect, that we're not going to fuck up occasionally because we don't know better or we had a bad day, that we understand everything - we're not, we will, and we don't. I am not saying that everyone is a safe person to talk to either - god knows that's not true, unfortunately. But. If your worry about expressing yourself is of being a nuisance, of burdening someone with your problems or needs, of being too much or too out-there or too confusing, consider this: Your friends may not only be willing to learn and help you, they may be happy to. In a true friendship, both people benefit from one person's joy. If you're happy because you're able to be your honest self, they'll be happy too. Suddenly that weird shyness and sadness they saw from you but didn't know the cause of has gone away. Heck, maybe they'll learn from you and start following in your genderfunky footsteps. Or maybe you'll just have a cis friend who texts you celebration emojis when you have a good gender day, or is there when you wake up from surgery, or goes shopping for new outfits with you, or even brings over ice cream when you're having a hard time. And then you both get ice cream. Come on. This is what friends do.

Be safe, of course. Trust your judgment when it comes to sharing information. But if you're simply scared, try to balance out the fear of what you may lose with the thought of what you may also stand to gain. Don't let the anxiety beast turn your identity into a problem. It's not a burden, it's a part of you, and the people who love you will love to meet it.

[f1amboyant]

There's definitely been a shift after the summer break, especially on Charles' part 👀 what happened Charles, did you like have some sort of sudden realisation?

Anon, you are so right! Charles has been throwing longing stares and heart eyes at Carlos like crazy since summer break, it's crazy. It's making me go insane.

Like. What is that?? This is not how you look at a teammate! Charles, get a grip (please don't, I am living for this!)

Something happened during summer break. My theory is that they did meet during the summer break (was it planned or not, I don't know, but something happened in the south of France 👀), they fucked (for the first time) and Charles is now obsessed with that man. And it shows.

Here's a little something for you...

.

They meet in the south of France.

Except for a few texts and one or two silly memes, they haven't been in contact much during the summer break. A like on an Instagram post here and there, keeping up with the other through social media. Kinda. Realizing they are not far from each other and yet they haven't planned to spend a single day together.

They spend enough days together working. This is summer break. This is for fun.

Still. They do meet. Somewhere in the south of France. In a private yet crowded club. Neither wanted to go, dragged by their friends. And yet here they are. Catching eyes from across the room.

Carlos wiggles his eyebrows. Charles giggles.

They go back to their friends.

They meet again later at the bar.

"I didn't know you would be here."

"They dragged me here, it wasn't planned."

They shout over the loud music and the alcohol slowly settling in their veins.

They go back to their friends again. They meet up again later. Much much later. In the bathroom. By accident.

Charles sways (drunk) and collides with Carlos' chest. Carlos laughs (too high, too loud, too drunk).

"Missed me this much, Lord Percival?"

"Maybe," Charles mumbles in Carlos' collar.

Carlos' shirt hangs open almost all the way down. There's only one or two buttons still attached.

"At this point, you should just take it off," Charles slurs.

(Or at least, that's what he is trying to say.) His alcohol-addled brain cannot really form sentences anymore. So he mumbles a few words then proceeds to rip the last two buttons on Carlos' shirt and opens it wide over the expanse of his muscled chest.

"Charles," Carlos groans. In warning. In lust.

But Charles barely listens, hypnotized by the glistening skin of Carlos' stomach, reaching a hand to trace the lines on Carlos' abs. He draws a shiver out of his teammate, a strangled moan, and a visible bulge in his pants.

Charles' mind buzzes with alcohol and the heady feeling of getting this kind of reaction from Carlos. It's exhilarating. He wants more.

He puts his hand on Carlos' crotch. Carlos pushes him back, slamming him back against the bathroom door.

"Charles," he whispers. Another warning.

He sounds wrecked, shaking with desire, rendered helpless from a single touch from Charles. Charles feels all too powerful. He needs more.

"Don't play with me," Carlos says.

"You want this?"

A nod. A step forward. One of them (Charles doesn't remember who) has the presence of mind to lock the door. The click is loud even with the music blasting from the club.

They are alone and Charles' hands are all over Carlos' body, eliciting all sorts of reactions from him and reveling in them all. The power he has over him is heady.

Carlos kisses him, messy and hungry.

Charles' hand slides into Carlos' pants, his fingers wrapping around a hard and leaking cock. Carlos gasps.

It's so so exhilarating.

He gets closer, his pelvis grinding against Carlos' hip as he strokes faster and faster. He drinks in all the little gasps and moans that escape Carlos' mouth. He bites on that plump bottom lip as Carlos exhales and comes right into Charles' palm.

"Charles..." he shudders.

Charles comes in his pants.

.

Charles wakes up the next morning, in his bed, with a headache pounding like crazy inside his skull. The nausea is strong but the dawning feeling as he remembers the previous night is stronger.

He kissed Carlos.

He gave him a handjob.

He came in his pants while doing it.

But most of all...

He wants more.

[here2bbtstrash]

For your drabble reqs - I’ve been sitting on this for a hot hot hot second because imagining jimin’s crotch grinding on my ass and what could follow is turning me feral -

on your first date with shy Park Jimin, you both drink more than anticipated to take the edge off and end up getting a little too touchy feely on the dance floor.

☺️

MALLORYYYYYYY thank u for this lovely lovely req 🙆‍♀️ this was the perfect thing to shake the rust off!!! i hope you enjoy this one 💌

~taking jihope drabble requests all month!!~

pairing: jimin x reader wordcount: 1k exactly mmmm satisfying contains: alcohol use, first date, reader and jimin are a lil sloshed, horny thots are thunk, grinding on the dancefloor, jimin calls himself a slut lmao, jimin playing with her panties through her dress and getting hard, sooooo it's kinda semi-public i guess, mentions of begging and sub!jimin, going home on the first date..... think that's it!

~*~

Your drinks catch up to you on the dancefloor, all at once.

You’ve thrown them back like water tonight, faster than you normally would on a first date. But the man who’s sat across from you all night is intimidatingly gorgeous, not to mention sweet and soft-spoken and full of endearing little habits, like the way he pouted down into his own glass as he lifted it for a sip only to realize he’d already finished it.

Then he’d glanced up again as the empty glass tapped back down onto the table between you, his eyes just barely narrowing in a way that somehow managed to change his entire expression– made your stomach do a little backflip, too.

His voice was spun silk when he asked the question, dripped in something not quite innocent.

“Do you want to dance?”

What you hadn’t accounted for when you’d nodded your agreement and tried to will the flush of heat out of your face was the fact that dancing would mean getting even closer to Jimin. Dancing means his hands cupping the curve of your hips, warm through the thin fabric of your dress. You also hadn’t accounted for the way your liquor-soaked brain would take that spark and run a marathon with it, imagining those hands tangling in your hair, circling the buds of your breasts, slipping up your skirt.

There’s a steady pulse thudding in your core, in time to your heart and the bass of the speakers, and you swear the beat skips every time the flashing lights catch on an edge of Jimin: the full lines of his lips, the hoops sparkling diamond-bright at the corners of his jaw, the flicker of his lashes over the soft color bloom in his cheeks.

It’s too much. The space between your thighs aches, begging to be filled, and so you let your body lead. The room spins a little; you turn with it, Jimin’s hands fluttering at your waist.

You don’t know who initiates it– if you pressed back, if he pulled you in, or if the draw is all magnetism– but the space between your bodies narrows and then disappears. Your hips slot together, easy.

Something tells you the alcohol’s not to blame for the headrush buzz that hits you at the warmth of Jimin’s body under yours. The colors of the club smear together on the backs of your eyelids, and your lips part for a breath in when you feel his hips roll into yours like he knows what he’s doing.

And then his soft voice paints heat up the slope of your neck, and your eyes blink open again. “Can I tell you something?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter on your next exhale. The motion of his hips is steady now, a deliberate grind against the swell of your ass, a riptide threatening to drag you under. You make no attempts at resisting.

“I’m kind of a lightweight,” he admits, and you can hear that it’s true, his words sliding into each other. You can’t help your giggle, partially because you weren’t expecting his confession, and partially because, well– you’re feeling it too.

“That’s okay.” You do your best to reassure, speaking up to carry over the pulse of the music. “Me too, I think.”

“Can I tell you something else?”

Jimin’s voice sinks low into his chest when he asks the question, and the rumble of it vibrates through you like the thrum of a plucked string, underscored by his hips still rocking into yours. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip before you answer.

“Uh-huh.”

His nose grazes the line of your jaw, and you can hear the shy smile in his words when he speaks again.

“I’m also kind of a slut.”

Your breath hitches in your chest and you wonder if Jimin feels it. It’s so dark, your bodies pressed flush– it’s hard to keep up with where you end, where he begins, his tight black t-shirt and jeans blurring at the edges of your little black dress.

“That’s more than okay,” you finally manage, and you feel him dig just a little deeper into where he has you, gripping tighter at the line of your waist, as if making a promise of what’s to come.

“Yeah?” Jimin purrs.

You let your body answer him, let your hands slip over his to guide them lower, a slow tease. It’s easier to ask without words, your head dropped back against his shoulder, his fingertips seeking out the v-line of your panties through your dress, tracing the lace edge.

There’s no question that the crotch of his jeans has filled out now; you can feel him straining against denim, an insistent bulge at the curve of your ass. When you roll your hips in a circle, it earns a soft moan in your ear, one you could easily return at the wet drag of your thong when Jimin tugs at the fabric, rubbing a taste of friction just right over your clit. It lights your body up, a live fucking wire, and you need more than what you can get away with on this dancefloor.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” you murmur up to the ceiling.

Jimin’s mouth is hot when he presses a tongue-first kiss to the hinge of your jaw, then takes your earlobe between his teeth before answering. “Your body is driving me crazy. Wanna… fucking beg for it.”

“Shit,” you can’t help groaning, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel him stiffen all over when you tug a little, swear his dick even jumps in his pants. “I’d love to see you down on your knees, Jimin.”

“I’ll be so good for you,” he outright whines, and you tighten your grip, arching your back to better rut yourself against him.

There’s only one question left to ask, it seems, and you can’t wait a second longer.

“Your place or mine?”

[dimepdf]

★  𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. crowded in a full club with a crowd of familiar faces, the last person you wanted to ever see again was your ex. Luckily, Eren swoops to safety, wanting to keep your mood high and wants to save the night by taking a more direct approach.

✧. ┊    notes. this took way too long to write, good lord I was struggling to choose if I wanted to write a jungkook fanfic or this,, the brain rot is getting bad ya'll pray for me to unclench that seven days a week song from my hands | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

✧. ┊    length. 3.5k (27 min read) .

✧. ┊    genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | friends to lovers | smut | sub!eren | confident girl/nerdy guy pairing | fem reader | night club | jealousy | handjob | protected sex | teasing | begging | groping | fondling | cowgirl | cuddling | aftercare | pov changes(?) | I'm bad at summarizing just read | title inspo from this song .

THE MUSIC THUMPED through the planked floors of the room to the vibrate of the bottom of your chunky heels. Dim, low, orange lights outlined the many figures that were scattered around the condensed club that had a known wait line outside that was close to wrapping around the building and down the rest of the block.

Luckily, your name was printed in bold black at the top of the exclusive people list, one of the many perks of being friends with your friend Connie, who somehow managed to be the owner of the most infamous bar in the city.

Dragging your friend group out for the stress free weekend, wanting nothing more but to get drunk under someone else’s tab.

After the pretty rough recent breakup you had with your sistutionship that Mikasa and Sasha were just so tired of hearing you mope about through the many group chat messages and facetime calls they had to endure with you yapping about another guy from Tinder ghosting you. 

The offer of filling your poor little heartbroken spirit with many many free shots was enough to get your ass off your couch and squeezed into an old cute red mini dress that hugged your curves just a little too much that if you stared for just a bit too long you would see the slight outline of the cute lace matching set under.

Especially where it stopped at the mid peak of your thighs, the material plumping out around the tight hem giving you a very attractive and alluring sight for anyone that so happened to trail their eyes down your adorned figure.

In short, you were prepared to take it all off at the end of the night, and by God’s will, you hoped to end up in your birthday suit, tangled up with some handsome suitor willing to fuck away all the pent-up fustration that your blessed rose touch failed to reach under the blankets. 

Eren, to no one's surprise, hadn’t gotten the same idea, the timid soul drawing something close to his normal casual attire did not really know what was club appropriate, no matter how many times your friend group would drag him along on a night out just to drink the boy out of his shell.

Tonight, surprisingly, he was the only one in the friend group chat to give a hurried response to your nighting invitation, watching from your palm-resting chin as he babysat his second drink.

Letting out a covered chuckle at every grimace that would twist on his lips that you couldn't tell was because of the sip of alcohol or the fact that he was buzzing with anxiety, refusing to leave your sight.

The music in the dimly lit open room thumped through the floorboards, the air wafting with desperate cheap cologne and hard bar liquor. You had to admit that seeing him glued to his spot beside the bar was a bit funny.

Avoiding any lick of interaction with anyone as his sight would dip whenever anyone would push through near him, the way his shoulder stood up tense as his hand clutched his drink to the long line of girls that would stumble up to him as if he were their lighthouse beacon, their exchange awkward as Eren would often play the same "I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the music card." just to shoo them away nervously back to the dancefloor. 

You couldn't blame the ladies for at least giving it a try; you could admit that Eren did look good, especially under the club's light. The leanness of his sleeper build made the fill out of his dark brown button-up shirt alluring with the aid of the peek of his slightly muscled arms.

His shoulder-length shaggy dark brunette hair tugged lazily into a half ponytail, leaving wisps of hair from his face-framing bangs, made him look as if he had walked straight out of some male model ad, from the fashion to the accidental aloof attitude that he naturally radiated.

Relaxing some of the tensation from his shoulders, Eren’s lips parted with a slight sigh before nervously fiddling with the rolled up cuffs of his shirt, his eyes easing from his lap to sneak a quick glance at you, almost flinching out of his poor skin when he had met your rested glance.

His eyes widened a bit in surprise, his tongue poking from his parted mouth almost as if his thoughts had interrupted him from speaking before your eyes could track down the slight bob of his adams apple. "I don't—I don’t think I got to tell you yet, but you look really gorgeous tonight, I like your…hair." His tone held a bit of a tremble, the stutter in his voice was the realization that he had to speak a bit louder of the music even with you sitting on the stool right beside him. 

You were definitely a little caught off guard, Eren wasn't the type to suddenly dish out compliments, let alone notice the fine details about someone’s appearance to save his life. You could recall the times Connie would make it a game to see how long Eren would go until he would realize the change in his appearance.

"Hm, you don't think it's too much?" You asked, leaning in a bit into his personal space and keeping a level tone as you spoke into the direction of his ear, pretending like you had seen Eren react in a tense fluster, his fingers tensely gripping his cup with your sudden proximity. "I mean, with the color and all." Your lips curve into a slight charmed smile, finger caught twirled around a newly dyed dark auburn curl, watching the coil spring back into place with a tug.

Eren's gray eyes followed the swipe of your finger as you moved away from his personal space and rested your back against the bar stool. It looked as though Eren was being drawn in by your actions.

The interaction consists of him merely nodding his head and remarking, "Well, I like the color, I think it suits you." The conversation did not lead anywhere else as your attention had shifted once more towards the dancing  crowd, scanning the mingling group of people until your heart skipped a beat at the sight of a certain person in particular that stood a few feet away.

Your sudden switch to having a discomforting mood had not gone unnoticed, Eren’s head turned at the slightest frown of your brows, scanning over the open crowd with no avail to what had soured your mood so quickly. "Hey, what happened?" Your trance not budging at the sound of his question, your attention tugging onto whatever you were across the room glaring at. 

It was only when the brush of his palm caressed against your lower thigh that his fingers danced warmly against the exposed leg of your skin, despite the soothing cold sensation welcomed from the silver rings that had adorned his fingers fashionably, his touch being enough to stir you away had you finally looked at him.

"You okay?" A static-like shock trail ran through your nerves, not only from his hand placement but also from the way he had somehow zoned you into feeling like you two had been the only two people in the room just by the way he was looking at you.

The lighting was deemed dangerous, with your brain buzzing from how well it had sculpted Eren’s features, from his defined cheekbones to the alluring yet genuine and compassionate dark glint in his eyes. 

You had swallowed before remembering how to speak, praying that the way his eyes traced over the nervous habit you had of biting the skin at your lower lip was all just in your fucked-up horny mind.

That would be the only way you could have been thinking about Eren in such a risque way. "No, no, it's just my ex is here." Not even enough in you anymore to sigh, you couldn't turn your head before Eren could scoot you close in within his presence by the grasp he had on the underside of the stool you sat perched on. "Sorry, it just kind of caught me off guard, I guess."

Eren’s attention was completely devoted to you, his eyes carefully watching every twist and turn of your expressions, zoned in completely on your mood as it drained into something sour and insecure. You tried to keep up the front that you were trying to force out that you were having a good time—anything to help pry your ex’s eyes away from you as he seemed to be drifting closer and closer towards you as the night continued to painfully slowly unfold.

"Hey," you flinch as Eren laces his fingers between yours, this thumb rubbing comforting circles against your knuckles. "Sorry, what do you want to do? Wanna get out of here?" he asks, with his eyes searching to latch onto anything that would express how you felt. 

"Um, yeah, I think I've had enough for tonight," you admit, holding your breath at the way Eren’s hand slid from your thigh to your lower back as you rose from your seat. His dark eyes traced over your stiff movements carefully, eyes flickering nervously over the allure of your attractive curves, especially how dangerous they looked squeezed into your dress.

"I want to—" You watched him wince, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before looking back at you with a shy glance, almost as if he had to bite his tongue and start over to stop himself from saying something. "Did you want to come back to mine?"

★  .  .  .    !

Time had to be an illusion. Eren didn't care too much about religion, but he was convinced that maybe he was just dead and this was him experiencing his own personal depiction of heaven.

From the whirlwind of events that began with him boldly inviting you back to his apartment, to the length of the very flushing conversation the two of you had on the car ride back, to the two of you laying limbs tangled against his mattress, everything about the way the night had unfolded seemed like something straight from one of his wet dreams. 

Eren even let a few stray tears spill past his thick, wet lashes from how touch-deprived you reminded him he was as he trembled in response to your lewd touch. Each stroke of your soft palm against the shaft of his dick entices an embarrassing, needy whine from his throat as his hips fuck against your slow, teasing hold.

The lights from the flat-screen TV that was mounted at the front of his bed illuminated as the show played. While the unattended lights from the show, which had been long ignored, only helped define the gleaming beauty of your features and sparkling dress.

In spite of the wicked work that your left fist was carrying out, he thought that you looked undoubtedly angelic. Eren was also convinced that he was going through some kind of brain rot with his badly clouded thoughts from how the only thing that could slip past his lips was the desperate, choked whimpers of your name.

A light strawberry flush spread from the bite of his cheeks to the trail of his heaving chest. Eren was too tied into the bubbling effects of pleasure, causing his nerves to melt under the touch of your palm. His own fist gripped, white-knuckled, into the pillow resting under his head. As his other hand grasped less tightly, his fingers wrapped fully around the wrist of your hand, which continued to pump his cock at a steady pace.

Even with his jittering nerves, he could still feel the sparkling, sticky gloss of your trial of nibbling kisses stick to the soft skin of his neck. Your lips ghost close to the shell of his earlobe, sending a welcomed sensation up his arched spine. "You have to talk to me, Eren. Tell me what you feel, honey."

Overwhelmed with just so many new sensations, Eren felt like he was just close to sobbing from how good he felt from the pleasure. You couldn't help but wait for his answer with a very self-satisfied smirk as he gasped at the kiss you placed right under his ear.

"It feel–" he swallowed back the words he struggled to choke on, "it feels really good, please." He hadn't even known what he was begging for, from just your touch. He had melted into a mumbling, brainless, shuddering puddle of nothing with each kiss and sleek stroke. 

"Hm, Does it now?" You were practically torturing the poor man, knowing exactly what you were doing when you talked to him in that sultry, flirty tone of yours. Rising from his side to sit perched with your knees pressed into the blanket of his soft duvet. Eren stared up at you as if he were entranced by your every move, his adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as your thick lips curled into an even more flattering, sweet smile. 

His cock ached over the loss of your touch, as if it weren't enough that you left him breathless, you had to muster the nerve to undress in front of him.

Sliding the straps of your dress over your shoulders and reaching behind you to unzip yourself loose, his eyes refused to leave yours as you yanked yourself out of the fabric with a kick, revealing the drooling sight of the hidden dark maroon matching set that had been tucked away underneath. Simply saying, "Come here." was enough to get him to crawl over to you.

Reaching out with an unsteady hand, his eyes glued to your chest, he sighs at just how perfectly your tits sit before placing his hands against them and gently fondling you, despite the pained look screwed on his face that you couldn't help but to bite back a chuckle at.

You had to admit that you found him very attractive—the sight of his pale, slender fingers dancing against your warm brown skin. Even with a layer of lace in the way, the feeling between your thighs still grew more agnited with the brush of his silver rings fumbling clumsily over your budding dark nipples.

Letting an encouraging moan part from your lips, Eren hadn't even gotten enough time to breathe in his new-found sense of appraisal, as the movement of your own hands unbuttoning the rest of his shirt left him feeling under your control once more. 

Opening his shirt with a bit of an inpatient tug, you apologized, "Sorry, you just have too many clothes on." It was a soft moment that both of you got to chuckle over as you helped him shoulder out of his button shirt as well as the muscle tee he wore under it with a shared giggle to ease back the tenseness.

"You should lay back," you said, running your fingers down his naked chest. Eren has just the right amount of muscle, his skin torso bundling with a lean peak of a six pack, almost as if he had accidentally gotten a ripped figure without even really trying. His greenish flag was just how damn attractive he managed to be, yet how unbelievably unaware he was of his own insufferable good looks.

“Wait." Eren sighs, his fingers instead threading themselves in between your wandering hand, just inches away from brushing against his very clear erection.

"Just give me—give me a second, please?" struggle to find the correct words, cursing the hard task of speaking, especially as all you did was watch the form of his lips with every word. Eren was surprised that he could even steady his breathing enough with how obviously you sat back and watched him catch his breath with that pretty smirk on your mouth that he wanted so badly to kiss, but he knew it would only rile him up more. 

After his small recoup of mercy, you helped him out of the rest of his jailing clothes. Only peppering around his face with quick kisses, knowing how sensitive Eren truly was, even as he squirmed around the feeling of your hand's gentle touch, putting his length into a condom, with his head tilted back and his eyes screwed shut.

You were truly surprised to see firsthand how touched and starved the man was. As you positioned his length near your entrance and slowly sheathed down on his cock, his hands were uncertain as to whether they wanted to hug around your hips or fondle with your tits.

The sensation takes a minute of stillness and shifting for not just Eren to get used to, not surprised on your part by your months of dry spell suddenly being broken with a bigger than average-length bulge while resting itself inside of you.

Every squirming inch of him inside is rudely rubbing against your warm walls as Eren's hands dig into the plush skin of your waist as if it were any more possible to hug the curve of your ass down against him. Feeling the tense muscles of his raised thighs against the brush of your behind, you both just needed a moment of relative stillness to allow your bodies to become more politely accustomed to the new sensation.

"Tell me when it gets too much." You let out a sigh as you gazed in awe at the man below you, Eren's hips shifting up at the hush warning in response. As you lifted yourself up with your hands resting to steady yourself against his torso. Leaning in closer towards him to get a better look at his glossy eyes, they mirrored the expression of awe that was on your face, and they continued to do so even as you sank back down onto his length.

Your pace would grow more excited, fueled by the punched-out groans of pleasure that would tumble from Eren's throat at the sensation of your pussy engulfing his cock completely. He hadn't bothered to cover his mouth, and with each shift of your hips, a string of whines would follow as he would praise your name as if he were mumbling a prayer.

The bedstrings of his mattress, accompanying the grunt of his lewd moans. Repeatedly, your hips would slam against his, aiding in the tense curl of his toes and the dizzy feeling he would get from throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he was starting to see stars.

His hands held a death grip against your shifting waist, holding onto you as you tortured him at the unforgiving, grinding pace at which you bounced on his lap. "I— I can't, please, oh fuck—uh god." Eren would plead with you as if your entire world were in your hands. "I can't—I need to, please." Riddled with so much emotional desperation, and yet the last thing you wanted to do was hand him an orgasm so easily, the aroused part of you clenched at the sound of his begging.

"Just let it go, Ren." You sigh into his ear, gasping at the way his hips bucked into you in response. He was definitely working to do so, the slight switch of your control not flattering his pure sexual need as he squirmed all he could to chase after the slow grind of your hips. 

His body begged him to keep going, the need to want to drag it out as long as he could to stretch the knot as far as it would be possible let him not want the moment to end laying under your touch. Fueled by the sheer absolute pleasure that washed over him the moment he felt your lips part tongue poke out to suck under the sensitive spot under his ear, a melted expression stretched on his bitten sore lips as his hips buck under you.

You hadn't bothered to give him any more mercy than what you had already graced upon him. Every twitch and tremble felt beneath the warmth of your skin as you returned to your hips and began to meet Eren’s thrust, his moans sounding almost close to poetic. With overly drawn-out vowels and pitched whines, it brought you both to sheer intimate ecstasy.

It took a few sighs and some soothing touches to replace the hard press of his nails digging into the hips of your flesh. Even sharing a small kiss was maybe crossing a few boundaries, but both of you were too fucked out to care for the moment. After a few tosses and turns, Eren dragged the blankets to cover the both of you, kissing your bare shoulder blade as you crawled to lay down tucked under his arm.

"Do you…do you want to stay over?" It was hard for Eren to search for the right words to say, especially with his inability to even breathe correctly. He copied the way your chest rose and fell, knowing you could hear every thump and bump of his heart beating from his chest.

"I’d like that," you lean up to say, showing off that pretty smile that had him so entangled in the first place.

"If that's okay with you?" Eren didn’t mind one bit, snuggling the girl right in front of him closer to his chest with contentment.

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[selfindulgentpixies]

MDNI Trans!Satoru Gojo x GN!reader

CW: Trans Gojo (his clit is referred to as a cock), Afab!Reader, GN!Reader, reader gets called pretty and gorgeous but only neutral pronouns are used. You eat Gojo out and he fucks you with a strap. Trans Gojo haunts me oh so sexily and has been buzzing about my brain for a while. It's been a long time since i wrote proper smut so please be kind. (Also sorry to those who have been waiting for this I get super self conscious writing smut so it takes me a while. Also all rude comments or hate for trans!Gojo will be met with a very swift block and possibly a report. I do not have time for transphobes)

___

Mine mine mine

You could stay here between his legs and be happy to never leave as he ruts against your face, plush wet fold sliding over your lips and your tongue dipping into his hole as his fat cock grinds against your nose. Yeah no you could probably die happy like this surrounded in his scent and taste. You might actually if he doesn’t loosen the grip on the back of your head, pushing you tighter and deeper against his cunt. 

“Fuuuck just like that. Haaa You’re so good for me.” His deep moans and thready breaths go straight to your own core. You know he’ll fuck you once you’re done. He never leaves you wanting, always returns the pleasure you’d given him in kind.

In the interest of your continued existence however you lightly pinch the inside of his thigh making him jerk and loosen his grip on the back of your head so you can pull back for a breath. “Haaa sorry sorry,” He says as his hand goes from gripping your hair to petting over it. His hips stutter upward when your warm breath fans over his cock and cunt. He looks down at you and you’re a mess. Eyes glazed over and his slick coating the lower half of your face making it glisten. “Fuck you’re gorgeous like this. Leaves no doubt that you’re mine.” His lips curl up in a lazy grin bringing out his dimples and rosy cheeks. He’s not much better than you, hair clinging to his face from sweat, chest stained pink while it rises and falls. His hand moves from your hair, slides over your cheek and then cups your chin where he swipes his thumb over your glistening lips before dipping into your eager mouth. You suck on the rough digit drawing a groan from deep in his chest. 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth with a small pop, a thin trail of spit connects you to the digit for a moment almost like it’s an extension of your reluctance to release it. He can’t help but chuckle at the pout you give him before he’s pulling you up along his body, one of his thighs slotting between yours, your arousal slicking across his strong thigh as you go, your own leg is pressed tight against his puffy folds. He licks a stripe over your messy chin and into your mouth, taking pleasure in the mixed taste of the two of you, taking satisfaction in the way you moan into his mouth as you try rut against his thigh, taking, taking, taking because he can never get enough of you and would pull you into his own being if he could. Strong hands still your hips as he begins to grind up against you, controlling the pace as your cunts slick against each other's thighs. You moan against his mouth, actually trying to kiss him being abandoned in favor of panting and whining into each other. It’s all so messy, absolutely wanton as your hands slide up his chest and wet sounds fill the room. 

“Can I get you to cum like this? Just grinding on my thigh?” You feel his smirk as he skims his lips down your throat to nip at the delicate skin there. He didn’t actually have room to tease considering the mess he was making against your own thigh but he was scattering your thoughts too much for you to point that out. You’d already been drunk on him long before he’d pulled you up from between his thighs.

“Satoru, please,” You whine, gripping tightly at his shoulders. 

“Please what?” And he pulls his face back from where he’d been marking up your neck to give you a smug grin and has the nerve to stop grinding the two of you together because of course he had to be a tease and a menace even in bed. 

The whine you let out this time could be called petulant as the man currently controlling your pleasure stills you with strong hands as you try to chase your own pleasure. The high you’d been chasing stuttering and being suspended before you by the unfairly pretty man you were giving yourself to. He could swear he feels your cunt pulse against him and how you're trying to move your hips to get something, anything from him. It’s all in vain though with his strong hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your plush body. You likely have perfect little bruises later as a reminder.

“You’re gonna have to use your words, pretty.” He nips at your kiss swollen lips. 

“You’re terrible.” Your words only make him smile harder and god is it a pretty smile even when it’s at your expense. “Want more of you.” You pout and as you begin to glance away he rocks his thigh against you, a reward that draws a hissed breath between your teeth out of surprise. Perhaps he wasn’t as dead set at playing games with you as thought he might be as he begins to slowly grind the two of you together again. 

“Want more of me how?” He asks against your lips. “You really getting shy on me now even after you’d been moaning into my cunt just a minute ago?” His voice is low and the nature of his words makes your stomach flutter and your thighs clench around his. 

You try to bury your face in his neck but he grips you at the nape and gently pulls you back enough to look at him, the oceans in his eyes partially obscured by his blown wide pupils. You swallow thickly. “Want you to fuck me.” 

“There you go.” And suddenly he’s flipping you over, your back being pressed down into the plush bed. He kisses you before pulling back and rising to his knees. The air of the room chills against your exposed cunt and the wet patch Satoru had left on your thigh. You watch him as he shuffles to the side table where he’d left his already prepared strap and it’s harness, the base of which is specifically textured and shaped to also give pleasure to the wearer. You watch transfixed as he puts it on, admiring how the straps of the harness frame his ass. He smirks over his shoulder at you, well aware of how you hadn’t taken your eyes off him. 

Moving back over to you he pushes your legs apart to make space for himself. He places one of his hands on your lower tummy, splaying his fingers out before gently squeezing the soft flesh there. He chuckles to himself. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Oh just thinking about how ruined you’re going to be once i’m right here.” He gives you another squeeze and delights in how you squeak and your cheeks heat up. 

“Satoruuu, stop,” You whine and then your eyes widen when he starts to pull back entirely despite damn well knowing what you meant. “No no no I meant stop teasing not stop stop.” You begin to sit up and reach for him. 

He smiles at you cheekily and grabs your hands as they reach for him, linking your fingers together. “But you’re so fun to tease.” He leans in until your noses are just barely touching. From this close he can’t see you pout but he can see how your brows knit together. He rubs your noses together before kissing the space between your eyebrows, then kisses the apple of your cheek and then finally your lips. “You know I’ll always take care of you after though. Would never dream of leaving my pretty hanging. Now-” he releases your hands so he can slide them down your body, taking in every dip and soft curve. The feeling of his slightly rough hands making a shiver go through you. “-where was I?” he pauses at where he’d been originally groping at your stomach before moving lower, his touch turning feather light and teasing as his fingers move over where you want him most. You buck your hips involuntarily at the light contact. 

Gojo tuts at you and holds your hips down with one hand while he teasingly explores your folds, almost agonizing in his gentleness as he slides his long fingers through them. He catches your clit between his middle and index finger before leaning down to suck on it, his fingers moving away from it to begin to dip into your wet heat. When you try to buck toward him the hand on your hip holds you firm. He hums against your clit as he pushes his fingers into your wet heat, drawing a moan from your kiss swollen lips.

The contact is gone all too quickly as he pulls everything back, his mouth, his fingers. Your pathetic whine is unneeded as he’s immediately positioning his silicone cock at your entrance. He dips the head in, watching your face intently as he pushes it in inch by inch. 

His name catches somewhere between a whine and a sigh as it falls from your lips. “Satoru…” You reach for him and he catches your hands in his own, lacing his larger fingers with yours once again and pressing them down into the mattress on either side of your head as he covers your body with your own, bottoming out. Pressing his lips against yours he swallows a moan from you before beginning a slow grind into you, his own cunt and cock rubbing against the silicone base of the strap on.  He pants into your mouth and when he pulls back slightly to gaze at you a string of spit connects the two of you. 

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. Pretty and mine.” His thrusts pick up. “Always gonna be mine yeah?” 

“Always yours,” you reply dazed and already looking fucked out. You wrap your legs around his hips, trying to keep him deep inside of you. 

He squeezes your hands, now spurred on, working his hips to get your both to your high. The sounds filling the bedroom are obscene, the wet sounds of his cock filling your cunt over and over, the sounds of skin on skin and not least of all your moans. You’ll probably get a sound complaint later for the headboard banging against the wall if nothing else. “ ‘toru I’m-” You cry out. And he swallows your cry of pleasure, his lips covering your own. He can feel your orgasm splash against him, soaking the sheets beneath you as he ruts harder into you, drawing it out while chasing his own. You feel his hips stutter and press hard into you, slowing into a steady grind as he slows before pulling out and flopping next to you. 

He pulls you against his chest, and the both of you lay there panting as you come down. One of his hands runs up and down your spine while you kiss at the underside of his jaw. After several calm moments you speak up and he swears can hear the pout it your voice. “You didn’t let me finish eating you out.” He laughs sudden and loud.  The two of you were nowhere near done for the night.

@strawberrystepmom @princess-okkotsu @icy-spicy @nanamikentoseyebags

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Do It Again

I heard we're simping for Tup now, so I'm joining @blueink-bluesoul and @deejadabbles to quench the Tup girlies' thirst. Thanks, @corrieguards for breaking all of our brains with this post!

And THANK YOU to @blueink-bluesoul for generously sharing this outstanding 79's playlist. It was fantastic to write to, and now I'm sad that I can't go to 79's and pick up a trooper of my own.

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Tup x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT; oral sex; hair-pulling; glove kink (because why not); untouched orgasm; light femdom vibes; DJ writing vanilla characters challenge (impossible)

Masterlist

79’s is packed. There isn’t a single available booth, table, or barstool in the club, and the dancefloor throngs with gyrating bodies: a mix of civilians and troopers in street clothes, dress uniforms, and armor painted every imaginable color. The energy is electric, and the buzz of it prickles across your skin. The music is deafening, the heavy throb of the bass vibrating in your chest as you wait for one of the bartenders to take your order. They are run off their feet tonight, and you feel a pang of sympathy for them. Hopefully, they’ll rake in enough tips to make the extra work worthwhile.

While you wait, you scope out the club, tallying up the possibilities. You fidget with your rings and sway to the music. The strobing neon light is dim and disorienting, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the haze of smoke. So many troopers tonight, goddamn. 

Your gaze roves across the dancefloor, and a shiny tries to catch your eye. Too eager, no thanks. A loud chorus of cheers erupts from one of the corner booths, drawing your attention. Hello, soldier!

The group slams back a round of shots and taps their empty glasses on the table twice. Four clones and a nat-born woman are crowded into the booth and looking very cozy. You zero in on one of the clones. He’s gorgeous, obviously; they all are. But he stands out with his long, curly hair that he wears loose around his shoulders. The group bursts into a peal of raucous laughter, and the woman in the booth loops her arms around the long-haired trooper’s head and squeezes him into a tight hug while one of the clones across the booth snaps a holo of them. Damn, looks like he’s already taken.

Just then, one of the bartenders taps your shoulder to get your attention, and you turn back toward the bar to place your order. 

“Pabu colada!” you shout over the roar of the music.

The bartender nods and holds up a hand, mouthing “Five minutes.”

---

Across the club, Jesse, Kix, Fives, Tup, and Cerra throw back their second round of shots—or is it the third? They’re starting to blur together. Kix has his holocam out and is trying to get the perfect angle for a group selfie. Cerra leans her head against Fives’s shoulder with a small smile that makes Tup just the tiniest bit jealous. Not that he’s interested in Cerra. That would be kriffing weird. But seeing the way she and Fives have this whole unspoken communication thing makes Tup wish he had that kind of connection with someone.

He looks away, and just then, he catches sight of you leaning against the bar, eyeing the dancefloor like a queen surveying her domain. Holy shit, she’s gorgeous, he thinks. He looks away quickly, not wanting you to catch him staring.

“Tup, when are you going to get a haircut?” Jesse asks.

Tup snorts. “You’re no-one to talk, brother. You think that cog tat is regulation?”

“Face tattoos are almost as much of a GAR tradition as standing duty hungover,” Kix laughs.

“I feel kind of left out,” Cerra adds. “I’m the only person at this table without one.”

“Nobody’s going to mistake you for a clone,” Fives chuckles.

“Damn, what gave it away?” Cerra asks.

Tup sneaks another glance across the club at you. Kriff, she’s looking right at me! He whips his head back to the table quickly. Cerra notices and gives him a devious smirk that means she’s planning something, and it’s either going to be incredibly awesome or slightly mortifying.

“See, when Tup moves his head like that, his hair goes all over,” Jesse says. He’s getting loud, and Tup can tell that the Dodbri whiskey is starting to work. “One of these nights, I’m going to sneak into your bunk and shave it off.”

Fives flips Jesse the bird, and Cerra wraps her arms protectively around Tup’s head.

“Never!” she exclaims. “I’ll protect you, Tup!”

The table explodes into a mix of laughter, threats, and banter, and Kix snaps a quick holo, smiling as he reviews it.

“Hey, this one is pretty good,” he says. “Want me to send it to you?”

“Fuck yeah, bro!” Cerra says. “I don’t plan on remembering tonight, so it’ll be good to have proof that it actually happened.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jesse says. “Except we’re out.”

“Next round’s on me, boys,” Cerra says. “Tup, scoot.”

Tup stands up, and Cerra shimmies out of the booth, then makes her way across the club.

---

It has definitely been more than five minutes, and your feet are starting to get sore. Maybe these shoes weren’t the best idea. But then again, when you picked them out, you didn’t know that half of the damned GAR was on shore leave and there wouldn’t be a free seat within a three-block radius of the club. You are just starting to wonder if you should call it a night when a woman’s voice speaks close to your ear. 

“That’s a great dress!”

“Thanks,” you say automatically as you turn to see the woman from the corner booth. 

Up close, she’s pretty in a slightly intimidating, maybe-could-break-you-in-half-and-make-you-beg-her-to-do-it-again kind of way. She has kind eyes, though, and her smile is just this side of cocky. You feel a spark of interest as she squeezes in next to you and flags down the bartender.

“Hey, Cerra,” the Twi’lek bartender shouts. “Another of the same?”

“Spotchka this time,” the woman—Cerra—shouts back.

“Six again?”

“Just five this time,” Cerra says. She turns to you. “Unless you want to join us? We have an empty seat in our booth. No pressure, obviously.”

Maybe you could salvage this night after all. The bartender is waiting, so you make a decision in a hurry. After all, there are three other gorgeous troopers in that booth, and if you play your cards strategically, you might end up in the middle of a sandwich made of Cerra and her long-haired trooper. 

“Sure!” you say.

“Make that a flagon of spotchka and six glasses,” Cerra calls to the bartender. “Thanks, La’sara!”

The Twi’lek nods and slides the bottle and glasses across the bar. Huh. I guess it pays to be a regular, you think.

Cerra grabs the drinks and leads you around the perimeter of the dancefloor, deftly avoiding the overly enthusiastic flailings of a few troopers who probably should have been cut off a couple drinks ago.

When you reach the booth, the four clones look up, and the long-haired one’s eyes widen with surprise when he sees you standing next to Cerra. She sets the drinks on the table, pushing aside the empty shot glasses to make room. A single glass is still full, so somebody must have skipped a round.

“Kix, Jesse, Fives, Tup,” Cerra says, gesturing to each of the clones in turn. “And this is my new best friend, uhhh—”

She looks at you expectantly, and you introduce yourself to a chorus of hellos from the clones. Tup stands, and Cerra slides into the booth, cozying up to the clone with a 5 tattoo on his forehead. Tup turns to you.

“Would you be more comfortable next to Cerra, or on the outside of the booth?” he asks.

Thoughtful and gorgeous. Boy can get it. You opt to sit between Cerra and Tup. It’s a tight squeeze with six of you in the U-shaped booth, but you don’t mind. Tup’s leg presses up against yours as he settles in next to you, warm and solid, and you lean a little closer to him as Cerra pours the spotchka into the chilled glasses and slides them around the table.

“What are we drinking to?” you ask.

“To brothers,” Cerra says.

“To brothers!” the clones chorus, and a few tables nearby cheer along with them.

“And sisters,” Tup adds, nodding at Cerra. “And new friends.”

Okay, so maybe he’s available after all. His eyes meet yours as you all clink your glasses together and drink. He has the nicest eyes, you decide. Soft and fringed with thick black eyelashes and golden brown and a little shy. Up close, you notice a small teardrop tattoo on his cheek, and you brush your fingers over it.

“What’s this for?” you ask.

He leans in to say something, but before he can speak, the clone with the giant Republic cog tattoo cuts in.

“He’s shedding a tear for all the broken hearts he’s left across the galaxy,” he says with a loud laugh.

“Jesse, don’t be a dick,” Cerra says, and from the way Jesse flinches, you can tell that she kicked him under the table.

“Yeah, Jesse, don’t be a dick,” Kix says. “We all know it’s really to show that he’s still wet behind the ears. Practically a tubie, this one.”

Tup just shakes his head with a smile, and you can tell that he’s used to being the target of his brothers’ jokes. The club is getting louder—or maybe it’s just your table—and you all have to shout to be heard. The level of booze in your glass drops steadily, and at some point, the bartender arrives with another bottle of spotchka and the cocktail you ordered ages ago. The hazy neon light takes on a pleasant glow as you finish your second drink, and you don’t notice the noise so much. 

Tup has captured one of your hands in a gentle grip and is circling his thumb lightly over the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. His gloves are rough, but his touch is soft. Each caress sends flickers of pleasure scintillating up your arm, and you can’t help wondering what else he’d be good at with those clever fingers.

The clones banter and tease each other ruthlessly, and your cheeks hurt from laughing at their antics. You howl with laughter at one of Fives’s jokes, when suddenly everyone at the booth snaps to attention in their seats. Confused, you look around to see what’s going on. A clone in full armor stands next to the table, arms crossed, and a stern expression on his face. 

“Out. Now.” His voice is hard, and his eyes are cold.

“Sir, yes, sir!” your companions say in unison.

They slide out of the booth and hurry to the club’s exit. Tup catches you by the hand and pulls you along with him. The group bursts through the doors and stumbles out onto the platform outside.

“Booooo, Commander Buzzkill,” Cerra says.

“Kriff, don’t say that so loud,” Jesse says, alarmed.

“I’m just saying, none of the other marshal commanders are as karking uptight as Bacara,” Cerra replies.

“Maybe we were getting a little loud,” Tup says.

“Et tu, Tup’ika?” Cerra asks in a wounded tone.

“We’re going to keep the party going,” Kix says. “You in?”

“Nah, not me,” Cerra replies. “I’ve got to be on the Ro-ti-Mundi early tomorrow morning. We’re shipping out at 0800.”

“Damn,” Jesse says. “Try not to die out there.”

A shadow flits across Fives’s face, and he moves a little closer to Cerra. Kix punches Jesse in the shoulder, but Cerra just laughs.

“Copy that,” she says. “Kix, keep my boys alive.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kix promises. “Say hi to Odd Ball for us.”

“I will,” Cerra replies, clasping his forearm with one hand and pounding him on the back with her other fist. She repeats the action with Jesse, then pulls Tup into a tight hug and whispers something in his ear.

The war is very far away from Coruscant, and for you, like for most people in the Core Worlds, the only real part of it you see most of the time is the clone troopers in their anonymous, dehumanizing armor. As you watch the group say goodbye to their friend, each of them knowing full well that it might be the last time they do so, the war suddenly feels very close and very, very personal. Cerra seems unaffected, though, as she turns to you.

“It was nice meeting you,” she tells you with a brilliant smile. “Take good care of my brother.”

And then, she and Fives are gone, leaving you with just Tup, Kix, and Jesse.

“Let’s go find another bar,” Kix says.

“Actually, I could eat,” you say. “Do you mind if we stop by a diner first?”

“No food! Alcohol!” Jesse exclaims with a lilt in his voice that says he definitely doesn’t need more alcohol.

“You boys have fun,” Tup says, taking your hand again. “We’re going to get a bite.”

The two of you begin walking. It’s late, but there are several diners nearby that are open all night. You bypass the first one, which prominently displays a window sign that says, “NO CLONES.” The night air feels cool and pleasant after the heat and stuffiness of the club, and it’s nice to finally be able to talk to Tup without having to shout.

“So Fives and Cerra are going back to the front tomorrow?” you ask, as a conversation starter.

“Just Cerra,” Tup says. “Fives is an ARC trooper, so he goes wherever he’s needed, but right now, he’s with the 501st.”

“Is that your unit?” you ask.

He nods. “We’re on leave for the next five days, unless something big happens and we get called up.”

“That must be hard,” you say. “Always having that uncertainty hanging over you.”

He shrugs. “We’re soldiers. It’s what we were made for. We don’t know anything different.”

That doesn’t make it right, you think, but you leave it unspoken, not wanting to veer into a philosophical debate when you could be doing something far more fun. A thought suddenly occurs to you.

“That shot that you all left on the table, what was that for?”

“That was for Hardcase,” he says. “We always drink to him on the first round.”

“He must be a good friend.”

“Yeah,” Tup says softly. “He was.”

Oh, kriff. The realization hits you with blinding clarity.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Not your fault,” Tup replies easily. “How about this place? Their sign says clones are welcome.”

“Hey, Tup?” you ask softly. “Want to get out of here?”

---

Tup crashes against you as the two of you stumble through the door of your flat. You fumble for the control panel and blindly mash the buttons until the door finally closes. Tup’s strong hands slide possessively across your body, holding you close to him as he kisses you with a passion and skill that you weren’t expecting from someone with his quiet demeanor. 

His lips are soft, his breath is hot. He kisses you with tongue and teeth and an exquisite roughness that leaves you breathless and weak. He breaks away from your mouth and works his way across your jaw and down your neck, and when he reaches the pulse point where your throat meets your collarbone, you cry out and arch against him.

“Oh, fuck, Tup,” you gasp.

You feel him smile against your skin, and then he doubles down, kissing and licking and biting and sucking until your legs tremble. It feels like he is eating you alive, and you lose yourself in the sensation. His arms clamp around you, his hands splay wide against your shoulders, and it’s a damned good thing, because you don’t think you could stand on your own right now.

He presses you against the wall and slips down the straps of your dress to get better access to your shoulders, and he works his mouth across your soft skin. As he kisses his way lower, he tugs your dress down, and your breasts spill out into the cool air. He cups your breast and squeezes it gently, then breaks away from you with a frustrated growl.

“What?” you ask in a breathy voice that verges on a whine.

Tup doesn’t reply, just bites down on the middle finger of his glove and yanks it off his hand, and it’s the sexiest kriffing thing you’ve ever seen. He opens his mouth and drops the glove to the floor, and then that mouth is on you, and his bare hand is stroking and exploring and touching, and he lets out a groan of pleasure so intense that it almost sounds pained as his lips close over your nipple. 

You hold his head against your chest, tangling your fingers in his long, soft curls. You hear a telltale zip, and your dress loosens and slides to the floor. Tup drops to his knees in front of you, and the abrupt motion tugs your hand down—one of your rings has caught in his hair and yanked it, hard.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” you exclaim. “Let me get that out.”

“No, wait,” he says, and his voice is a deep rumble. His eyes are dark and hungry as he gazes up at you. “I liked it.”

You swallow, your breath coming quickly and your pulse racing in your throat. You wrap your fingers carefully around a large fistfull of his hair and give it an experimental tug. Instantly, he tips his head backward, his eyes drift closed, his mouth drops open, and bliss floods his features. 

“Oh, shit,” you whisper. “You did like it, didn’t you?”

He opens his eyes and stares wordlessly into yours. His gaze lowers slowly, so incredibly slowly, down your body, drinking in every centimeter of you, until it reaches the lacy, barely-there scrap of fabric that is your pitiful excuse for underwear. He licks his lips, and you see his throat contract as he swallows. Sliding his hands up your thighs, he hooks his fingers under the elastic and eases them down your thighs. They don’t make it past your knees before he dives forward to slide his tongue into your sweetness.

“Tup!” you gasp, clinging to his hair to support yourself and inadvertently pulling it much harder than you had before.

He grunts, a ragged and primal sound that vibrates against your clitoris and pulls an answering moan from your throat.

“Again,” he begs, nearly choking on the word.

So you give him what he wants, digging both of your hands into his hair, scraping your nails across his scalp, and pulling his hair hard enough to control the movement of his head. He kneels before you like a supplicant before his goddess, and when he opens his eyes to gaze up at you as he feasts on your cunt, you see a tear roll from the corner of his eye.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask. “Am I being too rough?”

He shakes his head as much as he is able within your grasp. “No, please keep going.”

His hands grasp your ass to angle you closer to his mouth, and you can feel that he still has one glove on. The fabric feels slightly abrasive as he brushes his thumb over your entrance, and holy shit, you don’t know why that’s so hot, but it is.

“Oh, fuck,” you say, drawing out the words in a desperate groan.

Tup notices the way you writhe against him, and he slides his gloved thumb into you, working you open carefully, slowly, and you feel the fabric begin to glide smoothly against your skin as it becomes saturated with your arousal. All of the muscles in your body begin to tense, and the world narrows around you, until all you see is Tup, and all you feel is his mouth and his hands and his soft, soft hair. He has large hands and thick fingers, and with the additional bulk of his glove, he stretches you gloriously, even as his tongue and lips swirl and suck, and the tension winds tighter, concentrating low in your abdomen— oh shit, fuck yes, right there—

“Don’t stop!” you command, and he sucks hard, and gods fucking yes Tup right there that’s it that’s it FUCK!

You lurch and grind against him, and your legs buckle as you shatter with a ragged scream. Beneath you, Tup lets out a broken, choked whimper as your hands clutch into his hair and pull his head against you, seizing your pleasure.

As your consciousness returns to your body and the haze of lust clears from your eyes, you carefully disentangle your fingers from his hair and brush it tenderly out of his face. He stares up at you with dazed eyes, and when he leans back, you see a dark stain on the front of his uniform trousers.

“Oh, Tup, my sweet boy,” you say as you kneel and pull him into your arms.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t normally—You’re just really—”

“Shh,” you soothe him. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

He drops his head onto your shoulder and nuzzles against your neck. You stroke your hands across his broad shoulders comfortingly.

“Do you want to stay over?” you offer. “My laundry droid can wash your uniform.”

“Really?” he asks. 

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Nobody has ever asked me to stay the night before,” he confesses, and your heart breaks, just a little.

“How long did you say you were going to be on leave?” you ask.

“Five days,” he replies.

“Got any plans?”

He shakes his head and turns to look at you with hope in his soft eyes.

“Good,” you say decisively. “Then we’ll have plenty of time to do that again.”

---

Masterlist

Notes:

Cerra is an OC who will be in my next longfic. I wanted to give her a happy memory to make her torment in the next fic all the more poignant, because angst is so much more delicious when you remember the fluff.

The Pabu Colada is a real drink, and you can find the recipe here!

[calciumdeficientt]

what do you think context was behind justin's dialogue "derby told me last night i was his best friend"

Ohhhhhhh I’ve been ruminating on this ever since i listened to all the quote videos (please dont ask me why i did that i really really dont know) i pride myself on being somewhat of a stickler for the most inane and pointless background stuff.

Today i plan to answer the question:

WHY THE HELL DID DERBY SAY THAT?!?!?!?!?!?!

The easy answer here would be to say that Derby was drunk, and simply feeling very loving(that sentence feels so insane to me for some reason).

Harrington house feels very much to me the hotspot for “gatherings” of the bullworth’s brightest, best and most sickeningly rich. The little guest list on the desk as you enter, as well as Bif on the door in the weed killer mission, and obviously the general worldview of the preps points towards a general pickiness to guests, likely not accepting anyone by on their own social circle. Another key background factor to consider is the little bar that derby cowers behind in Glass Jaw during his bossfight and also the bar in the beach house, leading me to believe that the events hosted at Harrington house are usually organised with the intention of drinking copious amounts of excessively strong and exceedingly expensive alcohol.

There’s bound to be a few contentious objectors to drinking, at least excessively, on school grounds and on school nights and i think the ever-pining proto-jock Justin probably doesn’t partake as much as Derby “I’m too rich to bother attending class” Harrington. All this to say, Justin was 110% more sober and therefore 110% more receptive to derby’s drunk babblings than any other partygoer, prep or otherwise.

In my mind, Derby Harrington, despite having everything he could ever conceivably want at the snap of his fingers, is one of the loneliest students at bullworth academy. He mentions being beaten by his father for fraternising with a nanny, and shows a general disdain for his betrothed, pinky, by not even bothering to show up for their dates. He cannot truly get close to anyone because of his position as an heir to a pretty substantial oil empire. Great care is needed to avoid being sliced right out of the will and being condemned to hush money by his father. Bif is great, but he’s not all that much emotionally, at least not in derby’s mind anyway. He’s far far beneath Derby, that’s made abundantly clear when Bif loses his boxing match to Jimmy; he’s sneered at with the kind of vitriole that can only come from someone who views himself as king of his own private universe. Justin is in the same boat just presumably with a lot less petty cash at his disposal. He’s a weird ass bitch who’s so incredibly desperate to expand his social circle into the Jocks’ because he feels somewhat inadequate in his own. To use his verbage, he’s a peon in the prep hierarchy. He’s weak and scrawny and of little use in the stature department, at least not when compared to Bif anyway.

This night, Derby is drunk out of his mind, as usual, and Justin is beside him, a little buzzed but not enough to put him off his studies for the next day. They are sat on opposite ends of a chaise longue in the drawing room. Well… Justin is sat, Derby is more slumped, folded over the armrest in a way that does not look comfortable in the slightest. He’s telling a story from a recent trip to Europe, about a girl he met in a city that his drunk brain just can’t seem to decide on the pronunciation of, gulping scotch out of a crystal glass like its going out of fashion. Justin is listening actively, trying to piece the story together amongst the many asides derby seems to be wandering off into. That’s when the bomb drops “know, i like to think you’re my best friend here Justin” “what?” “You heard me….. anyway this damn woman”

Safe to say it was the best night of Justin Vandervelde’s life.

[rhaegang]

i know it's an overdone trope but... persephone felix and hades oliver, what are your thoughts?

My thoughts are YES. There’s just a massive stack of different myths to play with where these saltboys can easily be involved, but this one is such a core myth, you know?? And it’s pretty obvious that a lot of the appeal of cattonquick is the duality and the contrasts — light and dark, big and small, extrovert and introvert etc. That’s obviously true of this myth, too.

I think it would be extremely interesting to see someone approach it from the reverse, also. Hades certainly has more power in their dynamic, and draws Persephone into an entire realm that’s foreign to her, that would come with its own customs etc. I can definitely see Saltburn as the underworld and Oliver as a fairly innocent but sharp-tongued Persephone whose darkness is only awakened by proximity to the beautiful, congenial, yet callously cruel and selfish Felix / Hades…???

I love how it could work either way for them, and that makes my brain buzz with how they are! The same! Somehow! I don’t know how Emerald, Barry & Jacob did it but they fully managed to convince me that Oliver and Felix are the same person split into two bodies with two wildly different upbringings. Not even twins separated at birth kind of thing, but one soul cleaved in two. They seem!!! So different!!! But I don’t believe it. I believe they are Enmeshed. They are made of the same stuff, somehow.

(though wouldn’t it be fun to do like, a historic fantasy where Queen Elspeth birthed two boys and they disposed of the smaller quieter babe to avoid any disputes over who would be the heir…but instead of killing the boy, a guard or the wet nurse sold it to a modest merchant whose wife had given him four lovely daughters but who was still in need of a son…and one day that merchant’s son happens to save the prince from a runaway carriage or something and is summoned to the castle keep…)

Anyway. Back to Hades & Persephone.

Oliver doesn’t mind his work. It’s consistent, it’s predictable, it’s necessary. He has plenty of time to himself, and he has all the knowledge of the ages available to him — any scholar who has ever lived has also died or will one day, and their great minds are available for his perusal.

But it is cold, and sometimes much too quiet, and he’s so very tired of being merely tolerated by the other gods. He works hard, much harder than many of them, and he deserves recognition and respect. He deserves more than their disdain and rejection.

He knows saying this would matter little. If he wants something, he’ll have to make it happen for himself. After all — he works hard. Why shouldn’t he benefit from his own efforts now and then?

Felix is naive and trusting, and much too loose-tongued when he’s drunk. He says more than he ought to, considering that Oliver is a stranger to him, but he’s sun warm and charming and no one would ever, ever think to hurt him — he’s a child of Demeter and Zeus!

So he says more than he ought to, including that he is so very, very bored by making things grow. He doesn’t want to do Demeter’s work all the damn time. He’s tired of being forever gilded by the sun, of being enrobed in the cloying scent of fresh flowers, of the adoration of every living thing.

“…and what if you were adored by a dead thing?”

It’s such a strange question, and Felix is so drunk, cheeks and mouth flushed with wine, that he laughs.

He laughs, but when Oliver beside him does not laugh, Felix turns to look at him properly.

And he sees, very briefly, the shadow of a great scythe. He sees, for a mere moment, those sharp blue eyes embedded in a death mask, suspended in dark and empty sockets of bleached bone.

What falls from Felix’s mouth is not a laugh, then, but a gasp.

Terror grips him, and it makes him tremble, and everyone knows he’s easily scared. Everyone knows that, so later, everyone believes that he must have been too scared to run. He must have been too frightened to fight back.

Everyone understands that it isn’t Felix’s fault that he disappears, that in his absence the growing things stop growing, that the warm sun turns its face away, that winter comes for the very first time. It’s much easier to blame Oliver, the strange one, the Other, for all that. It’s easier to believe that Oliver must have taken Felix away than it is to believe he simply left of his own accord.

It’s easier for everyone to believe that, but only because they’ve never been to where Oliver comes from. They’ve never felt the calm, the cold, the peace of the place. And they’ve never felt how it feels to have Oliver’s complete, rapturous attention, to be preferred over all others by He who knows every soul that’s ever lived. They’ve never felt how it feels to be held in the arms that will one day reap the entire world.

They have never kissed him and tasted their own oblivion.

They know nothing, and that’s why they believe they must bring Felix back to where they think he belongs.

But Felix eats, willingly, fed from Oliver’s hand, and he will wait. He will lie naked in the summer fields and let himself grow sun warm again, let the scent of flowers cling to his skin, let the vibrating, screaming chaos of all this busy life sink in and swell inside himself. He’ll soak up the love of the living, and then some day soon, he’ll spill all of it into Oliver, empty himself out like an upturned bottle of wine, a ready vessel waiting to be filled up again with something new.

Something quiet, and cold. Something that terrifies him. Something he chose.

[existingonanotherplane]

René draw their faces the same challenge (y’all, click to get better quality)

This sucked!

That was an understatement, Mike hated this with a passion. Here he is with his “best friend” arguing in the goddamn basement because of a painting Will decided he needed to lie about. It should be a simple thing to fix but things have been going horribly and Mike is finding it harder and harder to hold himself together. He shouldn’t take it out on anyone, he doesn’t want to but sometimes his mouth is faster than his brain. 

Will is saying something about feeling like he had to lie and that they should just drop it, its just a stupid painting. And if Mike had been listening better then maybe he wouldn’t be reacting as he does. Maybe he’d realize that him and Will had just been feeling a little lost . But all he hears is the fact that Will had just called his artwork stupid and condensed everything that came with it into something small and meaningless. Which hurts so bad in a way Mike can’t even comprehend. Salt in the wound that is the gaping hole from Will lying to him.

“Bullshit, Will! That’s not fair and you know it!” Because even if Will had had a good reason to  lie to him, that doesn’t mean it's right. They never lied to each other. Things kept changing but that wasn’t supposed to be one of them and UGH-

He HATES this!! He hates it. 

Will has been responding to him tenfold with whatever he decides to dish out like its been pent up inside of him this whole time. And to be fair, Will had apologized over and over by now. Probably too many times even and Mike thinks that maybe he should drop it. They could be doing other things. Better things. Like actually hanging out or to a lesser extent, figuring things out with the upside down. He should be celebrating having his friend back. But whenever he gets the thought, everything just hits him all over again at the fact that Will had even lied in the first place. It felt like his heart had been put through a shredder and then sewn back together all wrong. Forced to continue functioning even if it hurts.

Will scoffs pushing back, “Not fair? What’s not fair is being blamed for something I didn’t do!” 

And okay so maybe he has a point there, he hadn’t actually been the one to mess things up with El. Mike was just mad and uncomfortable and hurt. Too much was happening too fast and the world is ending on top of that and his best friend is lying to him. 

Will derails his train of thought, again. 

“I’m sorry for lying! For- for using El’s name,’ he says this part quietly, and Mike watches as the guilt overpowers his anger for a few seconds, “ but, Betrayal?? Really, Mike?” 

Alright, he can admit (to himself not to Will) that maybe, that word is a little dramatic but he lied. Will looked him in the eye and lied!! That’s a pretty big fucking deal. And that’s enough to get him back going again. 

“Lying was the betrayal, Will!!” He feels his voice shake and he wonders how words can make you feel so god damn tired. 

“Friends. Don’t. Lie. Do you even care about that anymore??” Part of him thinks that maybe Will does still care but it clearly not enough cause he still lied, right to his face, disguised it as his sister for some stupid reason, and lied. Maybe he was afraid. 

…

But Will’s not a coward, he’s not a coward. 

“What!- of course I care, Mike!” A flash of something runs across his friend’s(?) face and Mike feels his fingertips buzz.

“Maybe…” and Mike snaps back to reality as Will pauses, some of the fire leaving his eyes. 

“Maybe I didn’t think we were friends anymore-“ 

…

“W-what-” why would he think that, why would he think that. 

“You acted like I was some- some creep or- something that you met on the street.” The fire lights itself again in Will’s eyes as he gets frustrated again and he feels his fingers tingle again. He clenched his fist. 

The hell is this? 

“Sue me if I didn’t think my words held any weight to you anymore.” 

This is wrong, this is so so wrong. A silence blankets the room the only thing cracking through being the taps of rain hitting the house that he can just barely make out in the cover of the basement. Why would Will think that? There’s no way things have gotten that bad. 

… 

Sometimes it did feel that bad though, thinking back all that time he spent in this basement once the Byers left. How it had felt like a hole was in him and a weight was sitting heavy in his chest all at once. Those months had felt like some of the hardest times in his life, maybe second to when Will went missing. Only made worse by the inability to even reach Will because of the stupid phone always being busy. He probably should’ve sent more letters. 

Maybe it had sucked just as bad for Will too. He watches as Will bends over slightly, hiding, and shoulders shaking. Tears hit the carpet beneath them and Mike feels like his heart is shattering.

If he’s being really truly honest with himself, maybe he gets why Will lied. He hadn’t been the nicest honestly. But having to accept that they’d hurt each other in any kinda of way. When it didn’t used to be like this.Promising to go crazy together and everything.It was hard. It’s easier to deny it. 

…Will doesn’t deserve that though. 

“Will-“ his name slips through his thoughts but he can’t find himself mad at it. Will snaps himself back up, movements jerky. The tears still run down his face but he’s angry and Mike feels himself pull towards Will. The tingle taking over his whole body. 

His eyes lock with Wills’ and he pauses in his movements. They’re doing that thing again where it’s like they talk but no words come out and Mike can’t help himself feel some relief because at least that hadn’t changed. 

The tears still tumble down Will’s cheeks but his face slips into something more crestfallen than angry and Mike knows he looks the same as he watches Will’s eye flit around his face eventually tracing a tear that makes its way down Mike’s face. 

He’s really crying right now, Jesus. 

Will sniffles, and looks away after a moment but Mike isn’t done cause there’s just no way he’s going to sit here and let his best friend think they aren’t fucking friends anymore. What the hell- 

He pulls him into a tight hug, and feels like the stars have aligned or something incredibly cheesy but very real feeling has happened. Will is a little caught off guard but he leans heavy against Mike, arms snaking they’re way around and he feels the tingles grow tenfold as it happens.  

“I’m sorry.”

And Mike isn’t surprised when he hears them both say it at the same time. The spot where Will is squished into him warming as he speaks into it . Mikes feeling kinda shitty right now but something almost giddy like flutters in him at the feeling. He burrows himself deeper into Will, hunched over but warm. Nose pressed into the crook of Will’s neck and Mike doesn’t know what he was thinking depriving himself of this when he was in Cali. 

They stay there for a minute just soaking in finally being on the same page before he feels Will tug back gently. And Mike has to shove down a pout at the loss of contact. Will doesn’t step away though ;much to mikes happiness. So he supposes it’s okay and allows his hand to linger around the back of Will’s neck. 

Will holds his arms in his own remnant of their hug and he looks him in the eye. Something bubbles in his chest at the sight. 

“You’re my best friend, Will.” He says, a new type of light dancing in Will’s eyes. 

“And- and I love you, okay? Your words will always matter.” 

A whole flurry of emotions flitter across Will’s face before he settles on something fond.  Mike wipes a few of the tears off of him. 

‘I love you too’ his eyes say, at least that’s what Mike thinks.He could be wrong but Will is looking away and mumbling a soft “I love you too”, shy. And okay so what if Mike is smiling a little too hard now. Sue him! Being told I love you feels nice! 

Will looks back at him, face definitely more red, a sweet look in his eye and Mike heart sings a song he thinks only Will has ever made it sing. 

 “Thanks Mike” 

He thinks he should say ‘I love you’  every time he looks at Will if that means his best friend is gonna look like that every time. 

It’s what his Will deserves and maybe it also makes him feel a little nice too but, so what! He thinks he’s allowed that.  

A smile graces his own face,

“‘course” he says easily and Will is smiling a little brighter too. The tears finally subsiding. 

Mike throws an arm around Will’s shoulder, pulling him closer into him. 

“No more lying though, cool?” 

And he can practically hear the eye roll Will does but he doesn’t miss the fondness in his tone when he lets out a

 “heh- Very cool.” 

Thank goodness.

__________

Edit: i dont know why but i giuess the post is a little broken. I’ll be posting on AO3 so I’ll fix it but for now ill try to figure something out. Thanks for reading C:

There’s also just general chapter edits.

Anyways

_________

Next part >>>

[axailslink]

Backseat memories

Riri Williams x poc FEM reader

SongFic: Touch me by Kehlani

Summary: You and Riri have agreed to forget that night but you can't lie it's always on your mind it's always on hers too. So what happens when you're haunted by the thoughts of that night as the same song you had on then plays now.

Snippet from the fic: “

A/n: Alright I hc that Riri has tattoos especially the one that Dom has behind her ear.

Awkward and uncomfortable are the best two words to describe your current situation as you sit in the back seat of your best friend's car with what you said was a light buzz next to an also lightly buzzed Riri Williams. "Yo Y/n" you glance over at Riri "yeah..?" She smiles as she leans back "remember last Friday?" You groan out of embarrassment "I was intoxicated just like I am now" "a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts and if I recall that night you said "do whatever you want to me."

The memories play like a vcr tape you can rewind but due to fuzziness of your brain right now the thoughts are all over the place you can't remember who was on who was she licking you or the other way around? You're just remembering snippets. "I don't remember" you slouch into the seat as Riri smiles "I do. I remember we were both intoxicated like we are now and you just kept telling me how horny you were-" the embarrassment shoots through your face but Riri keeps talking "-you know you ramble when you're drunk you say whatever is on your mind with no shame. You said so much that night like "Riri right there" "oh God Ri don't stop" and my personal favorite "Are your windows tented?" Trying to keep a stoic facial expression doesn't last for long because the smile you crack at those last words brings a smile to Riri's face too "I was worried someone would see us... I remember... Some not a lot but I remember that I was covering my chest and looking around all panicked but you just kissed me and..." The memories come rushing back and with them comes that all too familiar feeling of wetness in-between your thighs one you wish would go away but it's hard not to get a little aroused at the thoughts. It's not something you can ignore with the ease because now that she's reminded you every time you blink you see her sprawled out before you every time you take a deep breath you think about how your breath hitched when her pretty manicured fingers were curled deep inside you and right now you're thinking about how tempting her stare is.

"And?" You stare at Ri who's sitting rather comfortably leaning against the door her legs in a nice man spread and her head against the window while those pretty brown eyes stay on you. Your attention is taken off of her momentarily when the sound of a familiar song plays from the radio you laugh while you realize Riri's confused to say the least because her brows draw together "that song...Touch me it played when I made you climax." Riri's the one who takes a moment to herself now reliving the moment too "oh you talking about when let me see" Riri hums to herself before scoring over to you "if I recall one of your hands was right here-" Riri grabs your left hand and gently places it at her throat and the other you off instincts slide to her clothed crotch "was it right here?" Riri just stares at you begging with those damned eyes of hers without having to say anything or make any gestures she's begging you to kiss her and you do. You lead with a gentle peck on her lips but she sits up on her elbows leaning up to deepen the kiss and you hum as she does so her tongue slipping inside of your mouth and fighting with yours. Without really noticing as if it's muscle memory your hand tightens around her throat cutting off that air wave just a bit not a lot but just a bit to make her dizzy to make her head spin make her surroundings seem more profound and that's what it does. Riri's so warm she's sitting up moving weakly as if you're sucking the life out of her with this kiss she rids herself of her shirt and loosens her pants. This is the moment your mind is dragged but to the reality that you're in the back of your friends car because you two are too drunk to drive home but obviously not drunk enough to be freaky horny fucks. Maybe you shouldn't do this. Here at least. You can almost scoff at those thoughts seeing Riri waiting on you to kiss her again those wanting eyes of hers give you all the confirmation you need as you kiss across her collar bone and loosen your grip on her neck so she doesn't pass out.

Your lips connect with hers again and she's a smiling mess but it's wiped gone as quick as it's found itself to her face when your hand centered at her crotch strategically takes a nice dip into her oversized jeans. As if to tease her you play with the edge of her underwear before allowing your hand to dip farther and cup her clothed pussy but like an alarm the music comes to an end and the conversations of friends beside the car has you running back to your side of the car and Riri doing the same. When the doors begin to open you scoot over to a poorly dressed Riri as everyone gets in pushing you into her you take a chance to smile at her before turning your attention to the conversations coming from both of your shared friends. "Leave it to Ri and Y/n to not be able to drive home."

A/n: obviously not edited like much because I have work and did this on the way there but I guess it was finally time to post this.