#Where do i find cheap dress code clothing??

[mookymilksims]

ULTIMATE Realistic Functional Shops Mods in The Sims 3 | Guide and Tutorial

Hey, everyone! Back again with another in depth tutorial. From my poll, a Functional shops guide was second popular to Family Gameplay.

This guide isn't going to be as long, hopefully! And we don't really have many mods, at least nowhere near as many for the other guides I've done. This guide is pretty simple, and I'll show you in the video how to get everything set up. I picked the systems that are the easiest to set up, it's a combination of other simmer's processes, with my own tweaks for added convenience. I mainly focus on Aesthetic and Functionality, as nothing should take away from your immersion in game. So I feel like I've done my best to come up with these easier systems. I've been playing like this for years so I'm super excited to show you all how to make literally any shop functional in the sims 3!

So what I'm going to offer are many ideas to maintain the consistency and look of your lot without losing functionality of that lot.

We are going to try and keep this guide simple and to the point. This guide will include:

Store objects and how to install them.

Modded Objects - For functional stores and Fashion stores.

How to set up Functional grocery stores.

How to set up functional stores in general, minus Fashion stores.

How to Set up functional Fashion stores.

Fashion Lots you'll want to make.

How to combine the Fashion stores with Consort Dress Code mod.

Miscellanous functional mod objects and cc sets you can buy for your stores.

Store Objects and How to install them:

The first thing we are going to need are the actual store objects. I recommend getting all of them from here.

I also use these few ones from Blam's EA Store.

Chocolate fountain

Pet shop

Then you want to get these store fixes here.

I'm going to show you how to install them it is super easy.

All the store objects should go into your mods folder.

I recommend merging everything and backing up the individual files on another drive.

All store mods should also go in your mods folder.

This is your Overrides folder if you're not using CCmagic.

If you are using CCmagic then this is your Packages folder.

Now copy the CCmerged file from your mods folder and paste that file in your Documents > Electronic Arts > The Sims 3 > DCBackup folder.

Never remove it.

This is where the data for the store objects are stored, without them your game will throw you a lot of errors when attempting to use those store objects.

That's it!

Now we can move on to the fun mods that change your game in powerful ways.

Modded Objects for Functional Stores and Fashion Stores

Ani's Savvier Seller - This is what you will use for 95% of functional stores in your game.

Ani's ITF Stands - This is what you will use for the remaining 5% of functional stores, to be able to shop for new outfits.

Ani's Shop for clothes (MUST Have either this mod or ITF stands, cannot have both) - This is an alternative option for those who do not have ITF. You cannot have both in your game.

Ani's Ration Box - For our functional Grocery stores. This mod adds a scripted object where when placed in your inventory and opened, 10 random ingredients will be placed in your inventory and the donation box will disappear. This mod is also working with custom ingredients as well. So you will always get a random assortment of items. The items are cheap in game so you can buy multiple in one shopping trip and get a random assortment of 100+ ingredients in your inventory.

Kwimi's Ration Box Overrides - Download this is you want to use EVERYTHING in the ATS3 Grocery set.

My edit to Kwimi's overrides - Download this is you want my edit of Kwimi's overrides. I hid all of the single objects from the ATS3 set, as it wouldn't make sense to put them in my builds. You can ONLY have either my edit or Kwimi's overrides, pick one or the other.

My collection file for functional shops mods - Download this if you want to be able to find all of the modded objects we will be discussing in this guide, including the bulk objects from ATS3 grocery store.

ATS3 Grocery store set - If you download the full set, then get Kwimi's overrides. If you only download the bulk objects (x3, x4, etc) then get my edit of Kwimi's overrides. https://aroundthesims3.com/objects/room_downtown_24.shtml https://aroundthesims3.com/objects/room_downtown_25.shtml

ATS3 Savvier Seller Sets - You can download whatever you want from these sets.

Consort Dress Code Mod - For more dynamic attire in town. https://modthesims.info/d/477049/dresscode-by-consort.html

Transmogrifier - Allows you to copy the script (function) of an object and paste it onto another object.

How to Set-Up Functional Grocery Stores

First, I have to show you how to set up Savvier seller in general. It works the same as Savvy Seller store content, so this won't be a huge learning curve for you guys!

Place down a savvier seller surface on a community lot. This should be a lot sims will want to visit so you can call this a hangout lot.

Then a counter with a savvier seller register.

Now place an object on the SS surface.

Now leave Build/Buy mode, and stay in Paused mode.

Now you ctrl-shift click the SS register, name it w/e you'd like.

Now ctrl-shift click the SS surface and link it to the register that you just named.

Then enable restock from inventory and restock from buy mode.

This allows all objects you place on the surface to be restocked from the build/buy mode catalogue. This still works when you hide the objects from the catalogue as well.

You can now set the open and close times, mark up or down prices, employee, owner, etc.

You do not have to set an owner. You can make a random townie the owner, or yourself if you want to own your own functional store. The money will go into your sims inventory after every purchase. We will get more into that later.

NOTE: That NRAAS register won't assign a sim to these registers, which means you have to manually pick one. This can cause issues if you don't want a townie to use it. So I recommend creating a household of 8 savvier seller YA sims, you don't need 8 stores in your game, but this makes it really easy to find those sims when manning the stations, without sacrificing townies you actually want to interact with and see around town. Just make their last names Savvy, for convenience.

The savvier seller mod alone makes basically everything in your game buyable.

Flower shops, Weed shops, Arcades with functional prizes, Museum gift shops, Art stores, Furniture stores, Candy Stores, a new kind of bakery (that sells custom food cupcakes, etc instead)!

When I say everything I mean everything!

So now that you've got your new functional shop systems installed, and you know how to generally set it up, I'm going to show you how to make a functional Grocery store.

I used to go into the RH buy everything from the store, and individually set them up one by one on shelves, make the inventory items restoackable from the inventory then start shopping.

This was such a long process, and also broke my immersion because I did not want to see a peice of shrimp on a random shelf in a grocery aisle!

So with Kwimi's genius idea, she created overrides for ATS3 grocery store items. To be used along side Ani's Ration box mod.

This mod gives you a random selection of 10 ingredients in game, whenever you open it, you'll get a random assortment. This mod is compatible with custom ingredients as well!

So now, I can set up these items on grocery shelves, which looks more realistic for my build, and actually add ingredients to my sims inventory, whenever I choose to open the boxes.

In the video I also show you that I transmogrify the savvier seller ATS3 shelves into the Flirtyghoul shelves converted by Martasimbook, and it worked.

However, as Kwimi noted herself, us simmers still like to shop for specific items instead of randomly hoping for the right ingredient without entering the RH.

I'm going to try to alleviate this issue.

Start with creating a Deli section, for just the meats.

A seafood section, for just the fish.

Then use the Store fruit and veggie stand object for the produce section.

Now you can place all the meats you can buy from the Grocery RH on the SS surfaces in the meat section. Do the same for the seafood section.

You don't need to do any set up for the produce stands. The object will randomly refill it's own inventory every day with new produce options!

Now, whatever else you miss you can just buy the remainder from the RH itself.

Personally, I like shopping for things at random, I don't necassarily want that to be user directed, unless there is a special event, like Thanksgiving, so I have to buy a roast.

I like to imagine that everything isn't going to be available to me with the donations boxes and produce stand because it's sold out or not in season, etc.

I also like to imagine that my sim is shopping for what THEY want specifically, just like the townies are, without it being user directed.

NOTE: Combined with my ULTIMATE Realistic Food overhaul, there are still hundreds if not thousands of recipes I can put together in game with the ingredients that are randomly bought.

However, I can still specifically shop for certain meats and seafood which is what I'll more than likely want for most of the custom recipes I put together in game.

Although, with the meshes it's implied the ingredient was in the food, so you don't actually need them.

So this makes grocery stores so much more fun and less stressful to set up in game. It's a way less tedious process.

The result leaves the lot itself looking very realistic, so I don't have to sacrifice Aesthetic for functionality.

Which is what I really care about.

The best part is you can make pantries actually functional in your sim's home. By placing what you bought on the shelves, as the ingredients won't go bad until AFTER you open the box and the food is placed in your inventory.

You can also add custom snacks and foods to a storage unit in the pantry as well and take out whatever your sim wants to eat in between meals for that day. Try finding a close pantry object, and transmogrifying it into a storage chest from WA. You should now be able to click on the pantry to place or remove custom food you've bought out and about!

How to set up Functional Stores in General

All links will be at the end of the Guide with the Misc Script objects & cc sets section!

Now I will tell you how to go about other kinds of Functional shops in game.

For flower shops, I want to recommend the flower arranging mod. You can set up savvier seller with the bouqets you make, as well as cc plants. So if you want to own a flower shop, you actually have something pretty interactive to do during the day while your customers shop.

For furniture stores, you mainly want to focus on the Savvier Seller rugs and shelves. Shelves for misc decor, and rugs for furniture like couches, beds, kitchen sets, etc.

However, it's important to note that when you have a lot of cc, this option isn't exactly reasonable, so I typically like to set up

bed and mattress stores

vase and decor stores

children furniture stores

Appliance stores

This is much more manageable if you're like me and have a lot of cc. It makes shopping a lot more fluid for being able to actually put those products in my home from the buy mode family inventory (which is where all objects that can't go into your inventory will go).

Everything else that I get from the catalogue or collection folder's can be tossed in as something I ordered online.

Pro tip: Consider using StudioPap's moving boxes in the room until you actually put the room together. I always use them when moving in or out, and changing a room around like a sim aging up and needing a more mature room. You could also use savvier seller to immersively sell what you're not going to use anymore in a yard sale. Alternatively, moving all items you want to sell to your family invetory then using NRAAS Consigner selling them at a consignment register! The yard sale can be set up in a big park instead of your home lot for convenience. I love seeing the boxes and re-decorating that part of the room. It adds a very dynamic roleplay feature to my gameplay!

For Electronics stores, with Arsils custom phones and backpacks, you can actually replace the cellphone you are using by following the guide in game. Use the ATS3 purse set alongside the mod for more functional cell phones to buy!

So when buying cellphones at something like an Apple store this can actually be functional. You can also set up more computers, laptops, TV's, and the store object ipad as well.

For specific niche stores, consider the Sewing and knitting mod, with the patch version for both to work in game. You can set up a really pretty etsy shop, and just like with the flower shop, you can actually work at the store location and have an active career. Showing some love to our small business simmers out there!

For functional book stores, instead of the rh, just buy the books from the RH and place them on savvier seller surfaces. To get the best look I use this table for it, and a pile of books using OMSP, to make it look like your sim is randomly selecting a book from the pile.

For weed shops, you can now use the buds that come with MD Vile ventures mod, and set them up on savvier seller surfaces to sell them like that instead.

For beach shops you can use Arsil's sunglasses, and Ani's ITF stands for custom bikini's. TS spray tan and sunscreen mod.

For food stores, like bakeries and coffeeshops, you can use custom food from various places and ATS3 custom drinks, specifically the coffee's and energy drinks. Just set them up on savvier seller shelves and enjoy.

You can even make much more specific shops as well, like smoothie shops, sandwhich shops.

Liqour stores using Dina Dine and ATS3 liqour sets.

Tea shops, with ATS3 and Ani's tea sets. Don't forget the store tea set, and modded tea set without the table!

Toy stores, using various cc toys, and fidget spinner. Olomaya crayons, puzzles and coloring books.

For Makeup stores, consider Arsil's Lipstick mod, (you can also put this in a fashion store).You can also use PJ's Deodarant mod in these stores. And cc functional perfumes (must have glass blowing store object, but if you've been following this guide then you already have it).

For car dealerships, add the savvier seller car spot object and set up as many cars as you'd like to buy from. I like making at least 2 car shops. 1 is an expensive car dealership. Another is a junkyard where you can buy the cheaper cars.

For Bike Shops, this can be actual bikes and/or mopeds and motorcycles. Just place them on a savvier seller rug and recolor it to your liking.

Pro-tip: You can also make a semi-functional car mechanic shop by Transmogrifying the fixer upper car into the current car you own either on the car mechanic lot or on your home lot. Then binding a custom car mechanic career to the EA science career so they will actually interact with the car on that lot.

Some more items you can add to Grocery stores, PJ Bubble Bath, PJ card stand, PJ pet bowl, Olomaya's smoking mod for the cigarrette's and vape.

For Pet stores, you can add PJ pet bowl items, and various pet toys and furniture that came in pets.

I don't typically place the Graham's pet shop register on these lots, I'll use a pet pantry for those, with deco animals in their crates to simulate where you'd actually be getting the animals from.

For Art supply stores, Consider PJ painting supplies, Lyralei journal, Zoeoe's scribbling pad fixed, cc art easels, UNI sketchbook, street art kits, crayons from Olomaya and Arsil. And the drafting tables that came with Ambitions.

For Music Stores, Consider the ATS3 music store set, and selling actual instruments.

For the Movie theater, Consider selling custom snacks. Adding the store popcorn machine. Selling action figure dolls to buy after viewing the movie. And a claw machine, to win prizes for your date!

For Sex Shops, consider adding passion condoms, and sex toys that come with the mod. I also include deco vibrators and dildo's, fleshlights, etc, as something you can buy from savvier seller, they aren't functional but they imply things. The passion mod altogether makes this implied action functional, so it works out fine.

For convenience stores, to make them more functional you can add the petrol system mod gas stations, and refill your gas at these stores, you can also sell Arsils bag of chips and these variations, and arsil's gum. With various custom snacks and foods to eat.

You can make asian themed convenience stores as well.

For Sports Shops, this is completely seperate from the Gym lot. Consider TS Yoga mats, Olomaya's Get pumped items, The chin-up bar from showtime. Arsil's excercise bike. Treadmill. Strength training. The various basegame throwable items like the football, more items from this ATS3 set. And the punching bags with the same WA martial arts object script. Also, sell olomaya's healthy snacks on this lot as well, these items boost your workout routines.

And well, you get the gist! You can virtually make any store idea you have in game functional. You could even transmogrify cc surfaces from savvier seller surfaces in game instead for a much more cohesive look to your build. Keep in mind, this may not always work, but for the most part it does, just wanted to throw that disclaimer out there!

How to Set up Functional Fashion stores

But what about fashion stores? How do we make those functional?

Using Ani's ITF stands.

These add very intuitive ITF stands to your game where you and townies (when changing the xml settings) can shop from.

NOTE: You do need ITF for this to work, however, if you don't have ITF, Ani's shop for clothes mod will do just the trick. It's not as extensive as the ITF stands, but you'll still be able to shop for new outfits on community lots. I also believe the Shop for clothes mod is compatible with NRAAS Dresser, but the ITF stands mod is not.

This is because the ITF stands mod replaces the plan outfit interaction from the dressers in game which breaks some key components of NRAAS Dresser. With both mods installed I also wasn't able to save my new outfits, either. So learn from my mistakes.

The ITF stands mod increases the amount of outfits you can have per category, which was my favorite feature of the NRAAS Dresser mod, so when I read extensively what both mods changed I realized I didn't even need NRAAS Dresser anymore, anyway. So I personally like to give my active household 7 everyday outfits. I just change their outfit using the dresser in the morning before they leave the house.

You can open up Ani's ITF stands mod using S3PE, right click the xml file, open it up in notepad, and set autonomy to true, then save. So now townies will autonomously shop for new outfits in your game. This isn't as intrusive as you think. In my game, they will replace their outfits. I also notice that when they are shopping from a pedestal the same age and gender as them they will wear the custom outfit I set for that mannequin. So it's a fun way to auto style your town without having to individually change all the townies outfits yourself, sometimes I still will do this, but I catch the townies that haven't shopped for clothes by themselves yet, so it cuts down this work for me by a lot!

Performance tip: So I want to tell you guys a pro-tip that I figured out in my own playtest of the fashion stores. I tried to set up custom outfits for every age and gender in a store and my game consistently crashed everytime I tried to go back in game and continue the build.

This is because all of those cc outfits for all genders and ages overloaded the lot.

But I was able to make stores for the elderly, both genders, without crashing. A store for YA and Adult men. Same for YA and Adult Women. A store for Teens, sometimes I make two stores for both genders or split one store up with both genders. A store for kids, both genders.

This allowed me to add at least 8-10 ITF stands with custom cc outfits on each of these lots without crashing. This also led me to more optimized lots as since I'm only focusing on one specific theme and age group, the lot could be a lot smaller. One day I might do speedbuilds on this and upload it to the community.

Alternatively, if you want to add all the age groups and genders on one lot, consider only adding one of each, the best theme for this build would be a thrift store, which I've made several times in game myself without crashing.

Fashion Lots you'll want to make (I keep these around 20 x 20 lot size, they can fit basically anywhere in my worlds with very little issues): Just set these lots as visitors allowed. It'll push all kinds of sims to these lots randomly through out the day.

It's important to note that I won't create fashion stores for every age and every gender, for every outfit category. I mainly focus on the outfits and age groups that would bother me the most. I revamp all of my households before starting my gameplay, so I've given everyone in my world a default cc outfit to start with. The attire for ages I don't create lots for either wouldn't bother me at all if it were missing, or the age group is more manageable in the world population where I can change their attire right then and there on the spot. My CAS runs pretty fast considering how much CAS cc I have so I don't mind this process at all.

Everyday Wear: You can make 4 outfits each of the either the age groups or genders without crashing on the lot for everyday wear.

A store for the elderly, both genders. 4 men, 4 women.

A store for the men, YA-A. 4 YA, 4 A.

A store for the women, YA-A.

A store for teens. You can either make one for each gender, which makes 2 stores and 8 outfits. Or 1 store for teens in general, 4 female teen and 4 male teen outfits.

A store for kids, both genders or 2 stores for each gender.

Athletic Wear:

Sports shop. YA-A, both genders, 2 each. I'll put these on the same lots where I sell all the scripted objects.

The other ages don't bother me.

Sleepwear:

A store for the elderly and kids, both genders. 2 outfits for Elderly Female, 2 for male. 2 for female kids, 2 for male.

A loungerie store, Victoria's secret. For female YA-A.

A Nike or sneaker store. For male YA-A.

Other ages don't bother me.

Formal Wear:

A wedding store. For male and female YA-A, 2 each.

Other ages don't bother me.

Swimwear:

Beach shops. YA-A, both genders, 2 each.

Kid's Beach shops. Both genders, 2 each. I also include functional pool floats to this store for more fun.

Other ages don't bother me.

Outerwear: will typically only get it's own fashion store for vacation worlds. I love creating themed outfits to the mannequins for vacation worlds. I'll show you how I do this in the next section.

How to combine the Fashion stores with Consort Dress Code mod

Once you enable the autonomous interaction in the xml's of Ani's mod, townies will autonomously buy outfits from the mannequins. The townies will replace their ONE and only outfit in that category.

They will not create more outfits like you the player would. This is great news for optimization as too many outfits for each category on every sim in the world would create lag, and it wouldn't even be neccassary since townies can't autonomously change their outfit numbers for each category, anyway (NRAAS Dresser does this but it caused lag, that's how I know).

So, when they do shop for that outfit on the mannequin, it's only going to be one outfit and you will see them in that outfit for the rest of the savefile or until they shop from another mannequin with a different outfit.

This is where I use the seasonal lot marker to my advantage.

I place down the ITF stands for every season, I DO NOT place the stands down on the default setting, the objects will obviously conflict.

This means all I have to do is create seasonal outfits on the mannequins each new season, and within a couple of sim days you'll start to see random townies walking around with these outfits on.

This is why breaking the fashion stores down by gender and age really matters.

As, the townies will be wearing a bunch of different cc outfits you set up in the store instead of, for example, all elderly women wearing the same exact outfit.

Because I also use the Consort dress code mod, I need to leave some slots open to get the most out of my roleplay.

The dress code mod will automatically change the sims outfits to the outfit number for the category, but you will have to set that outfit up.

It's a pretty lightweight script, you shouldn't feel it in your performance, assuming you've optimized your game altogether.

Basic outfit numbers by Category:

Everyday Wear: 7 outfits (Mon-Sun), Townies get 1.

Athletic wear: 2 outfits (basic workout, ballerina/dancer), Townies get 2 (if they enter lot with dress code script).

Sleepwear: 2 outfits (Basic pajamas, towel set, sometimes a 3rd one for sexy loungerie), Townies get 2 (if dress code script is present).

Formal Wear: 2 outfits ( Fancy event, Party outfit), Townies get 2 (if they enter lot with dress code script).

Swimwear: 1 outfit, Townies get 1 outfit. I just change the bathing suit after 1 sim year if I get bored of seeing it.

Outerwear: 3 outfits (Winter, Summer/Spring, Fall), Townies get 3 (if dress code is present).

Career wear: 2 (work and school if present), Townies get 2, 1 is their actual work outfit and the second is if I need it for something like school.

Consort Dress Code mod rules I follow:

Whenever I place the dress code script on a lot I stick to these rules to get the most cohersive experience.

Career attire outfit #2 For teens and Kids is their school uniform if I set that up.

Athletic attire outfit #3 For teens and Kids is their school workout uniform if I set that up.

(This is why I left Athletic attire slot 3 open above)

Protip: You can use MC to copy the outfits for every sim the same gender and age as the sim you selected to speed this process up for schools!

Athletic Attire Outfit #2 For YA+ for dance studio's.

Formal attire outfit #1 For Adults in their banquet, fancy restaraunt attire.

Formal attire outfit #2 For Adults in their party outfit for dance clubs.

Formal attire outfit #3 For everyone, this is for funerals. I throw a general party in formal attire on an open graveyard RH lot with the dress code script on it. This is why I leave this outfit slot open.

Sleepwear attire Outfit #2 For everyone, using ATS3 towel set. I will also set these up in my residential bathrooms.

So this is how I optimized it altogether which gave me more dynamic variety with NPC's changing their looks.

Now let's talk about outerwear for Vacation worlds.

Camping world fashion store, Outerwear slot 2

Beach town Fashion store, Outerwear Slot 2

Snow world Fashion Store, Outerwear slot 1

France or Monte Vista, romantic get away kind of worlds, Outerwear Slot 3.

I leave these as the outerwear outfit slots because it's more manageable and easy to change since I only use 3 outfits in this category.

That way I won't ruin the everyday wear I've already set up for my active sims when they return back home, and I can easily change their outerwear again since it's only 3 outfits.

I can also switch up between the outerwear and everyday outfits when I'm out with my sims. My months last 28 days in game, but I will turn off aging and seasons to extend that season for an extra month or 2. So by the time the new season comes around, I'm excited and ready to go shopping for my sims new season wardrobe!

I also will use the consort dress code mod on many of the community lots in those vacation worlds so that all townies will typically look the part. Most of the time this won't be necassary as I have again already revamped those townies to fit the aethstic of the world.

I set these up on community lots like coffee houses, dive bars, shopping strips, movie theater, etc. It just gives me another way to see my townies in different outfits. You can also do this in Homeworld.

The only vacation worlds I won't have to do this are the snow worlds, christmas themed worlds, as townies will autonously change into their snow attire when outside anyway.

So, instead I make sure my townies are wearing winter themed outfits for the inside of community lots to make sure the whole aesthetic fits together.

Miscellanious Script OBJS & CC sets

Functional scripted objs that were recommended in this tutorial:

Fidget spinner

PJ Deodarant

PJ Bubble bath

PJ Card stands

PJ Painting supplies

PJ Pet Bowls

TS Spray tan

TS sunscreen

TS Yoga Mats

Olomaya's activity table

Olomaya's Coloring Book

Olomaya smoking mod

Olomaya Get pumped

Olomaya Family snacks

Passion mod condoms and strap-ons (On LL needs registration and I can't link it since I have hate watchers. Sorry!)

Flower Arranging Mod

Knitting

Sewing (don't forget the patch)

Arsils custom phones and backpacks

arsil's lipstick

arsil's sunglasses

MD Vile Ventures (Can't link it, I have hate watchers, sorry!)

Ani's Tea mod

Tea Set without table

Lyrlei Journal

Zoeoe Scribbling pad fix

Petrol Station

Arsil's Gum

Arsil's Bag of chips and variations.

CC Sets that were recommended in this Tutorial:

cc Perfume

Moving Day boxes

ATS3 Custom Drinks

DD sandwhiches

DD Beer

ATS3 functional liqour bottles

ATS3 Tea sets

More Functional Toys

ATS3 Music Store set

Asian Themed Conveniene store set

ATS3 Produce Set

Functional cc gas stations for the Petrol Mod

ATS3 Towel Set

ATS3 Sports set

Punching Bag

ATS3 What's in my bag.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 16

PREVIOUS

Sweeties is very busy tonight but they get a table relatively quickly. He sees some people looking at their group all dressed in the ‘required’ attire for going out to Eden’s and reminds himself that maybe it’s for the best that people remember him tonight. It MAY help the police find his body in a shallow grave somewhere if they can piece together his last few hours.

Nicky stops by the salad bar and grabs three packs of crackers. He hands one pack to FF who just stares blankly at it before shrugging and figuring his stomach needs something so he opens the pack and just eats the crackers.

Nicky looks at him with an abundance of fondness that he doesn’t understand but shakes his head and hands a laminated menu over to him to order dinner from. “I know you’re not drinking but you still gotta take your meds before we leave.” Nicky reminds and FF nods. He reaches into his pocket to confirm that they’re there and feels something cheap and plastic.

Oh god, he forgot to take his Happy Meal Toy out of his pocket. No one needs to know that.

He shoves his hand into his other jacket pocket and the sandwich baggy with his single dose for his Ulcer is right there.

He starts to look at the menu when he realizes that everyone else already knows what they’re going to order since they apparently come here regularly. He tries his best to never be a regular at any place where they can see him and repeat his order back to him (Hello CVS girl, yes thank you for holding some Pepto for him. No he is very brand loyal and would not like to try Tums thank you.)

FF stands behind the art of the panic pick.

He has cultivated this ability over his many years of panicking. He can look at a menu and pick an item that might not be the thing he most wants on that menu it is something that he can eat or drink. Then while he has that pick queued up and ready to fly if a member of the waitstaff comes over before he’s actually read what’s on offer he has his panic pick.

A place like this has GOT to have a burger.

He finds it under the sandwich section easily enough and now he has his panic pick as he peruses the rest of the menu.

The waitress comes far faster than he had anticipated and slams waters down at each of their spots. “What can I get you?” She asks and before anyone says anything Nicky and Aaron slide over the two packets of crackers that she takes before looking at the empty packet in front of FF, “Just two?” She asks.

WHAT KIND OF CODE IS THIS?

“Just two.” Nicky says grabbing his trash and handing it over to her.

She shrugs, “Anything else on the menu I can get you boys?” She asks.

They all make their orders and Nicky, bravely, steps in to remind him he likes his burgers well done when the waitress asks.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.” Nicky laughs bumping his shoulder against FF’s “This place has this stuff called cracker dust, it gets you high but it’s not addictive.” He says.

Every single 80’s PSA goes off in FF’s head all at once.

NICKY “FLIPS TURTLES BACK ONTO THEIR FEET” HEMMICK DOES NOT LOOK LIKE HOW THE ‘JUST SAY NO’ ADS HAD SAID HE WOULD.

There’s not a trench coat! He wasn’t even wearing a hoodie with the hood up! There’s no sunglasses! Nicky had given him a baggie for his ulcer meds but IT WAS A SANDWICH BAG.

“I see.” He says out loud.

“Do you wanna try some.” Aaron asks. He double checks and yeah Aaron is still in the same club clothes he had left the house with. He has on a hoodie but the hood is down.

He does as any 80’s teen sitcom protagonist does by the end of the episode.

“No thank you.”

He thinks Mr. T would be happy that he said No. That ad had been especially nerve wracking as a kid when Mr. T ‘shakes some sense’ into the camera.

“Alright, no worries. Neil and Andrew don’t do any either.” Nicky says quickly.

The drugs come with the food and Nicky and Aaron pocket them before handing over cash to the waitress who just counts it right there. He focuses on digging into his burger and realizes it has jalapeños on it but Nicky volunteers to eat them with his nachos and lets the conversation weave around him as he polishes off his burger and takes his ulcer meds. “Oh cool, hand me the bag so I can keep our stuff in there.” Nicky makes a grabbing motion with his hands and FF just hands it over.

He zones out as he eats his fries. He wonders if Great Gran is upset watching him or if she’s happy that he said no to drugs. Maybe he should have said yes, then he could at least be blasted out of his mind when Andrew dragged him to the basement.

Well, it’s too late now.

The waitress comes and clears out their plates but picks up her notepad and pen again. “So, what ice cream do you boys want tonight?” She asks and looks straight at FF.

But FF is prepared.

Ice cream places are easy. His panic pick is a given, it’s Vanilla. Every ice cream joint has it so he barely even notices how his heart rate kicks up to 190 BPM and his palms grow instantly sweaty.

“Vanilla.”

“Sorry Hun, we’re fresh out.”

OH GOD. QUICK, SAY SOMETHING ELSE.

“Surprise me.”

NO YOU IDIOT SAY CHOCOLATE.

“Surprise you?”

RETRACT, IT’S NOT TOO LATE.

“Yeah. Surprise me.” He repeats and he can FEEL Nicky vibrating with laughter next to him.

“Alright Hun, I’ll surprise you.” She winks at him and he blinks back at her.

The rest of the table all order (They’re all normal people who order strawberry (neil), the special with chocolate (Nicky), Lemon Sorbet (Aaron), and Brownie Fudge (Andrew).

“Surprise me.” Nicky whispers to him.

“I panicked.” He whispers back.

“Yeah obviously.” Nicky snorts but pats him, “It’s fine. The worst is you might end up with Pistachio or something.” He pats FF on the back.

FF likes Pistachio and the world loves to make FF suffer.

“Here you go hun. We just got this in, it’s Mango.” She says setting down two scoops of a bright orange ice cream down in front of him, “With a little surprise.” She winks again as she sets the other ice cream down.

They all get started.

Why is the Ice Cream kind of spicy?

He eventually puzzles out that the waitress has served him a Mango and some kind of pepper (probably habanero) ice cream. She smiles when he thanks her for the surprise, tries not to let it show how much the spice is KILLING his stomach let alone the acid of the mango.

Andrew has his eyes narrowed on him and he’s sure the man doesn’t want him to make a scene at a place that seems to be a frequent haunt for the family. So he eats every last bite and ignores how his lips tingle.

“Ohhh it must have been good. Maybe we should get you her number.” Nicky says looking at his empty bowl.

“No, I’m good.” She was pretty but considering the acid currently swirling in his stomach she probably thought he was an asshole for asking for her to ‘surprise him’. Even if that wasn’t the case, what if she thought it’d be cute to serve him this spicy ice cream as a cute couple thing? His stomach can’t take that.

“Aw man you’re no fun.” Nicky pouts.

They pay for their meals and the waitress hands him his receipt with a wink. He nods back at her before shoving the receipt into his pocket next to the Megamind toy. “Have a good night.” He says.

“You too Hun.” She says.

They head out for Eden’s and in a way the ice cream is a blessing because his stomach hurts enough that he barely even notices his anxiety about being at the place where Andrew most certainly is going to stab him at least once by the end of the night.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

Per your requests:

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The requests to be added to the tag list got spread out across a few  different mediums on this one so if I missed you I swear it wasn’t malicious I’m just brunch dumb at the moment. Remind me in the replies!

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you  didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[brownsugar-dreams]

Get Him To Spend $$$

Okay so its been a while since I’ve posted but ya girl has been out here getting to the bag. Brand new city so I had to start a whole new roster. Tonight I went out with Mr. Rocket Scientist (he actually worked for NASA and now does contract work). This is our second date and I did things a lil different than what I’ve done in the past:

Let him do all the talking. Date #2 and I know more about him than he knows about my alter ego. This is where I really pried into his past. Asked about his ex wives, ex gfs, how he treated them etc. All while running up the bill to see how he’s really living. Men love to brag about what they have but unless I’m seeing him swipe that card its really meaningless. After dinner he took me to this Michelin star cocktail restaurant which was lovely. Date #2 is really about checking their pockets and how much they’re willing to spend.

Talk about future plans. Of course with date #2 you wanna make him feel like you’re really into him. Don’t do too much but light thigh touches and pecks after he pays the bill or gets you what you want. This is where you build up to the type of treatment you expect going forward. If he talks about cheaper/hole in the wall places/activities sound uninterested. He’ll get the picture if done properly.

Make sure to keep the spotlight on him. If he asks you about yourself just make sure to keep it light. He doesn’t need to know your life only your lifestyle. Talk about the places you’ve been (or make it up), the things you like to do (or would like to do). Just really build up the type of lifestyle you want him to know you expect.

Always remember that you can’t change a cheap bastard. If he’s not reciprocating what you’re putting out no need to force it. When the date ends just drop him & start again. This is a game for the long haul so don’t get discouraged. I met a lot of fakes in my sugar dating journey but also a lot of real spenders. It just takes time & patience.

Be patient. Don’t get too greedy too soon. That has always been my issue whenever I find a spender. He will spend so don’t be insecure and hasty. Give it a few dates, some men need to be sure you’re “for them” before dropping a bag for you to keep. Shopping dates are most successful after you’ve built that relationship with him.

Dress to impress. Men love red. This is what I wore to our date & he loved it. Invest in your wardrobe. Check out some of the clothing at my store. If you see something you like please reach out to get a discount code if I don’t have a sale going on when you’re ready to purchase.

It’s just being comfy with who you are and what you want. It’s so easy & fun to get men to spend!

[milfbenji]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS ; An excerpt where Yvonne and Judd have a little dance — 2.4k words

When she arrived, it wasn’t with the intention to stay. Judd was simply a woman of her word and somehow, during the three weekends they spent together, she had found herself promising Yvonne that she’d attend the ball exclusively to check in on her briefly and offer any corrections if they were deemed necessary (they would be). She even dressed in attire that didn’t snub the dress code—dark slacks, white button-down, and dark suit jacket she’d nicked from Logan after the maid had dried it and it shrunk enough to fit her—but that did not say she was an attendee, which she wasn’t.

Not formally, at least. 

This worried Yvonne and made her look even a bit regretful as if Judd was particularly concerned about being on the guest list so that she’d be accounted for some crab cake or grape-sized dessert, but she wasn’t the slightest bit miffed. It took a bit of finessing but there was a way to crash a party tastefully. If you held yourself in the right manner, there was a way to do anything tastefully, truthfully. 

So, she navigated the mansion masquerading as a ballroom which stunk heavily of Clive Christian colognes - Addictive Arts collection, no other collection utilized tobacco and the smoky, herbal concoction of mate quite so bluntly - and the odd Frederic Malle Promise she respected because the earthy, apple spice burn in her nose was still less offensive than feeling like she was huffing the air around a cheap ashtray. Judd haphazardly scanned the crowd of tailored suits around the rarer pale dresses dotted about before turning her focus away from finding the reason she was here and on finding the host instead—Yvonne’s grandmother. To find the host first indicated a level of respect you held for the event that would often allow you to stay despite your arrival being quite crude. 

Yvonne’s grandmother could be considered quite textbook for this forgiveness for the moment she laid eyes on Judd, she hurried over like a fuming bull with so little grace it seemed a contradiction to the tight-fitting black dress and hair that looked artificially shiny with whatever product was keeping the volume alive. “You. You. What is this?”

Feigning a bit of remorse as her clothes were subtly gestured at, Judd offered an impish smile she knew looked no better than a dog’s appeasement. “I am so sorry… Mrs. Loomis is it? You might know me, Judd Woodward?” she squared her shoulders and let the name sink in as the music slowly shifted tracks—classical waltz to classical waltz but a little faster. “I was helping your granddaughter, Yvone, with her dancing. I wanted to just come and make sure my lessons were useful.”

Their personal quiet stretched on far too long for this to be a polite pause, and Yvone’s grandmother was quite short, Judd had to bow her torso awkwardly to hear what she said next. “She hasn’t mentioned a Judd, in fact, she hasn’t mentioned she knows a Woodward at all. You know, my husband used to do business with your grandfather, the insurer one,” A small hand grabbed her forearm and tugged her along lightly, encouraging her to follow; but suddenly she didn’t want to abide, she wanted to dig her heels in and jut out her chin and say no, fuck you, what do you mean you don’t know me? She should’ve, right? Why did it matter at all that she didn’t? 

If she had any reason to follow, it was so she knew why to never fucking help Yvonne again. 

“Now,” she said, with Judd trailing behind her without assistance. “I can’t show you where she is, I fear she was whisked off not long before you arrived, but you can help me with something until she pops up again.”

Something she’d learn was standing off in the corner and telling Yvonne’s grandmother which boys had the most potential - from a peer’s perspective - which was mildly cathartic for a little while, telling someone that John Quintero stole his neighbor’s car but everyone said it was his friend, Louis Gredwell (not in attendance tonight). A little while would be the key phrase, though. 

Judd lingered for an hour, ten minutes, and thirty-two seconds, and with every passing second she grew more discontent and sore in the chest from the breathing regulations she was unabashedly abusing. She was stupid for ever coming. For ever saying she would. For ever folding to Yvonne and agreeing to help. Yvonne was clearly doing just fine without her, so fine, in fact, she could entirely forget that she asked Judd to come. Quietly dismissing herself, she slipped away, skirting the edge of the room with her eyes set on the corridor, until she passed the ornate glass doors in the living room, noticing the shrubbery outside that formed a little alcove in the backyard, the fountain spitting up a stream of water, the—

—the who?

She stepped backward, shooting a look over her shoulder to make sure no one else took note, and then opened one of the doors, slipping outside into the crisp spring air and shivering against it with a sharp breath. Yvonne looked up at her from where she sat on a little concrete bench, her dress was the only purely white one here, it ruffled out around her knees, making her look a bit more like one of those wedding cake toppers than anything else, but it… worked, Judd thought, was bold against her dark skin and left the eyes wandering to hers. 

“You came?” Yvonne sat up a little, voice brightening. “Hi… Hi.”

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her and moving closer, a gradual step that had her rounding the fountain at an agonizing pace. “From the way your grandmother talked, it sounded like some real charming fella hauled you off somewhere to have you all to himself.” Yvonne groaned a real guttural sound that lightened the weight between Judd’s lungs in a way that had her wincing away from herself and hesitating to take a seat beside her until standing was simply too awkward. “I take it either she’s too presumptuous or you hit him with your Little Women adaptation concept.”

Another groan. 

“Nobody cares for musical adaptations, I’ve told you that. Look, now you’ve learned the hard way.”

Yvonne shook her head, propping an elbow up on her thigh and resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. “You have to have a conversation with someone to learn something the hard way,” she said. “Every boy I’ve talked to tonight has either tried flirting with me by talking about his car, not known how to say my name, or could barely even dance without stepping on me… but I am giving them leeway there, maybe they were too busy figuring out their sale’s pitches to remember how their feet work.”

Oh. So Judd had been right—Yvonne’s grandparents only knew people with the two-bit sons.

She didn’t delight in being correct like she thought she should have, as if it’d been replaced by the frustration boiling in her guts because she had been right. Yvonne was subjected to the individuals skimmed from social circles like fat from broth all the while her grandmother was prancing around as if she’d done anything worth the peacocking. She didn’t even know Yvonne was out here, so disconnected from the ball that it was hardly hers now so much as it was a venture in matchmaking for their classmates. 

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

They sat like that for a while, occasionally sparing glances through the door. Judd should’ve left by now but here she was, brows pinched and lips shaping a slack frown, doe-eyed stealing looks at Yvonne as long as she could before quickly looking away. 

“So you haven’t had a proper dance tonight?”

“Nope,” Yvonne dropped her hand, shoulders sagging. “But I did get a nice icebreaker that involves a Volvo.”

“Is it good?”

Laughing, she shook her head. “Oh, not even close, relies entirely on shock factor.” She said, her laugh petering out with the coming breaths, light and short. The sort of cut-off-too-early short that Judd knew well as a tactic to stop imminent tears. Fuck. “I didn’t have high expectations for tonight but… I don’t know, I think I let myself think this would be nice. Isn’t that stupid? I thought all of this could have been nice.”

“Nice was a bit of an unrealistic expectation.”

“Right, I forget you’re above these sorts of things.”

“You should be seen by a professional, your memory retention is concerning to the point of being diagnosable.”

Yvonne scoffed.

And then Judd, after another minute and a half, ran her hands down her thighs, stood up, and turned to face Yvonne with an air of resolve. “Your night should be decent, at least, though,” she offered her left hand. “Which means you need a proper dance.”

“Wait, what?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to interpret context clues,” she said, lacking the smile she knew was customary for such a question but with the faintest lilt to her voice that was wholly used to indicate a tease that fell a little flatter than she wanted but didn’t know how to correct. “Would you like to dance?”

Yvonne blinked, rubbing once at her eyes, and took to acceptance of this far faster than anticipated. She placed her hand in Judd’s and allowed herself to be guided toward the fountain where her heels clicked against the cobbled ground. In a way, it wasn’t unlike their lessons as Yvonne took immediately to following her lead with the box step pertinent to a decent waltz—except that this wasn’t any decent waltz. It devolved almost as soon as it started. A waltz morphed into the horrible love child of a two-step and nameless slow dance reserved for an event less formal than a ball. Judd thought it to be tasteless, failing the intention of a proper dance, but she chose to say nothing after considering it. 

Dark eyes traced her face as Judd’s wandered the satiated expression carefully shaping the crinkling around Yvonne’s mouth, the dimples faintly accentuated by a smile half-allowed. The cold air kept them closer than necessary and a simple lack of knowledge found Yvonne’s arm resting along Judd’s shoulders which, in turn, forced her to let her arm travel further up the other’s back in an almost hug. Their free hands wandered, fingers interlacing after a confusing, quiet decision for Judd as she wondered whether or not that was too far, or - if they were found - if it could be excused as another lesson.

To say she was thinking clearly would be a lie, however, as a Judd with all her synapses firing at the same time would have thought better of this ultimately. But she didn’t—couldn’t. 

Her heart hammered violently at her ribcage, so forcefully, so loudly, that she felt it thumping in her throat. Could Yvonne hear? Could she feel it tapping against her? She hated this feeling. This anticipation of … something? Was that it? Was her body waiting on someone to walk through the door and catch them?

Catch them? Surely not. This wasn’t any more offensive than their lessons but, shit, maybe they shouldn’t—

“Thank you,” Yvonne said, earning an inglorious huh? she snorted at. “Thank you for coming, part of me didn’t think you would so seeing you was, uh, nice.”

Judd wondered what to say. You’re welcome would be appropriate. It was the only answer, really, but that’d be too short and her heart wasn’t slowing down at all, if anything she could’ve sworn it was quickening with every touch her mind and body registered as notably Yvonne. “I lied,” she said suddenly and felt a jolt against her. “About what I said about my parents, you know…” Her voice waned, hushed. “...them choosing not to host a debutante ball because of some kind of inherent respect they held for me. That wasn’t true.”

Yvonne slowed her step a little. They didn’t have much of a height difference, Judd had maybe three inches on her with the right shoes, but it was enough now to still have her look up, curiosity struck. “Why didn’t they?”

A stupid question she preferred over the stupid question of asking her why she lied.  

“Uhm, well,” she drew out that last word, trying to figure out how to remove speculation from fact yet failing to because speculation, in this case, was as good as fact. She had seventeen years of reference material. “They were embarrassed, I think.”

“About what?”

“Having a daughter.”

Yvonne made a noise that sounded equal parts sad and confused. The lack of subsequent questioning said all she needed to know.

“I mean, you’ve seen the work your grandparents put into this all so they could socially say hey, this is our granddaughter, isn’t she just so pretty and not to mention single?” There was a quiet hush she grinned at despite it fading quickly. “My parents saw it as them parading around the fact they had a daughter and, oh, they didn’t want to do that. It’s already difficult enough having one, why would they want to tell everyone about that egregious hardship?” She swallowed hard, relieved when Yvonne’s gaze dropped, and laid her head against Judd’s chest, a sudden warmth that she welcomed as much as the unintentional favor that not looking at her was. “You’re right, these things aren’t my style but when I was sixteen I really thought the whole idea of someone caring enough to show you off was pretty pleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” Yvonne admitted after a pause. “No offense but your parents sound like they suck.”

“It’s alright, really, I should’ve known better when I was forming in utero.”

The sound of music was little less than murmuring from some piano all the way out here but it provided enough rhythm for them both to abide in their half-dance, half-hold. Not another word was spoken between them. At least, not until Judd heard the click of a car door shutting somewhere in the front yard. 

“What are you going to tell your grandmother when she asks who you’ve been with all this time? I’d suggest telling her you were actually briefly kidnapped so she feels some level of negligence weigh on her.”

Yvonne hummed her contemplation well enough that Judd felt it through her chest. “I think I’ll tell her I was with you.”

“Do you really think she’d appreciate that? Right now she thinks tonight was a success.”

“It’s okay if she doesn’t,” she said, lightly squeezing Judd’s hand. “I think it was, mostly.”

[mia-seth-adventures]

True story: Childhood

I grew up in Peckham, London. I walked to school and back with friends of all colours. Our teatime was at 5pm. When I was a child there was no area code or dress code and most of my clothes came from C&A or the cheap clothes stores.

Eating out at a restaurant never happened (apart from the Pie & Mash shop). It just wasn’t a thing. Fast food was Fish & Chips, and having a glass of pop (R White's or Corona) was a real treat.

You took your school clothes off as soon as you got home and put on your play clothes. We had to do our homework before being allowed outside to play. We ate dinner at the table. There was no taking or picking you up in the car, you walked or rode your bike rain, snow or sunshine.

Our rotary dial phone sat on our ‘phone table’ in the main hallway with a lock on number 1 and had a cord attached, so there was no such thing as private conversations. Mobile phones didn’t exist - it was a big red telephone box. Only Dad had a camera (a 2nd hand Brownie with black & white film).

TVs didn’t have remotes, we had to actually get up to change the channel - and there were only a few to choose from - Two actually. There was no such thing as Internet!

We played Cops and Robbers, It, Red Light-Green Light, Sticky Toffee, Hide & Seek, Tag, 40/40 British bulldog knock door run and rode bikes with cards in the spokes or a plastic 10p pop carton jammed between the tyre and the brakes and they often had tassels hanging from the handlebars.

Girls could spend hours playing dolls, house and dress up. We were lucky, as the Boys played football, rugby and wrestling in the park right opposite where we lived.

Staying in the house was a punishment and the only thing we knew about ‘bored’ was: "You better find something to do before I find it for you!"

We ate what Mum made for dinner or we ate nothing at all and, if we didn’t eat our vegetables we had them waiting cold for us the next day! Everyone was welcome and no one left our house hungry.

We had no microwave. There was no bottled water - we drank from the tap or the garden hose outside.

We watched cartoons on Saturday mornings, and rode our bikes for hours, ran around and went on our roller skates that attached to our shoes. We weren't afraid of anything. We played till dark... sunset was our time to go home or when the street lights came on.

If someone had a fight, that's what it was and we were friends again a week later, if not sooner.

We watched our mouths around our elders because all of our aunts, uncles, grandpas, grandmas, and our parents' best friends were all extensions of our parents and you didn't want them telling your parents if you misbehaved or, they would give you something to cry about - the belt or the slipper.

These were the good old days. So many children today will never know how it feels to be a real child.

I loved my childhood - Good Times

[filmnoirfoundation]

ASK EDDIE - January 5 2022

In case you missed last night’s episode....

FNF prez Eddie Muller responds to film noir fan questions fielded by the Foundation's Director of Communications Anne Hockens. In this episode, we discuss bar hopping in Oakland for NOIR CITY 20 attendees, “Crossfire” supporting actor Paul Kelly’s real life noir story, our favorite non-verbal acting moments in noir and more. We wind things up with answering questions about how we met, if we played sports in high school and if we eat snacks at the cinema. On the cat front, Emily’s dark secret is revealed.

Want your question answered in a future episode? We solicit questions from our email subscribers in our monthly newsletters. Sign up for free at https://www.filmnoirfoundation.org/signup.html

Everyone who signs up on our email list and contributes $20 or more to the Film Noir Foundation receives the digital version of NOIR CITY Magazine for a year. Donate here.

Note: Eddie will not be able to answer questions posted during the livestream nor ones left on our social media accounts

This week’s questions:   

1. Do you have any recommendations for bar hopping in Oakland during Noir City 20?  — Dave and Fiona   

2. Being high risk can’t do indoor events sadly. Will you ever do Streaming Film Noir Festival? — Cindy  

3. Why isn’t “Force of Evil” more readily available in the United States?? — Rob 

4. I was visiting Italy recently and happened to catch “Black Tuesday” at the Cinema Ritrovato film festival along with a few more films directed by the neglected director Hugo Fregonese. What are the chances of a Blu-ray release please? — Joseph   

5. I know it’s a great, prescient movie, but is “A Face in the Crowd” considered noir? Follow up: Andy Griffith, like Fred McMurray in “Double Indemnity” and Raymond Burr (in almost any noir he appeared in), packs a special punch due to roles they’d perform in LATER in their career.  Are there other more obscure performances you relish because they were “playing against type” versus later roles that you enjoy? — Stevemc   

6. Would love to hear what you can tell us about the male character in “Crossfire” whose scenes all take place in Ginny’s (Gloria Grahame) apartment.  His dialogue was so amusingly bizarre.  I believe the actor was Paul Kelly. — Margaret, Clifton VA   

7. What are some of your favorite or most memorable nonverbal moments in noir? For me, Gene Tierney's performance as Ellen in “Leave Her to Heaven” stands out. — Christy, Grants Pass, OR. 

8. Did contemporary 'Film Noir' audiences have a clear demographic in terms of age, location, income and so forth? — Mark, United Kingdom.     

9. I am eager to learn more about the "B" world and wonder if you have any recommendations for books or other resources on the Poverty Row studios and the people behind them? — Anna   

10. I heard about “Please Murder Me” featuring two of my favs, Angela Lansbury and Raymond Burr. Could you please show it soon? — Mary   

11. What do you consider the FIRST TRUE NOIR FILM? I thought "Stranger on the third floor" OR "Rebecca" OR "they drive at night", or WHAT FILM??? — Spencer   

12. I find there is a strong distinction between noir films made in the 1940s, compared to those from the 1950s. Films in the 1950s seem more realistic and are often shot on location. The male actors are frequently unshaven, wear cheap clothes and never have any money. The female characters are more vulnerable and far less glamorous compared to woman in films from the prior decade. In 40s films, everybody is cleanly scrubbed and well-dressed. I assume the ending of The Production Code contributed to this more realistic noir look in the 1950s. Eddie, your thoughts. — Loren from Chicago   

13. Where did Eddie and Anne first meet? Was there any athletic sport you two played in high school? I like to watch a movie in a theater without eating/drinking.  How about you two, is popcorn a must have? Soft drinks etc.???? — Alan Rossi, San Anselmo, CA

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Live a Little [Part Five] True Colors [Billy Hargrove]

As the weekend rolls around the uncertainty you had felt when agreeing to a date with Billy starts to fade into excitement. You can hardly wait for tonight. Borrowing the chevy, you gather what little money you had been saving, and drive into town, hoping to find something nice to wear; you know that your date is going to give it his all; you want to do the same.

Hawkins, in your opinion, needs a Mall. The only few mom-and-pop businesses in town sell clothes that cater to women in their mid-thirties and housewives, but there has to be something that will suit you. You're determined to try every store until you find something.

As you park the truck in the lot outside the first store, you notice a familiar redhead walking down the sidewalk. What is Max doing in town on Saturday? Perhaps she's with her friends. She appears to be alone at the moment, however; this is the second time you've seen her without her skateboard. You think nothing of it as you leave the truck and walk up onto the sidewalk. Giving her a brief wave, you reach for the door to the store but she calls out to you.

"Hey, Max. How are you?"

"Do you think you could give me a ride home?" She asks, ignoring your question.

Where is Billy? He usually picks Max up when she goes to the arcade. Perhaps her mother or Billy's father dropped her off instead.

"Of course. I have some shopping to do first though."

"I'm not needed anywhere," Max utters.

You raise a brow in question, opening the door for her. What is she hiding? As you search around the store, peeking through racks of clothes, she stands by your side.

"What happened to your skateboard? I don't normally see you without it," you ask in an attempt to make small talk.

"It broke," Max merely answers.

You hum.

"Do you need another one?"

"Do you know how much they cost? High-quality components aren't cheap," Max explains.

Is a skateboard that expensive? The fact your brother had tossed his in the basement kind of pisses you off.

"I can give you my brother's board. He doesn't use it anymore," you suggest. "It may not be as well maintained as your last skateboard but I'm sure you can fix it."

"Really?" Max asks.

She averts her eyes and for a moment she's silent, almost like she's arguing with herself, then she shakes her head.

"I don't need it. But thanks."

"It's there if ever you do," you mention, returning your attention to the racks.

Resting a bright yellow dress against your chest, you try to imagine wearing it.

"Does this look tacky?" You ask.

"Not if you're a duck," Max replies with a grin.

She's right. You sigh in annoyance and put the dress back. There has to be something here that you can wear.

"What are you shopping for?" Max asks.

"I have a date tonight," you mention. "My first ever date."

She snorts.

"You've never been on a date before?"

"Have you?" You ask genuinely.

Max narrows her eyes.

"No, but it doesn't matter."

"I don't suppose now it does, but later it might. Dates are a fun way to get closer to the person you like. Is there someone you like?" You ask.

She curls her nose in disgust.

"No."

You hum and return to your search.

"But if I did like someone; it's not like he could like me back," she mentions suddenly.

"How so? Is he forbidden from likening you?" You ask with a snort.

Max shakes her head.

"Yeah, it feels that way."

You sigh and turn towards her.

"Max, no one has the right to forbid a person from getting close to you, except you. If you like someone, then ask them to the school dance; I hear the middle school is having one in December. I'm chaperoning."

She eyes you a moment then shakes her head.

"What would I even wear?"

"Wear whatever Max would wear," you answer with a grin. "Within the dress code of course."

Max snorts and rolls her eyes.

Noticing a cute blouse, you yank it from the rack and lean it against your chest. It's promising.

"Now this I can work with."

You take the blouse over to the front desk to pay.

"Let's get you home," you declare as you turn to Max.

A sense of eagerness consumes you as you leave the store. You cannot wait to try on your new blouse with the pants you have at home. Once you and Max are in the truck and buckled up, you pull out of the lot, driving towards her house.

"You can't be this serious about one date," Max mentions widening her eyes in disbelief.

You hum.

"I am. Or maybe I'm totally scared of what might happen. I've never dated a guy like Billy before, and I probably shouldn't be; he goes through women like he goes through cigarettes."

Max agrees with a nod.

"He seems to like you more than the others, though."

Does he?

Your face heats up. But why?

"He's not an easy person to like romantically."

Max raises a brow.

"Then why do you waste your time with him? You have more brain cells than the other girls he has dated."

That should be an easy question, but honestly, you don't know.

"I want to know him better before I decide. There's more to a person than just what they allow you to see," you answer.

Who is Billy Hargrove? You wonder this question the entire ride. Perhaps tonight you will learn the answer.

Checking the time again, you sit on the couch, darting your eyes from the window to the clock. It's almost time and yet you are nervous that Billy had changed his mind.

His car wasn't in the lot when you had taken Max home. It didn't bother you at the time, but as the hours ticked down, you began to wonder if he was somewhere else; somewhere more important with someone else.

All afternoon you had focused on getting ready, and five minutes before the allotted time, the wicked thoughts in your head had come back.

You stand up with a sigh and walk into the kitchen for a drink, pouring a glass of water. As you sip at it, your mother comes into the kitchen in a hurry.

"I saw headlights," she mentions.

You widen your eyes, accidentally spilling water onto your blouse. Shit! Your mother laughs at your clumsiness.

"I'm a mess," you utter.

Ripping a sheet from the paper towel roll, you dab at the damp splotch, but it does little to dry it.

"He's here!" Your father shouts from the living room.

Groaning in frustration, you toss the used sheet into the trash and tear through the living room like a bat out of hell, opting to wear a thin coat over your blouse; at least until it dries.

"I'm leaving!" You shout.

"Be home before twelve, or else you're sleeping outside," your father clarifies.

You understand. Saying goodbye, you walk out onto the porch, grinning as the Camaro sits in the driveway, engine idling. You hurry to the passenger side door, getting inside.

"Hey," you utter.

Billy looks rushed, but incredibly handsome. Red is a nice color on him, and seeing his button-down open causes your face to heat up.

"Buckle up," he orders.

Is there something wrong? You frown, sliding on the seat belt as he tears out of the driveway back onto the road.

"Where are we going?" You ask, hoping to start a conversation.

"To see Mike Wheeler," he answers.

Who? You raise a brow. Does he mean Nancy's kid brother? The car ride is silent as Billy drives to the Wheeler residence, parking the Camaro by the curb.

"Stay here. I'll be in and out," the blond orders.

Before you can ask why he opens the door and leaves the car. What is going on? You watch him walk to the front door and knock. Seconds later a gorgeous blonde woman opens up. She must be Nancy's mother.

Billy follows her inside and you sigh in annoyance, playing with the radio as you wait. Whatever is going on is starting to make you regret ever agreeing to date him. Does he treat all his girlfriends like this?

Five minutes later, Billy leaves the house and gets back into the car, starting the engine.

"Are you going to let me in about what you're doing?" You ask.

Billy sighs and reaches for your hand.

"We just have to find Max and then we can start our date."

You raise a brow.

"Did something happen?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Billy answers. He squeezes your hand. "You look gorgeous."

Your face heats up. You aren't sure whether to be mad at him or not. He could have informed you about the situation before he gave you the cold shoulder.

"Where is Max?" You ask.

"At Jonathan Byers' house," Billy answers.

What is she doing there? Billy releases your hand and drives towards the Byers' house.

"Can you light me a cigarette, babe?"

You hum and spot the pack and lighter on the dashboard. Reaching for it, you take out a cigarette and set it between your lips, lighting it. The taste makes you curl up your nose in disgust, but you inhale to keep the tip burning before handing it to Billy. He hums in appreciation.

It's darker out as the Camaro pulls into the driveway; the moonlight pours down from the gaps in the trees; an eerie atmosphere, in your opinion.

Once the car is parked Billy opens the door and steps out, just as Steven Harrington walks out onto the porch.

Your eyes widen. Oh shit!

"Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington?" You hear Billy ask.

Steve answers back, but you can't hear him from inside the car. Whatever he says causes Billy to remove his coat, tossing it into the driver's side seat.

"Billy!" You shout.

He holds up a finger and shuts the door, walking towards Steve as the latter comes off the porch. Shit! This isn't good at all. The two seem to talk to one another for a minute before Steve turns around, looking at something behind him. When he turns back around, Billy pushes him to the ground.

You gasp and open the door, rushing to the blond's side.

"Don't do this," you beg him.

"Listen to your girlfriend," Steve mentions. "She seems to have more sense than you."

Does he want Billy to punch him? You roll your eyes in disbelief.

"I told you to plant your feet," Billy mentions, kicking Steve in the stomach.

Turning to you, he points to the Camaro.

"Get back in the car."

"No," you disagree. "You're acting like an animal."

Billy sighs.

"Max is in there; in a stranger's house. Now, do as I said."

You watch him walk towards the house and slam open the front door, going inside. Leaning down, you check on Steve.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm just fine," he utters in pain. "But it's not what it looks like."

What is it then?

"Can you help me up?" Steve asks.

You hesitate for a moment. Should you? Groaning, you pull his arm over your shoulder, helping him to stand. You can't leave him like this.

Steve is a bit wobbly at first, like a newborn fawn, but once you manage to get him to the door, he slams it open.

Two teenage boys and Max are in the hall watching as Billy has another one pressed against the wall at the other end. What is going on here?

You watch in shock as the dark-skinned teen kicks Billy in the balls; the blond groans in pain and then stands.

"You are so dead Sinclair, you're dead."

Steve rushes past the three, leaving you with them. Max gives you a shocked look then turns around in time to see Steve punch Billy in the face.

"Steve!" Max shouts.

Billy laughs and stands up straight; his nose is leaking blood but he doesn't seem to care.

In the meantime, Sinclair rushes over to Max and the others.

"Are you OK?" You ask him.

He nods albeit he's out of breath and scared.

You stand in front of them, hoping to keep them from being dragged into the meaningless fight.

"Looks like you got some fire in you after all," Billy remarks. "I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody's been telling me about."

As he walks up on Steve, the latter pushes him back.

"Get out," Steve orders.

You fear where this will head next.

Billy takes a swing, but Steve ducks and tosses a right hook into Billy's face, knocking him against the kitchen table.

The teenager wearing the ball cap cheers for Steve, but it's far from over.

As Billy stands, Steve hits him again two more times, inching him further into the kitchen and against the sink; all the while Billy is laughing in excitement. It's a gruesome show of masculinity, one you fear Steve is going to lose.

Billy picks up a plate and smashes it against Steve's head, then comes at him as Steve tries to move away; a bookshelf catches a stray punch that almost hits the teen wearing the ball cap.

You maneuver them out of their way as Billy catches Steve in the living room.

"No one tells me what to do," the blond snaps as he knocks him onto the floor.

You never expected such anger from him; he's exactly like an animal. What had happened to Billy to make him this way? You watch in horror as he hovers over Steve, throwing punch after punch into his face.

"Stop it!" You shout. "You're going to kill him."

Then out of the corner of your eye, Max rushes passed you and stabs Billy in the neck with something. You gasp as you realize that it's a needle.

"Max. What--"

Billy stands and pulls the needle from his neck staggering toward Max. What did she inject into him? He teeters back, then hits the floor with an oomph.

You watch as Max grabs a baseball bat with nails stuck in it and raises it like she's going to strike Billy.

"From here on out you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?" She asks.

"I'm not scared of you," Billy weakly replies.

Max slams the bat down between his legs; the nails stick to the floor but she yanks it free and raises it again.

"Say you understand!" She shouts. "Say it. Say it!"

"I understand," Billy utters.

Max shakes her head.

"What?"

"I understand," Billy repeats.

He groans then closes his eyes as whatever is in the drug takes him.

Max tosses the bat down, then bends down and retrieves Billy's keys from his pocket. As she turns, she looks at you.

"I'm sorry for your date."

You don't know what to say. As she and the teens help Steve up, you sink beside Billy, searching for a pulse. He seems to be alive. Whatever Max had injected into him must have been a sedative.

"Where are you going, Max?" You ask her.

"I'll explain it later. I promise," she replies.

She and the others walk Steve out of the house, leaving you alone with Billy. What do you do? You reach down and run your fingers through his hair. This entire experience paints him in a new light. You aren't sure you want to know him anymore.

Tears blur your eyes. Perhaps Robin is home. You need someone to lean on. And someone to help you take Billy home.

What a horrible first date. 

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[iluvthingsfree99]

bräñdÿ mēłvïłłē methods!!

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED FOR TEENS! i haven’t seen anyone do this yet so i wanted to share the methods that work for me @ basically any bräñdÿ store !! also i have done all of these with at least one or two of my lifter friends and it has worked so far (knock on wood). 

let’s start off with the precautions to take beforehand:

i HIGHLY recommend having a friend when going into brandy. the stores that are not located on a street or something are generally much smaller (and more difficult to lift from), compared to those in a plaza or mall. the ones in the PLAZAS or MALLS are the best options to go to especially during the pandemic. what i personally like doing a day before lifting is googling the store that you’re going to visit on yelp or any other website that can show the store’s exterior and interior. i always do this to get a realistic idea of the store’s layout based on where the register is in the pictures. don’t forget to go on their website and scout some clothing you might like! though, there is no option to check what is inside the store and isnt, it’s good to have a general idea of what you want in terms of basics, outerwear, bottoms, etc etc. 

me and my friends also usually wear very basic bräñdÿ girl clothing like mom jeans, a cropped long sleeve top, oversized sweater, and converse. since these bräñdÿ’s are located in wealthier areas, i try to look a bit more upperclass so they wouldn’t expect anything. we bring dark-colored tote bags (thank god for this trend) or one of us brings a kanken since mostly teenage girls are in/work there and we dont look suspicious. we also save large shopping bags from common clothing stores such as uniqlo, urban outfitters, zara, etc. and hold one bag each with a sweater or two inside (depending on the size) to make it appear as if we’ve bought a lot of clothing and that we have money to spend inside of the store (jokes on them, we never do AHAHAHA). kankens are very very useful since theyre small and no one really expects anyone to steal with it but trust me, it can hold A LOT.

next, what we’re usually all worried about - TAGS:

don’t worry about them in this store! there is NO security tags on any of the brandy melville clothing. (most likely because they are placed in more wealthier areas/malls)  usually, they are just casually hung up by a wire wrapped in fabric or folded and placed on benches. i live in the US and i have never seen any kind of security tag ranging from the pencil kind to the more rounded ones. 

now, who to watch out for:

CONFIDENCE IS KEY! don’t be nervous love! it’s usually a bunch of scrawny girls that work there anyways and from what i’ve seen, they do not have an LP and they very rarely have security guards. an LP is a higher up representative from the company that comes in to watch the tapes but they very rarely come by. the only thing to be aware of is the WORKERS. they are often dressed in regular plain clothing and blend in with other customers around you. when you walk in, it is only easy to distinguish the people working the register. i say to spend 5 minutes, browsing and picking up/putting back items to get a feel for the place and to see who are workers and who’s not. often, they go around to fix and fold varying items or they’re restocking different areas. customers and workers can be easily confused so i recommend staying on your toes and being self-aware. this is where a lookout is most useful and why i highly suggest bringing a friend just to keep an eye on anyone that may be passing by.

and for the BEST part - how to actually lift:

due to the size of the store, me and my friends have distinguished a language of common things to say in code. for instance, i might say, “can you reach that tank top for me?” which basically translates to: “i’m going to put this in my bag, keep a lookout.” we always, always, ALWAYS make sure to go into a blindspot because it is so hard to find the cameras unless they are placed directly on the wall (honestly, thank god for the pandemic because these masks are SUCH lifesavers since they cover your face). anyways, since the tops are flimsy it is *very easy to stuff it in your regular lifting bag. if it is your first time, i reccomend getting any and all tops. i usually just put some in my extra shopping bag quickly and pile up on them. i also carry my kanken with only one arm and leave the zipper a bit open for my friends to easily slip in anything they want inside. i am about 5′4 and both of my friends are 5′6 - 5′7 so usually one person stands in front of me and one is behind me so then the person in front can reach for anything i might like, take it off the hanger and pass it to my friend behind me to place in my bag. it can also work with two people where the person holding the kanken passes each top to their friend behind them. but for the 3 people, i hope this poorly drawn diagram explains it a bit better LMFAOOO

for sweaters, since they are thicker, i mostly use a large zara shopping bag and place it under an actual zara puffer i got previously (but honestly any sweater from any store would work as a cover for it too, i’m just a very paranoid person and scared they might check my bag LMAO). moving the clothes around would be loud but they always play music in the store and those working are always doing something else. last but not least, for pants, this is when i like to use my kanken since they are larger than both a sweater and a tank it’s riskier. i usually  hold them up to my waist, see if they might fit, and then i pretend to set it down when really i’m folding it to make it smaller. after, it is folded or rolled up very tightly, my friend becomes a lookout and i open the zipper to my kanken “looking for my wallet” and then i just stuff it in really quickly. before exiting the store, make sure you have no sleeves stinking out of ANY of your bags because there is almost always someone waiting at the door counting those coming in and out because of covid. remember to act CASUAL! if you act nervous, it will most definitely show to the workers. me and my friends are usually in there for about 15 - 30 minutes which is kind of a long time so one of us actually buys something cheap and simple as an explanation while the others leave and wait somewhere else. 

and i think that is it AHAHA. if you have any questions or if i missed anything, be sure to pm me, i am more than happy to help !! remember: act casual! dont conceal on camera / BLINDSPOTS ARE YOUR BESTFRIEND! trust your gut and dont get greedy with items! i know everything in there is cute but it’s always good to not overdo it for the sake of both yourself and your safety! 

here’s something for all the new babylifters too:

the paranoia gets better over time! use all the information on liftblr at your disposal and learn from experience and new knowledge! remember that whatever corporation you are lifting from, it is from a company that rakes in millions upon millions of dollars exploiting workers for a shirt that only takes 6 cents to make but is being sold for $26. the toxic capitalist system is justification enough and i promise that the workers and the company itself are BARELY affected by lifting. taking $200 worth of clothes or even $16, it is merely pocket change to these corporations. so, always stay safe and good luck loves !!!

[yunhowhoitiss]

𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧

𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫!𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐟𝐞𝐦)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k+ words

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, slightly suggestive, subtle mutual pining (?)

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re locked out of your apartment, and your sweet neighbour Mingi just wants to help you out. how long can you go until you realize he likes you too?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: silk ties make an appearance heh, mingi sees reader’s bra :0 (through a shirt, nonetheless), shy mingi in general, some good ol’ teasing

masterlist

Puddles pitter-pattered under your feet as you took brisk steps on the sidewalk. With your right hand, you held your bag above your head to shield your head from the rain; your left hand was busy wiping drops off of your face. Just a few minutes ago you were calmly walking home from the restaurant you worked at, with your eyelids drooping and feet sore, but heavy clouds interrupted your walk with torrents of rain. Cold rainwater was now soaking through your socks, squelching with every step you took, and your teeth had started knocking together in a chatter. You couldn’t afford to get sick now of all times, you thought, so you rushed to get to your apartment and punched in the building’s entry code as fast as possible with your numb fingers. You made your way to the elevator and ruffled through your bag looking for your keys, struggling to find them. 

Just as the elevator dinged to signal its arrival, a man came through the building entrance; he was tall, dressed in a long coat, and he sported contrastingly cute glasses over his sharp eyes. It was your neighbour, Mingi. He smiled upon seeing your face, and you couldn’t deny that his eyes-turned-half-moons lifted your spirits ever so slightly. As you were lost in your thoughts, so was Mingi. He felt his heart jump upon crossing paths with you and admired your face as you remained distracted. Hell, he would’ve moved out of the damned apartment building a long time ago if you hadn’t been the one thing keeping him anchored there.

“Hi there,” he greeted as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you responded distractedly, continuing to search for your keys. 

As both of you entered the elevator, you were embarrassingly aware of the wet squeak of your converse against the tiled floor. Mingi pressed the button for the 3rd floor while you dug through your bag, still oblivious of his curious gaze on you. Frustration laced your expression, and it became clear to you that you had no idea where you’d put your keys. You thought back to the moment when you were closing up the restaurant you worked at, raking your memory for the location of your keys. The elevator arrived at your floor, and Mingi sent you a subtly concerned glance before exiting and muttering “G'night.”

You briefly lingered in the elevator when it hit you: I left them at the front desk of the restaurant. How could I leave with the restaurant keys and not with my own?

Stepping out of the lift, you wandered to your apartment door, lost in your thoughts. It’s too late at night to call my landlord for the spare key. I can’t go back to the restaurant either— there’s too much rain. It crossed your mind to call your best friend, but he lived a whole city away. You were so preoccupied trying to figure out your situation that you hadn’t noticed Mingi standing in front of his open door, deep in thought. At this point, he had caught on to the fact that you didn’t have your house keys. He watched you listlessly stare at your door and wondered if he could help.

“Hey, uh, you good over there?” he asked gingerly.

“Not really. I don’t have my keys. I– well– I left them at work.”

Mingi contemplated offering his couch for the night. No, no, that’s creepy. Or is it? I don’t want to seem weird.

“Do you… need a place to crash for the night? I have a decently sized couch, and I could fish out some clean clothes for you if you’d like." You curiously tilted your head, wondering why he was being so kind. This didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi, but he misinterpreted it and thought you were suspicious of him. "Oh, don’t get me wrong! I just figured you could use my hand– well, not my hand, I mean a hand– but my help, you know?” Mingi babbled.

“Well, if you really don’t mind, I’d gladly crash on your couch.”

Mingi’s shoulders visibly relaxed as you accepted his request. He nodded at his door, beckoning for you to come in. You followed his instructions to leave your shoes by the door and your bag and jacket by the couch. Mingi headed down a short hallway into what seemed to be his bedroom; you stood awkwardly in his living room, silently inspecting his apartment. It was fairly well decorated: an ivy green sectional couch sat in front of a cheap television. In front of the couch stood a glass coffee table littered with magazines and used mugs, in the corner stood a pretty industrial-style lamp, and you spotted about seven miniature succulents on the windowsills of three tall windows. Although the plants seemed to be dying, you commended Mingi for somewhat trying to maintain them. You heard his footsteps from the hall again and turned around to see what he had come back with. He held a thick blanket in one hand, and a pillow in the other.

“I hope this is warm enough; it’s the softest blanket I have.”

“Thank you, really, it should be more than enough,” you smiled at his earnestness.

He looked at you apologetically when he noticed your teeth chattering; you hadn’t noticed just how wet and cold your clothes were. Your body shivered and your arms wrapped around your front. You were unaware that the white shirt you wore did little to disguise what was beneath it, and didn’t catch Mingi swallow (hard) and avert his eyes. He dropped the pillow and blanket on the couch and turned towards you, hesitant to say his next words.

“If you want, you can take a shower to warm up; you could borrow some of my clothes since yours are pretty soaked,” he scratched his head and avoided your gaze, “If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

As you took a quick look at your clothes you realized what he meant. Oh shit. What a day for a white shirt, huh? You felt heat crawl up your neck and cheeks out if embarrassment upon understanding that he had probably noticed your bra through your clothing. With anyone else, you wouldn’t have thought too much of it, but something about the idea of taking a shower and wearing his clothes all but made your heart leap out of your chest. Strangely enough, you weren’t uncomfortable in the least. An abrupt burst of confidence overtook you.

“Showering here and wearing your clothes… that’s more of a fourth date thing, don’t you think?” You teased, unable to resist the temptation to. 

For a moment, Mingi was caught off-guard at your sudden change of attitude, until he finally processed your words. He laughed out loud at your cheeky comment and flashed you his signature eye-smile. You found it cute that he cackled with his head thrown back, mouth wide open. Your fingertips tingled, and the sound of his laugh set of a warm buzz throughout your body. 

“A shower would be nice, though. Thank you,” you added.

He uttered a short “no problem” before nudging his glasses back up his nose. Now, of all times, your stomach gurgled in protest of being empty; you hadn’t eaten since this morning. The amused smile fell off of your face, now replaced with a frown and wide eyes. Mingi chortled upon hearing the sudden noise, finding it oddly endearing how embarrassed your expression had become. Cute.

“I’ll make us something to eat while you’re getting washed up. You don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

“Peanuts,” you tell him.

“Noted.”

He paced toward his kitchen– well, it was more of a kitchenette –and opened up the fridge, only to find a carton of milk and leftover pizza. He internally rolled his eyes at himself. You can’t even cook, dumbass, no wonder it’s so empty. He opted to check in one of the cabinets. From where you stood, you could see that it was filled with a variety of instant ramen and a lonely can of peaches. You struggled to hold in the laugh that bubbled out of your chest while Mingi was slightly embarrassed, but he grinned regardless.

“Do you know how to cook anything besides instant noodles?” you giggled, stepping towards him.

“Totally,” he feigned confidence.

“What?”

“Uh… microwave popcorn.”

This time you didn’t even try to tone down your laugh, laughing as if he had told you the funniest joke in the world. He looked down at you and observed the way you held your tummy as you laughed, spotting a faint snort in your chuckle. He just stood and watched you, ignoring his rapid heartbeat and the familiar butterflies in his tummy. The same butterflies he got every time you crossed paths in the elevator, or the times he happened to see you leave your apartment when he did. When you finally caught your breath, you spoke again.

“You know what? Instant ramen sounds good,” you beamed.

“Coming right up. As for your change of clothes, you’ll find some shirts and sweats in the drawers in my bedroom. First door on the right.” He filled a pot with water and opened several packs of ramen as he spoke.

Mingi’s bedroom was simpler than you thought it would be. In the far corner by an old-looking window sat his bed on a simple bed frame; the mattress was large for one person and just enough for two. There was no wardrobe to be seen except a long rack full of various clothes. The man sure knows how to dress. Mingi cared a lot about his fashion, after all. You spotted a black dresser and assumed they were the drawers he mentioned earlier. You checked the bottom drawer first and picked out a pair of black sweatpants, then moved on to the middle one. As you slid open the wooden drawer, it revealed a couple of stacks of socks, shirts, and underwear. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment as you spotted pairs of grey underwear alongside a pair of banana-patterned boxers. You assumed Mingi had forgotten to warn you, and you smiled shyly before laughing at the pair of yellow undergarments. You dug through the shirts beside them anyway, only to find tank tops and t-shirts. Doesn’t he own any sweatshirts?

You continued rummaging through the bag as your fingers brushed against something uncharacteristically soft. Thoughtlessly, you pulled the object out.

Oh my god.

Your fingers were wrapped around two pairs of black and white silk ties, each delicate in your hands. You stuffed them back where you found them and closed the drawer with a bang, huffing a big breath.

“Everything alright, y/n?” You heard Mingi call from the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine!”

“Alright, ramen’s ready in fifteen!”

You snatched a blue hoodie from the top drawer and hurried to the bathroom. You tried to focus on the hot water flowing down the curve of your spine, but curiosity plagued you as you wondered about the silk ties. Your attention drifted to thoughts of whether he may be interested in going out one day, or if he had already given his heart to someone else. You scolded yourself for being too nosy. He’s just being nice, y/n. Don’t get any ideas.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the warmth that flooded your chest every time you saw his face or met him in the hallway. An exasperated sigh escaped your lips; you were too tired to be thinking of something so trivial. 

You stretched your arm out of the shower, but your hand was met with an empty towel rack. Oh shit, you had forgotten to ask for a towel. Luckily, the vapour floating through the bathroom kept you warm, but it wouldn’t be long before it dissipated.

Mingi was busy watching the noodles boil, his mind distracted with sound of your laugh. Your giggle remained imprinted in his brain like a song playing on repeat. Mingi sighed; he was in too deep. Subconscious joy painted a fond smile on his lips; he realized he probably looked quite ridiculous grinning at a pot of boiling noodles. Out of the blue, he heard you calling his name from the shower. He wasn’t sure why, but he instantly panicked upon hearing your distressed tone. Is she okay? Did she slip? Is there a spider on the wall or something? (He’d never admit it, but Mingi hoped it wasn’t the latter because he’s scared of spiders too.)

“Everything alright?” he asked from outside the bathroom door.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just forgot a towel,” you admitted.

“O-oh,” his face flushed as he sped over to the closet where he kept clean towels. He opened the bathroom door enough to fit his torso through and bashfully looked away– he knew you were behind the shower curtain, but he was having an emotional overload just from knowing you were even in his shower. It was best he looked away before having another issue to take care of. You dried off quickly, no longer being able to stand the angry rumble of your stomach. Mingi’s clothes were large, so they just barely clung to you– you were quite worried that they may slip off –but they would do for now.

You walked out towards the living room with your wet clothes in hand and laid them over your bag to dry. Mingi, as he set the pot of hot ramen on his small dining table, tilted his head to see you. Oh, wow. He knew his clothes would look big on you, but at this point, you weren’t wearing the clothes– the clothes were wearing you. He chuckled before he could stop himself. It was clear to you why he was laughing, or rather, who he was laughing at.

“Hey!” you put your fists on your hips, trying not to giggle. You knew how ridiculous you looked.

“What?” he looked at you, failing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you purposefully pouted and whined, hoping to fluster him.

“Who says I’m laughing at you?”

“You think I look silly.”

“No, I think you look cute. Now let’s eat.”

Cute? Your playful demeanour ebbed away as you processed the compliment. Mingi looked you straight in the eyes, knowing what he was doing to you. He leaned back in his chair, putting his toned thighs in full view. “C'mon, take a seat.” He shifted his thighs emphatically.

You nearly choked at his words; your mind went places it shouldn’t. Mingi grinned in satisfaction upon seeing your cheeks burn red, and gestured towards the seat in front of him.

“The noodles are gonna get cold…” he teased.

You were shy all over again, feeling embarrassed for assuming he meant for you to sit in his lap. A little wishful thinking never hurt. You skittered over to the chair across from him and went straight for the noodles.

For nearly an hour, you both ate and drank as you talked about work, friends, everything in between. Your conversation never fizzled out, and you learned that Mingi was a lot softer than he seemed. The pot was now empty, except for some stray noodles, and both your stomachs were fit to burst. Post-dinner fatigue started settling in; your body begged for you to rest after ingesting so much food. Mingi put away the dishes, earning a “thank you” from you in return. He suggested you watch a movie, unless you wanted to head to bed already.

“No, no, I’m fine. A movie sounds good,” you assured him.

“Any specific genre?”

“Nope.”

Mingi settled to watch a movie called Ponyo with you, claiming it to be the “best fucking movie on earth.” You sat crisscrossed on the couch, next to Mingi who settled his feet on the edge of the coffee table and spread his arms over the top of the couch. You grabbed the blanket he gave you earlier and wrapped yourself in it, nuzzling your cheek into the soft fabric. Not even half an hour into the movie, you eyelids drooped tiredly, your head falling forward every now and then. Mingi spotted your head nodding forwards out of the corner of his eye, but stayed quiet anyway. A couple of minutes later, he felt your weight against his arm, only to find that you’d fallen asleep. He observed your sleeping form tenderly and noted that you were a soft snorer. Before you could lose your balance and fall forwards, he turned you with one hand and cradled your head with the other, settling your head in his lap. He brushed the hair off your face, unconsciously patting your head in soothingly slow motions. Mingi’s own eyelids started to feel heavy as well, his hand moving in increasingly slow movements. 

He could only think of one thing before he fell asleep as he stared at your face snuggled in his lap, and his lips moved on their own accord before he could control himself.

“I really, really like you, you know that?” he whispered lovingly. His hand stopped its movements on your hair when he noticed the corners of your lips lift in an affectionate grin. (Mingi never noticed, but you’d woken up as soon as you head hit his thigh.) You nuzzled closer into him and wrapped your arms around his middle, feeling warm as ever. Well, I know now. 

[nightshade-minho]

3021: Starless

-(4)-

Warnings: presence of knives and weapons, android blood. explicit smut: master kink, spanking, rough facefucking, unprotected sex, degradation, light bunny kink, nipple play, creampie, voyeurism (i think? idk hyunjin is listening in on everything-), biting, a punch.

Wc: 6.4k

The alarm forced you awake, and you rolled over in your bed with a groan as you slammed the button violently, the incessant wailing finally stopping. With a sigh, your tired brain tried to remember why you'd set an alarm this early.

Oh. Right. You had a date.

You sat up with a smile on your face, stretching before going over to your closet and wondering what to wear. A part of you really wanted to impress Minho. Finally, you settled on a cute dress you rarely wore. Pulling it on, you looked in the mirror and nodded to yourself in approval. Not bad...

As you finished getting ready, you hovered near your trusty knives on the bedside table. You weren't going to need them on a date...and it wasn't like you could hide them in your dress, either. You shook your head and left them there, going to the living room.

Hyunjin was lying on the couch, his gaze fixed on the netscreen. As he noticed you walk in, he hurriedly switched it off, putting a smile on his face. Frowning, you went over to grab your keys, his shifty behaviour making you suspicious.

"Um, is there anything I should know?"

"What? Nothing! Absolutely nothing." He eyed you up and down, wolf-whistling under his breath. "Damn, who'd you dress up for?"

"That's none of your business. I'll be back later. Again-"

"Don't answer the door for strangers. Got it. I'll be careful. I'm not a toddler, Y/n."

You rolled your eyes as you opened the front door. "Could have had me fooled. Also...I'm tired of you walking around shirtless. I'll get Jisung to bring you some clothes."

Hyunjin smirked, placing his cheek in his palm. "Why, angel? Does it affect you?"

Deciding not to grace him with an answer, you left the apartment, locking it behind you, his chuckle the last thing you hear as you leave.

Minho's eyes lit up as you walked towards him from across the street, your footsteps lazy as you crossed the road.

"Hey there. You look really pretty." He smiled. You looked around, humming. You were downtown, on a long street lined with hawkers and stalls selling everything from netscreens to steaming hot dumplings. It wasn't exactly your first choice for a date night, but it could be fun. It was also very close to your home, so if an emergency were to happen, you'd be able to dash back...

"Thank you. So...what have you got planned?"

"Well, I've always found places like this interesting. Every person here probably has a different story..." he sighed as he looked around the crowd, before dragging his gaze back to you. "I just thought we could take a walk, reach the end of the street. Maybe browse some stalls. What do you think? Cause there's a nice restaurant nearby, so if you don't like it then...." He chewed on his bottom lip, worried that you thought his idea was lame.

"No, this sounds fun. Let's do it." You shrugged. His relieved grin made your heart flutter as he hesitantly took your hand, leading you down the street.

Jisung knocked on the door, clutching the bag in his hands tightly as he waited for Hyunjin to open up. You’d called him and told him to bring Hyunjin ‘some clothes’. Hearing your voice again had made him realize just how much he’d missed you, despite only being away for one night.

When Hyunjin finally opened the door, Jisung lifted an eyebrow as he noted his bare chest, and the tight sweatpants which he remembered seeing you wear on more than one occasion. Could you have...no. Slightly uncomfortable, he ignored the android’s cocky smirk as he pushed past, heading for the couch and dropping the bag there.

“Here are some clothes that hopefully fit you.” He wrinkled his nose, trying to avert his eyes from the scantily clad android. “So...you don’t have to walk around looking like that.”

Hyunjin hummed, taking a banana from the fruit bowl and handing it to Jisung as he sifted through the clothes. “Thank you.” He said simply.

Jisung regarded the banana with disdain, dropping it on the table as he looked around. “Do you...do you know where Y/n went?”

Hyunjin picked up the nervous edge to Jisung’s voice. Hmm.

“I don’t know, she didn’t say. But...my guess is she was going on a date. She dressed up real cute.” He shrugged, grabbing Jisung’s discarded banana and peeling it.

“A...a date?” Jisung swallowed, hating the mass of jealousy clogging his throat. “Y/n never dresses up...”

“Hm.” Hyunjin bit into the banana, talking with his mouth full. “When’s the last time you took a shower, dude?”

Jisung fought the urge to snap, his patience wearing thin. ‘I’m a mechanic, pretty boy. This is what I do for a living.” He wiped off the grease on his chin, looking up. ‘Did I get it?”

Hyunjin tilted his head in amusement. “Uh huh.”

Jisung glared, pausing as his neodisk’s alarm set off. Shit, he had to be back at the workshop in 15 minutes. He had really wanted to ask Hyunjin some questions, though. Why was he hiding from the palace? And how long was he expecting to do it?

“Bye.” Jisung mumbled under his breath, heading for the door. He didn’t know if it was jealousy or an actual fear of being found out...but he needed Hyunjin out of your apartment, as soon as possible.

"Those are fake, right?" You noted, your eyes falling on a stall lined with numerous neodisks and netscreens. "There's no way those are authentic, especially when they only cost that much." You said firmly.

"They most probably are." He shrugged, as you continued walking down the street.

So far, the date was going very well. Minho was funny, good at conversation, and he seemed to care about you a lot. This was the most fun you'd had in ages.

It was nice not having to be riddled with worries and burdens. For once in your life, someone else was taking the lead. It felt liberating.

The two of you had already consumed a fair amount of dumplings as well as managed to piss off every other person in the Sound Sensitivity stall, when your neodisk's extremely loud ringtone sliced through the silence, causing you to stumble and knock over an entire shelf of deflectors. Needless to say, the two of you were now banned from that particular stall.

You regretted pushing him away, wishing you'd given him the chance to show this side of him before.

"Oh look!" Your eyes suddenly focused an array of jewelry, laid across the table, most of the pieces looking suspiciously authentic.

"That looks interesting. Wait, look at those..." He said slowly, pulling you to the stall and running his finger over the item that had caught his eye right away.

You peered around him, letting out a small gasp as you saw what he was looking at.

There were a pair of beautiful, delicate rings lying on the table. Wow. You found yourself wondering about the history behind them. They seemed to be really ancient.

Minho took one in his hand, inspecting it as he turned it around. "Wow. This looks like a real ruby...if it's fake, then it's very well made."

"Are they wedding rings?" You noticed in awe as he handed the other, more petite one to you. Turning it over, you made a small sound of appreciation.

Unable to control the temptation, you slid the ring down your finger, raising your hand to look at it. It was so beautiful...

"Do you really like it?"

"I do..."

"Then buy it."

"I didn't bring any crescents with me." You sigh, moving to take the ring off. "It's okay-"

"No! Just...wait. Let me find out how much it costs, okay?" He quickly stepped into the stall before you could protest. You sighed, continuing to look through the rest of the jewelry as Minho found the shop owner, sitting at the back in a chair. He noticed her blinker, realizing she was an android. Fuck, she wouldn't be easy to bargain with.

"How much are these?" He asked, raising up the ring.

The woman paused, squinting at it before nodding. "If you want the pair, 1021 crescents."

Minho groaned inwardly. He didn't want to let you down...but if you knew he bought something that expensive for you on the first date, you would probably be weirded out. It's not like you knew how rich he was.

Sighing, Minho nodded. "Okay, I'll buy them." The lady nodded, handing him the crescent processor. He punched in his code, the woman taking the device back as it let out a tiny ping.

"All yours." She said, turning around and going back to her chair. Minho bowed gratefully before heading out again.

He walked over to you, smiling. "I got them."

"Oh, how much were they??"

Shit.

"Um, only 15 crescents."

You hummed in approval, smiling as he slid his ring on as well. "Wow, that's less than I expected for rings this intricate, but I guess this place isn't a certified jewelry store or anything. It makes sense."

"Yeah." He swallowed. He didn't like lying to you, even if it was just a tiny white lie...but he'd gotten used to lying. The smile on your face as you looked at him was enough, though. He watched you observe the glinting ring on your finger, swallowing. Maybe he should tell you those were real, and not a cheap knock-off...but no, you might think it's weird and return it. He definitely didn’t want that. Something about you wearing the ring he bought for you was making his heart thud impossibly fast.

His smile grew wider as you grabbed his hand again, tugging gently. "I'm hungry." You pouted.

"Didn't we just eat, princess?"

"Well yeah, but we didn't have dessert..." You mumbled, looking up. He smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Okay, let's go get something sweet. Like what, though?"

You looked around, your eyes falling on an ice cream truck right across you, letting out a sound of happiness in the process. Minho followed your gaze, smiling as he saw the stall.

"Do you want ice-cream, hm, baby?" He teased. You nodded, flashing him doe eyes as he tried to maintain his control, your innocent expression affecting him in a way he couldn't quite describe.

The two of you made your way to the stall.

After a lot of thought, you decided on a pinkberry popsicle. Minho chose not to have one, claiming he didn't have much of a sweet tooth.

You walked down the street, swinging Minho's hand lightly as you licked and sucked on your popsicle with fervor. It'd been so long since you had ice cream of any sort, choosing to ration your crescents to buy what really mattered. Humming under your breath, you glanced up at him, only to find his gaze burning into you, his expression having changed.

Minho tried to ignore the heat rushing south as you swirled your tongue around the tip of the popsicle, seemingly oblivious to the effect you were having on him. But no, you’d noticed.

You averted your eyes from him, his heavy stare causing your insides to twist. You tried your best to consume the ice-cream in a less...provocative manner, but it wasn't as easy as it sounds.

Eh, fuck it. You might as well have some fun with it.

You licked a stripe up the base of the popsicle to the top, sucking on it as you looked up at him, winking.

When his eyes darkened considerably, you knew you'd been playing a dangerous game. Minho kept his eyes firmly locked on the street in front of him, his hand tight around yours as he chose to ignore you.

You sighed under your breath at your failure to rile him up, choosing to finish your ice-cream silently as the crowd started thinning out, the two of you nearing the end of the street.

The road was now quiet, and the absence of the bustling noise you'd grown accustomed to around these parts made the atmosphere even more intense. You carefully avoided eye contact with Minho as you discarded the naked popsicle stick into a waiting trashmachine, not wanting to see his expression.

"You really seemed to be enjoying that ice-cream." He said lowly, his tone sparking something carnal in your lower half. God.

To tell the truth, you weren't big on sex. The only passion you'd ever harboured was toward your knives...So the deep arousal settling itself in your core was surprising, to say the least.

What did you have to lose?

"I was. It was delicious." You mumbled, leaning in closer to him and working up your courage.

"I'd rather taste something else, though."

Minho swore under his breath at your boldness. That was it, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you into an empty alley, pushing you up against the wall as his eyes bore into yours.

"Naughty kitten. I didn't expect this from you." He mumbled almost to himself, his finger coming up to tilt your chin higher, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"I like the bold ones, though." He whispered in your ear. His proximity was blindingly intoxicating, and you let out a small whimper when you felt his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

Minho's eyebrow raised. "What was that?" He let out a drawn out chuckle. "I barely did anything, kitten. Why are you already so riled up?

"I'm not."

His finger brushed across your cheek as he cupped it gently, his lips forming into a mock pout. "Your face is redder than a tomato...I guess I finally managed to fluster you. Yay me." He mumbled, his eyes on your lips.

"I never get f-flustered. Especially not by you."

Minho paused, his smirk growing wider as he noticed the way you couldn't quite look at his face, the slight tremble of your lip as you uttered the lie.

"Sure, whatever you say." Minho leaned in until his bottom lip brushed against yours. He found himself relishing the blown out innocence in your expression. For once, you didn't look completely self assured, confident you know what happens next. The light helplessness he had thrust you into was turning him on even more.

Your lips parted as you stared up at him, too shy to make the first move.

Inhaling, Minho let out a soft sigh. His breath tickled your chin as he finally molded his lips with yours, gently.

Your eyes blew wide as his admittedly soft mouth moved against yours, slowly drifting closed as you kissed him back. He tasted so sweet...

Minho's hands snaked behind you, gripping the backs of your thighs as he lifted you up, slotting himself between your legs.

"I've been wanting to do this for such a long time..." he mumbled against your lips, teeth pulling on your bottom lip as he stared into your eyes.

You held onto him tightly, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your lips back to his, parting yours. The two of you made out, each swipe of his tongue drawing out a moan from you, making you want more.

He broke away after a few minutes, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against yours.

"You-"

You were interrupted as he rolled his hips into yours out of nowhere, the thick bulge in his pants rubbing against your clothed folds. Letting out a choked moan, you whined softly, bucking your hips as your mind begged for more.

"Patience, kitten."

"I'm p-patient."

He raised an eyebrow, one hand sliding up your dress to cup your breast, his thumb running over your covered nipple and drawing out another whimper from you.

"Really? Doesn't seem like it."

"Please-"

"Please, what?"

"Please make me f-feel good." You managed to get out, looking up at him with pleading eyes and making him swear as he let go of you, setting you on the ground again as he pulled you out of the alley, his grip on your wrist firm as he walked to your apartment as fast as he could.

Fuck, it hurt. But it had to be done. Hyunjin stared at the bloody tracker in the sink. Setting the knife down, he breathed out slowly.

Smashing it with his fist, he made sure it was destroyed before tossing it into your trash can and sighing. He used his elbow to wipe the drops of blue on the counter. Shit, he was going to need a shower after this.

No matter what, one thing was for sure. He couldn’t let them find him.

Never.

As the two of you got closer to your apartment, your addled brain suddenly remembered the fact that you were hiding the royal android in your apartment- and here you were, bringing someone who worked for the government right to him. Damn it, all the making out had made you forget.

You stopped in your tracks right in front of your front door, Minho turning to you with a raised eyebrow at your hesitation.

"Open the door, Y/n."

"I...um..." you tried to gather your thoughts together. You couldn't send him away now. Fuck. You were already in too deep, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't need him inside you right away.

"I...um, my room is really messy. Uh, just let me go in and clean it a bit-"

Minho let out a low growl, trapping you against your door as he leaned in. "I don't give a shit about your room, kitten. I just want to fuck you until you're dumb and begging me for more."

You looked up at him, mouth opening slightly as you tried to think of what to say, his words effectively rendering you mute.

"P-please?" You managed to get out, pouting up at him. Minho's expression softened slightly, and he stepped back slowly with a sigh. "Fine. Go ahead." He leaned against the wall, raising an eyebrow at you. "Be quick. I don't want to stay out in this hallway with a boner any longer than I have to."

You smiled gratefully, quickly unlocking your door and shutting it behind you as you went into your apartment. Swearing under your breath, you quickly searched your tiny apartment, unable to find Hyunjin. Your heart started beating faster as you wondered where the tall android could have possibly gone.

Finally, you found him in your bathroom.

Naked.

"What the f- Hyunjin! I thought I told Jisung to get you clothes-"

"He did. I can't take a shower clothed, though, right?" Hyunjin smirked, clutching your towel in his fingers as he glanced up at your red cheeks.

"You look worked up."

"It's not because of you." You hissed, and the man scoffed. "Whatever you say, princess."

Your eyes widened as you heard your front door open, cursing.

Fuck this. You really didn't have time for this bullshit.

"Stay. Quiet." You snapped quietly, ignoring Hyunjin's confused expression as you quickly darted out of the bathroom, locking the door from the outside as you leaned against it, trying to seem nonchalant.

Minho walked in, his eyes falling on your messy bed as he pulled his shirt off, making you gulp at the sight of his chiselled torso.

"Well, you didn't really do a good job of cleaning, did you?" He laughed. "It's okay, I don't blame you."

He came over to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he tilted your chin up. "I'm going to ruin this pretty face of yours." He mumbled, pressing his lips to yours again as you whimpered against him. He groaned, his hands roughly kneading the flesh of your ass as he deepened the kiss even further.

He bit your lip again, his hand coming down to your thigh to lift it higher, his bulge gaining better access to your heat. "Fuck, I can feel how wet you are. Tell me, baby. How do you want me?"

You whined, the words stuck in your throat. You were acutely aware of Hyunjin's presence in the bathroom, and the fact that he was overhearing all of this.

Minho's hand suddenly came down on your rear, a sharp smack that snapped you out of your thoughts, making you yelp. "Answer my question." He growled.

All your hesitation melted away in that moment. You were too far gone.

"I w-want you, Master."

Minho's eyes widened a little at the title, swallowing as he noted your embarrassed expression at what had slipped out. He felt himself get harder, his pants constricting him uncomfortably.

A smirk grew on his face as he picked you up, kissing you as he sat down on your bed with you on his lap. “Good girl.”

You grinded down on him, moaning softly at the feeling of his erection. "M-master, I wanna taste you..."

He looked up at you, nodding. "Whatever you want, kitten. Get master's cock all wet, hm?"

You slithered down, unzipping his pants hastily. Consumed with the need to feel him, you pulled down his briefs as quickly as you could, the sight of his cock drawing out a groan from you.

Long and pink, a bead of pre-cum rested on its tip. Unable to control yourself, you leaned in and swiped your tongue over it, humming at the taste.

Minho threw his head back, the view of your soft lips wrapping around the head of his cock making him feel drunk on an emotion he never knew existed. On instinct, his fingers curled in your hair, making you take him even deeper.

You tried to focus on your breathing as Minho's cock hit the back of your throat, pulling on your hair roughly as he started fucking into you. "That's right." He hissed. "Little slut. Take this fucking cock-"

He grunted, reaching down to pull on your top, exposing more of your cleavage to him. Scared he was going to rip your dress, you reached behind you to unzip it.

Minho let you pull off his cock for a second, helping you slide the offending material off. As soon as you managed to get the dress on the floor, his hold on your hair was back, shoving you all the way down on his cock once more.

The lack of oxygen was making you lightheaded, as Minho resumed his almost cruelly rough thrusts. You loved it, though. The heat between your thighs was demanding your attention, but you just couldn't bring yourself to pull away yet. Just a little more...fuck, his groans above you sounded so heavenly. You wished you could hear them everyday.

Minho finally seemed to take some mercy on you, his grip on your hair tightening as he slid his cock out of your mouth slowly, inch by inch.

"Pretty." He mumbled, his thumb running over your lip, slick with his juices. You let out a mewl, wanting him to ruin you already. You wanted to be fucked stupid, like he said. Wanted to be his helpless little doll.

It scared you, how much you were willing to give away all your power to this man. Throw away any semblance of control, just to not be able to make decisions for once, for someone else to take care of you for a change.

Minho pulled you onto his lap, playing with the waistband of your panties as he gazed into your eyes. "I'm going to have my way with you, sweetheart." He said, pulling your panties off with a sudden, almost eerie calmness. ‘And you’re going to take it all like a good slut, hm?”

Minho's hands on your hips guided you over his cock, and your breath hitched as you feel his tip pressing against the velvet of your folds, his eyes falling on your chest. ‘Y-yes, Master.”

Minho's lips latched around your clothed nipple, nibbling on it gently as he pulled your other breast out of its cup, toying with the bud.

"Master..."

"Hm?" His eyes shot up to yours, and you're shocked at how different they look. Dark, filled with irate lust and an apparent need to claim you.

"I need you."

"Beg for it."

You swallowed, hesitation filling you. You looked up at the ceiling as your brain reminded you for a second about the asshole in the other room who was most likely having a field day eavesdropping. He was probably really enjoying it. You wouldn't put it past him.

The image of his dick, that you'd accidentally stolen a glance of, suddenly flashed in your head, turning you redder. It was beautiful...almost weirdly so. Inhumanely perfect. Obviously, it was manufactured to be, but that didn't mean you weren't going to-

Minho's squeeze on your ass cheek brought you back to the present, confusion filling you as you looked back down at the man, his head tilted as he glared at you.

Why the fuck were you thinking about that pain in the ass, when you had this god of a human underneath you? Honestly, Y/n, get it together.

“I told you to beg.”

You felt your uncertainty melt away as you inhaled, the neediness making a reappearance.

"Want my p-pussy destroyed. Want master to fill me up. Make me his." You said softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He buried his nose in your neck, humming in content. "Good girl. My good girl." He mumbled against your skin, lining his cock up with your entrance, pumping himself as he did so.

You let out a strangled moan as you felt him push his rigid length into you slowly, your walls hugging him tightly as you tried to adjust to the feeling. "F-fuck-"

"It feels good, doesn't it?" He said, tone a little softer compared to before. You nodded desperately as his hands found your waist, moving you and forcing you to take more of his cock, until you were sitting on him, him entirely inside of you.

Was sex always supposed to feel this good? It was almost euphoric, how good his length felt, stretching your pussy to its absolute limit. The pleasure shot through you, filling you up completely. Using your waist as leverage, he slowly started fucking up into you. Slow at first, and then his thrusts turned more animalistic, stretching your ass cheeks to take you deeper.

"It feels a-amazing, Master." You were finding it hard to speak incoherently, the sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room as you descended into a flurry of whines, as he bit your boobs, his lips kissing everything he could reach.

His mouth found yours again eventually, his lips parting yours as he pulled you close to him, your bodies sweaty and pressed together.

“Shit...”

Minho growled into the kiss, flipping you around and hovering over you as he lifted one leg over his shoulder, the new angle enabling him to hit your sweet spot accurately. The sight of your pussy twitching around his cock, stretching to accommodate all of him, was pushing him closer to the edge. You were perfect. So fucking perfect.

Minho had imagined having sex with you before. He'd never imagined it would be this heavenly, though. You were a completely different person now, the snark having disappeared completely. There were small whimpers falling out of your mouth, rather than the sarcastic comebacks he'd gotten used to hearing.

"My cute little slut. My bunny. Fuck." He snarled at the feeling of you clenching around him, his words driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. "You like this? Being a little whore for your master?"

You nodded in desperation, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he drove his cock into you like he was possessed. And he was, his emotions blurring as he felt you tilt your head back.

Minho bent down over you, hurriedly removing your bra and throwing it on the floor. He needed to see all of you. Running his hands over your boobs, he bit your neck, running his tongue over the marks he was making.

"I...I'm going to cum-" You cried out, raking your nails down his back as you squirmed. He held you down, your expression pushing him impossibly closer to his high. Minho frowned as he felt his heart pound. Even when he was inside you, he somehow wanted to get even closer to you. Groaning, he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. The metal of the ring he’d got you brushed against his skin, making his heartbeat accelerate.

For a second, he wondered why you were even letting him fuck you. Was this going to be a one time thing? Or did you really like him?

Did you want to be with him?

Minho opened his mouth, a groan leaving him as he looked at the spot where you two were connected. "Y/n..."

You looked up at him, quivering as you felt your orgasm overtaking you, hitting you full force. Waves of pleasure crashed through you as you tried to listen to Minho, your brain a mushy mess as your orgasm forced you to forget how to breathe.

"Y/n, I love..." Minho frowned, trailing off as he continued thrusting. No...fuck, he was too scared.

"...your pussy. Taking me in so well. Cum all over Master, there you go..." Feeling the sparks of pleasure in his abdomen build, Minho rutted into your limp body, desperately chasing his high. Maybe some other time.

"M-master...want your cum, please..." you whispered into his ear, unable to take the overstimulation for any longer. You felt him pounding into your sensitive pussy, the sensation overwhelming you.

"Fuck, take it then, bunny-" Minho growled, slamming into you as he came. You whimpered, feeling him paint you white. The stars behind your eyes faded slowly as you blinked, Minho's face a blur above you.

He rode out his high, collapsing gently on top of you, his head in the crook of your neck, leaving a kiss on the sensitive skin. Panting heavily, Minho lifted himself up, his eyes running over your naked body as he pulled out.

"You're beautiful." He mumbled, thumb stroking your wet cheek. You smiled weakly, sitting up a little. Minho followed your gaze to your pussy, his cum dribbling out from between your folds and forming a small pool on the mattress.

"Hm, we need to get you all cleaned up." He stood up. "Do you want to take a shower?"

You almost nodded, but then you suddenly remembered. Fuck.

"N-no! I...I'm tired. Cuddles?" You held your hands out to him, pouting as innocently as you could. Minho shook his head, grinning as he grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulling it on.

"Fine, just tell me where you keep the towels, then." He said, heading towards the door of your bathroom. Oh god.

You jumped up on your wobbly legs, stumbling a little as you went over to him and grabbed his hand, stopping him. He looked at you, an eyebrow raised at your weird behaviour. You opened your mouth, wondering what to say.

A sudden sharp ring cut through the silence, coming from his discarded pants on the floor. You let go of Minho as he crouched down to pull his neodisk out of his pocket, frowning at the screen.

Oh no. 

"Shit. Uh....Y/n, I've got to go." He looked at you in concern, clutching the device in his hand as he sighed, barely concealing his frustration. "Will you be okay?"

You tried to conceal your curiosity, knowing this would be to your advantage. No longer having to come up with an excuse, you nodded quickly, answering affirmatively. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

Minho quickly pulled his pants on as your eyes surreptitiously glanced at the bathroom door. You thanked whoever was up there for the distraction, watching as Minho clothed himself hurriedly.

Glancing back at you, Minho bit his lip. He really didn't want to leave you like this. He wanted to hold you close, wanted to kiss your face and tell you what a good girl you'd been for him. But he was helpless.

He needed one more kiss, though. Now that he'd tasted your soft lips, he wasn't sure he could stop himself from wanting to kiss you all the time. You'd always been intoxicating, but now you were even more so.

Walking to you, he grabbed your cheeks, staring into your eyes, his own straying down to your lips. Leaning in, he kissed you, soft and sweet.

"See you tomorrow, baby." He mumbled against your lips, giving you a half-hearted smile before turning around to leave. You sighed as he left, your heart cursing Hyunjin.

As soon as the door closed behind him, you twisted around, pulling on your clothes and walking quickly over to your bathroom. Your hand paused on the handle, as you felt the embarrassment bubbling up again. Whatever. Suck it up, Y/n.

You still craved Minho, wanted him to wrap you in his strong arms and make you feel safe. Shaking your head, you reminded yourself to snap back to the present. There was nothing you could do.

Hyunjin raised his head as you opened the door, his infuriating smirk still on display. And he was still fucking naked. 

“Well, you seemed like you were having fun out there.”

“I was.” You snapped, shaking your head. “Did...did you really hear everything?”

Hyunjin stood up, walking close to you. Again, too close. He seemed to like invading your personal bubble.

“M-master, I n-need you~” He mocked, making his voice high-pitched in an attempt to mock you. Your glare grew icier. He shrugged, voice back to normal. “But you still sounded really hot. I bet I could make you feel even better, though. Make you moan louder.” His tone dropped deeper on that last sentence, making you swallow as you stepped away.

“Fuck off.” You muttered, trying to not show your expression on your face. “Now get out. I need a shower.”

He smiled. “A-”

“If the next sentence out of your mouth is a suggestion to join me, no thanks.” You grumbled. He chuckled at that, shaking his head as he eyed your limp with contempt.

“No, I was just asking if you were hungry. I have a million different recipes embedded in my memory, and I wanted to try and cook today. You know, as a thank you for letting me stay.”

You paused, turning your head and sighing. “Well, I’m not that hungry...but sure, go ahead.”

He smiled, bowing. “You won’t be disappointed, princess.”

You grimaced as he left, stripping naked once more as you stepped into the shower, not wanting to think about the possible feelings you had for Minho or Hyunjin and his annoyingly stressful presence in your house. You really had to ask him what he was planning on doing sometime soon. How long would this be going on?

Minho knocked carefully on the door to his father’s study, his heart pounding.

“Come in.”

He swallowed slowly, shoving the door open. His father was sat at his desk, his table piled with documents.

“You needed me?” He asked, voice quiet.

“You were supposed to hand out the Phantoms’ equipment today.”

Fuck. “I...well, I handed it over to Mr. Kim. He said he would-”

“Minho.” He turned around, rubbing his forehead, his face filled with exasperation. “Minho. You had one job. Oversee the Phantom processes. You’re the supervisor. You were supposed to be there, son.”

Minho let out a shaky exhale, looking down at his feet. “I know. I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time.” He promised.

“You better. Or I won’t pay heed to the fact that you’re my son. Now tell me, what was so important that you had to ditch official government business?”

Minho didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Fiddling with the ring on his finger nervously, he tried to come up with an excuse. But it was useless.

“That’s what I thought. Good night.” His father dismissed him with a disappointed sigh, turning back to his work. And that was that.

Minho left for his bedroom, blinking back tears of frustration as he climbed onto his bed. Taking the ring and his earrings off, he stripped to his underwear, burying his face in his pillow. He let his thoughts drift to you again, like they usually did this time of night. Usually he'd just be slipping into reveries and imagining you as his. Except this time, there was the tiniest bit of hope that you liked him back. He still couldn’t believe he’d kissed you. Fucked you.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, despite it all. He really did love you, and he was willing to take his father's wrath over and over again if it meant he could keep you in his life.

Hyunjin let out a groan as soon as you close your bathroom door, rushing over to the sink as he felt his body burn up again. He didn’t know what was happening. He’d dug out the tracker in his wrist a while ago, but the overheating still hadn’t ceased.

Advanced android. Hyunjin let out a bitter chuckle. If only they knew. If only they fucking knew what the ‘royal android’ actually was.

He opened the fridge, the cool air calming him down. Ahh, that was much better. He let out a satisfied hum after a few minutes, feeling cooler. 

He turned around, wanting to make his way to your room to apologize for his earlier behaviour. It hadn't been his intention to flirt with you endlessly, to the point of annoyance. But now that he'd started, he found it hard to stop.

His mind replayed your moans and whimpers from before. He'd been telling the truth back then. Although he liked playing off his flirting as jovial, there was a small part of him that definitely meant every word. You were a beautiful woman after all, how could he not be attracted to you?

Consumed in his thoughts, he almost didn't see it coming. The punch to his face was sudden and powerful.

The force of it was strong, and so searingly painful he screwed his eyes shut as he gave out, slowly rocking back and forth before crashing onto the floor. Flickering lights, and a robotic whirr...the shock barely had enough time to sink in as he desperately tried to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

Before he could, everything went black.

[fishybehavior]

Captured

- -- - -

Knock Knock Knock,

Three figures stood on the doorsteps of a modest home, in a modest neighborhood, in a modest town. Which was just a nice way of saying, a small house for even one person, in a cluster of other small homes, in a town that barely squeaked by that definition. As enough people passed through going to more important places that it brought the population count up to the minimum thousand that defined a town.

The three figures clothed in suspiciously matching outfits, suspiciously wearing all black in the middle of the day, were suspiciously being ignored by all passersby. Men like these never visited little towns like these, but everyone knew that they couldn't talk about this to anyone. And everyone knew that residents of the home were going to move out within the hour, leaving everything they owned behind. who will never be mentioned again by the townsfolk, no matter how well they knew their neighbors. They'd never be mentioned again. Unless the rumor mill ran dry, and then aging mothers would ponder and murmur what their neighbors did to bring three suspicious men to their little do-nothing town.

Knock, Knock, Knock.

Three more hard knocks, somehow measured yet impatient. The door refused to let their knocks fall limp and hollow, like anyone else who ever knocked on the cheap flimsy piece of wood the owners called a door.

The second round of knocks broke the silence from within the house. The men heard the sound of shuffling, chairs squeaking, and the scraping noise of something solid shoved in front of the front door.

None of this seemed to impress the figures, with the one who knocked stepping aside with a disappointed sigh. "Boulder, would you mind?" Letting the tallest of them step forward.

"Of course Blizzard," He was tall and confident as he took the lead, his stance showing pride as he centered himself. Grinning at the opportunity to flaunt his strength, he knocked down the door with a fluid strike with his shoulder. Giving enough force to cause the chest to block the door to push aside as if it was an empty cardboard box. Revealing the dark interior of the home, as the curtains were drawn tight, and all lights extinguished.

“Think they left?” The Boulder grunted, taking the lead as they began to scan the seemingly empty house.

“Improbable.” The one who knocked answered, shorter than the brute in the lead but not by much. He stood ramrod straight, arms politely folded behind his back. “I didn’t register any sounds of a door, and we would have heard them slam it shut.” He pointed out as the three walked in with no qualms of disturbing the home they broke into, ruthlessly judging all aspects of every nook and cranny. They took their time as they walked casually into the living room. A few pictures of their targets decorated the bureau. The one who knocked picked one of them up, studying it as if they would reveal the location of their living counterparts.

“Let's split up. I don't want to stay in this dead zone any longer than necessary.” The shortest spoke. He was odd compared to the others. While his partners were put together and professional: he broke the all-black dress code with electric blue converse, his face always had a smirk instead of professional neutrality, and his eye not covered with an eyepatch twinkled with mischief. While one of them acted as the brain, and the other was the muscle, he was the wild card.

The other two nodded, and they separated. The biggest one went off towards the kitchen, the one who knocked stayed in the living room to look for clues, and the odd one started towards the bedroom.

Walking into the bedroom, he scanned the simple room for signs of life. Two simple beds were pushed into the corners of the room, from the clothes laid out and thrown about. One could guess that either the residents weren't very neat, or they caught them off guard like planned. His footsteps tapped as he slowly approached the beds. Crouching down he looked beneath them, and nothing. All he saw was a few boxes used for storage, a few crumbs for the rats, and a pair of shoes under one, with only one shoe under the other bed.

"Gonna be hard to run with only one shoe," He muttered, standing up. Humming in frustration, as there seemed to be no other place for them to hide. "Where are you?"

A crash from the other room drew his focus. Sprinting to the kitchen where it came from, he arrived just as his partner was cuffing one of their targets. He was shouting and struggling as hard as he could even though Boulder had a solid 50 pounds on him. He wasn't going anywhere.

Blizzard turned to him, unfazed by the struggle on the floor. "Did you find the girl, Storm?"

The other partner shook his head, looking at the boy, and noticed he only had one shoe on. "But she’s not wearing shoes. She couldn't have gone far."

"Hmm, possibly," he muttered, kneeling to the pinned target to look him in the eyes. "Where's the girl?" The captured target clapped his mouth shut, refusing to speak.

Boulder, who was pinning him down, put more pressure on him, "Answer the question."

"Hey, you two, take a step back." Storm one said, motioning for the others to pull back. He got close up in his target's face, his smirk widening to a smile.

"Now, you two have been running for a while, and it's finally over. We know you two have a real strong bond, and I know you're also going to miss her if we leave her behind. Besides," he said, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. "She's just a kid. Do you think she can take care of herself? All alone? Being hunted like a runaway dog?" His voice dropped again to a dangerous whisper, pushing his face even closer. "So save everyone the hassle and your baby sister the trauma, Kai. Where. Is. She?"

The target scowled at his words, refusing to give him any reaction besides seething anger. "Fuck off."

Storm's smirk fell into a scowl, unwilling to move till he got an answer. The hair on the back of everyone's neck stood up as the air became charged. He watched Kai squirm in discomfort as the air around him began to crackle menacingly around him.

"Storm! You're not going to get any grace from the director if the target is unnecessarily injured." Blizzard chastized, the static in the air dissipating at his words.

Storm stood slowly, "Fine," he snapped, stepping away from the boy. "Besides, I don't need to touch a hair on his head to get what we need." He muttered darkly, the other two sharing a glance as they watched Storm walk over to the window grasping the heavy curtain. "Since she's obviously not here, let us make sure she doesn't have anywhere to return to," And with a flash of lightning, he set the fabric on fire. Turning back to look at the boy's face, watching the sudden panic on his poor face. His eye's glancing at the floor beneath the couch with fear. Just a glance, but it was more than enough for Storm.

Walking to the couch he pushed it aside, inspecting the floor it appeared to be slightly off. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" He stood up and drove his heel into the floor, giving it two hard strikes, causing the floorboards to break and reveal the cavity beneath with a cloud of dust and debris.

He heard Kai start struggling again, throwing insults at him in an attempt to distract him from the hidden bunker. He paid no attention squinting through the dust, expecting to see a scared girl. But there was nothing, blinking he jumped into the hole.

"It's a tunnel! Blast! We may be able to catch her if we-

"Storm." Boulder interrupted with a growl, "She's long gone by now. The director wanted the boy; the girl was just a bonus. She's got no place to go," He gruffed referencing the fire which has spread to the walls, manageable now but it quickly gets out of hand. "I'll send agents to pick her up later." He gruffed as he picked up the squirming captive, a hood now over his head.

"But-"

"Storm. Boulder is right. We got what we came here for. No matter whatever you feel like you have to prove, we are done here." Blizzard said as he turned on his heel and walked out.

Grumbling Strom relinquished and jumped out of the hole. Watching his handiwork as now the home was quickly falling to the fire he started. His signature smirk was nowhere to be seen as he followed his partners out the door.

Leaving behind nothing but ashes and rumors as the four disappeared with no trace.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

Hi, I'm a parent of a 14yr old who says he is a transmale. After reading the vocabulary list, is there a difference between transmasculine and transgender male? He has not transition yet but I'm trying to learn/do what I can to support his journey. Thank you and please accept my apology if I didn't use the correct descriptive words.

Lee says:

The difference is like the squares and rectangles thing!

All squares are rectangles, so all trans men fall under the transmasculine umbrella, but not all rectangles are squares, so not all transmasculine people identify as men.

Transmasculine is a term used to describe trans people who were assigned female at birth and identify with masculinity to a greater extent than with femininity in some way.

Being transmasculine doesn’t mean that you actually identify as a man, it just means you’re A) masculine-leaning, B) transgender, and C) assigned female at birth.

Personally speaking, I identify as transmasculine because my gender expression and medical transition is bringing me in a direction society sees as masculine.

I also am medically transitioning to a body that people see as more masculine- I’m on testosterone, I’ve gotten top surgery, I’ve had a hysterectomy, and I’m scheduled for phalloplasty in the spring.

In terms of my gender expression, I usually have short hair, I’m growing a patchy quarantine beard, I wear men’s clothing, etc. But saying I have a “masculine” gender expression is an interesting thing because it depends on your point of view. Compared to my pre-transition gender expression I come across as much more masculine now, but compared to gender-conforming cisgender heterosexual men, I do not come across as masculine at all! People often assume I’m a gay man because I am gender non-conforming in some ways, like I have effeminate mannerisms and while I only wear men’s clothes I wear super skinny jeans and the like, so when I’m in a group of men they often think I am feminine, and therefore I must be gay because #sterotypes be like that.

So I use the term transmasculine because it can be helpful in describing what my transition is, like where I’m coming from and where I’m going to, even though I’m not stereotypically Masculine™.

Despite my masculine-esque appearance and transition, I actually identify as genderqueer and non-binary and I feel that my gender itself is neutral and not particularly masculine or feminine. 

I don’t understand what it means to “feel like” a boy/man, I don’t use masculine-coded words to refer to myself and prefer gender-neutral language, and I had a choice between being in a men’s group or space and a gender neutral group or space I’d always choose the gender neutral one. 

I’ve just always known that I would be happier in a more stereotypically “male” body and being in my pre-transition body was increasingly distressing after puberty. Some people who have similar feelings as I do might choose to identify as a trans man, but I’ve just never felt the need to do so.

So even though I identify with masculinity and would consider myself transmasculine, I don’t consider myself a trans male, and that’s how someone can be transmasculine but not a trans man!

Transmasculine is the umbrella term that covers both binary transgender men like your son and non-binary people like me who choose to transition in a masculine way.

In your son’s case, it seems likely that he is both transmasculine and a transgender male. He’d be transmasculine because he likely is transitioning (or wants to transition) in a masculine way and/or identifies with masculinity or male-ness more than femininity or female-ness, and he’d be a transgender man because he knows he is a man despite the gender he was assigned at birth.

So it’s possible to be transmasculine and a trans man.

That being said, there’s a bunch of different terms that people use within the community and which term someone uses depends on the context and what they’re comfortable.

Some trans men may not be particularly attached to the word transmasculine  as a self-identifier even though it’s a label they could choose to claim because they feel like it’s redundant or not necessary because saying they’re a trans man already conveys the same information that transmasculine does.

Transmasculine is a useful term for describing the overlap between the section of the trans male and AFAB non-binary community, but it doesn’t describe all AFAB non-binary people either, as some may identify as a trans neutral or eschew a broader umbrella altogether. 

So transmasculine doesn’t mean the same thing as assigned female at birth, and not all transgender people who were AFAB are also transmasculine.

Anyhow, being knowledgeable about the various self-identity terms people may use and how the various umbrella terms fit together is definitely a cool thing to do in supporting him, but I don’t really think it’s the most important thing! I’ll be honest, there’s a lot of terms out there that even I don’t know, especially specific microlabels for gender identities, and different people define and apply the same terms in different ways. But messing up on terms matters to some people more than others, so it is good to get an idea of the commonly used terms to avoid misunderstandings and hurt feelings.

In general, the most important thing you can do to support his journey is listen to him about what he needs and make sure you’re approachable so he knows that you will listen to him.

Now for some advice that you didn’t ask for! I just can’t help myself, so here we go.

I’d personally recommend looking into trans-competent mental health providers in your area. This is useful for a couple of reasons, the first being that pre-transition trans people often have depression because they struggle with being misgendered, incidents of transphobia, dysphoria about their bodies, being rejected and not accepted by peers/relatives/teachers, and so on, which is a lot to add on top of the usual stress from high school! And therapy can be helpful in finding strategies to cope with gender dysphoria.

Additionally, medical providers and insurance companies who follow the WPATH-SOC will require a letter from a psychologist saying that the person is ready to take [insert relevant medical transitioning step] so seeing a therapist is often the first step towards a medical transition, and at age 14 he might be interested in starting puberty blockers until he’s able to go on testosterone. Or he might want to start testosterone right away, or do neither, but having a therapist and getting diagnosed with gender dysphoria can help get through the gatekeeping process that may be present in medical transitioning if that is the path he decides he want to take.

But be careful of how you bring this up- you really don’t want it to come across as you saying “you’re trans so you’re mentally ill and you need therapy,” because the fear of conversion therapy means if you don’t make it clear why you’re suggesting therapy he might be hearing the completely different message of “you need therapy so you can stop being trans and get better” which is not your intent at all.

Every step makes your child’s life better- I legally changed my name at 17, which was hard for my parents to allow because obviously they were attached to the name they had given me at birth, but it made a big difference in my mental health. And the earlier people transition the easier it is for them.

It might also be helpful to offer to buy him men’s clothing and underwear and shoes and men’s deodorant and all that if he only has women’s things right now. He might be between the boy’s and the men’s sizes for clothes, but most folks can find something they can fit into.

You might also want to offer to buy him a safe binder from a reputable binder company. Binding unsafely can have risks, and if he can’t get a safe binder he might choose to bind unsafely with a cheap and dangerous binder or ace bandages or duct tape and so on, or bind for too long because he has to hide it and can’t get away to change out of it.

Buying a packer is another thing that he might want, but of course, with all of these things you also shouldn’t make assumptions about what your son will want or need. 

For example, some trans men may not medically transition and/or may not aim for an masculine gender expression because gender expression and genitals are different than gender identity. So even if he doesn’t want to go on testosterone, or decides to wear a dress sometimes or doesn’t pack, it doesn’t mean that he’s not trans.

You don’t want him to think that you’re saying that he should want these things or need them to be valid, or feel like you’re pressuring him into taking steps that he’s not ready for in his transition. But if you don’t bring up the topic at all, he might be too anxious to tell you about it because he’s worried about what you might think.

I do emphasize that being trans is rarely a phase, detransitioning is not common, trans people know who we are and we know our genders and you should trust our word on that and so on, but I think sometimes people push the “it’s not a phase!!!!” message so hard that they don’t leave any wiggle room for people who are still questioning and coming to terms with their identity. 

Especially at the start of someone’s journey we need to be open to some level of uncertainty and change. The only person who knows what someone’s gender identity is the person whose gender it is. It’s very important to take your son at his word! But figuring out your identity can be a process, so be understanding if he switches names, pronouns, or gender labels a few times while he’s still figuring it out. 

It’s likely that you will slip up with names and pronouns on occasion, and the best thing to do is just correct yourself, and move on.

You can briefly apologize (wait to do it later when you’re in private if it occured in front of someone) if you feel like it’s necessary. But don’t make it into a big deal, which calls attention to it and can be embarrassing for the trans person, and don’t start to self-flagellate about it and beat yourself up because then it makes it about you, and the trans person feels compelled to say “it’s fine” or something to reassure you when it isn’t fine.

Just correct yourself and move on, and do better next time! Then make sure you actually practice with his chosen name and pronouns so you make fewer mistakes in the future- practice makes perfect, as they say.

You should also make sure you’re an active ally to trans people in your everyday life if you weren’t already doing this. This is something you should ideally be doing whether or not you have a trans son who just came out. 

Finally, make sure you get the support you need. You might find seeing a therapist helpful for yourself, or connecting with a support group for parents of LGBTQ children- many are meeting on Zoom now, so if there isn’t a group local to you there’s probably one online you can join! Be careful to avoid the transphobic mom groups that promote conversion therapy, rapid onset gender dysphoria, and don’t believe in being transgender. Finding a good support group will let you vent when you need to and find community for yourself as well- it’s a lot to process, and it can be emotionally difficult for you on top of managing the logistics. 

But honestly, I wouldn’t recommend telling your son about anything you’re struggling with when it comes to his identity because saying things like “I feel like I’m mourning my daughter” isn’t going to make your relationship with your son any better. Especially because he’s 14, telling him that you’re having a hard time is just going to hurt him without helping you any, so it’s best to keep those feelings between yourself and your support system until you’ve reached that stage of acceptance when you’re no longer struggling with coming to terms with it. He needs to be reassured that you’re supportive of who he is and he won’t be able to reconcile your support with those statements, so don’t lie but don’t volunteer those sentiments.

The For parents/guardians intro has some of the same stuff as I mentioned above, like links to safe binders and packers and info on puberty blockers and the benefits of medical transitioning, so check that out too if you haven’t!

All in all, I think it’s really great that you’re reaching out and trying to support him! I know that even trans folks with really supportive parents still have anxiety about being rejected so it’s good to give them a little extra reassurance to show that you do care about him and that you do see him as male and you respect what he’s sharing with you. Good luck to both of you!

Followers, anything to add?

[after-witch]

Yandere Ransom Imagine

“That's some heavy-duty conjecture.”

Word Count: 2700ish

notes: unhealthy relationships, emotional and physical abuse, financial abuse, yandere

Imagine being a struggling adult working a full time job plus freelancing gigs just to get by in your one-bedroom apartment where the ceiling always leaks when it rains and you have to perform a complicated maneuver to make sure the door doesn’t jam up on you and you’re constantly worried about your landlord raising the rent.

Maybe a well-meaning friend gets you a gift card to an upscale bookstore because they know you haven’t had a new book on your shelves in years, or maybe you find $20 on the street like a veritable Charlie Bucket but instead of buying a Wonka Bar you head into a this fantastic artisan coffee shop on the rich side of town, a place that everyone always raves about on Instagram, just so you can try an expensive latte with hand-ground beans and flavors you’ve never heard of before--because don’t you deserve a treat, for once?

Whatever it is, wherever it is, Hugh Ransom Drysdale is waiting inside and sees you there.

And oh my God is it obvious that you’re out of place right off the bat. I mean, what the hell is someone like you doing in this part of town?

With your worn out clothes that are worn from necessity and not from being fashionably thrifted and your ratty purse stuffed with papers and candy wrappers that spill out when you dig in for your card or cash and your winter boots that you’ve probably worn 5 years in a row, ripped in the hell and patched with black tape that you hope people don’t notice.

It becomes even more obvious that you’re out of your element when something goes wrong. The gift card isn’t activated. The $20? A fake, probably a movie prop that blew in the wind. Whatever goes wrong, it means that you’re suddenly at the register, impatient people with real money tapping their expensive shoes behind you, unable to pay. You’re left standing there like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do or say.

Normally he might just roll his eyes and remind himself that people like you ought to stick to your own shops, your own place. But something about the way your eyes go all downcast and you seem to shrink down in embarrassment makes him take pity on you. Like a stray cat in the alley hoping someone will toss it some scraps.

So he strides up and flicks out a card and hands it to the cashier, dropping a friendly greeting to them because he spends like crazy and they probably know him by name at this place, and he’s the one who hands you your coffee or your bag and your hands touch ever so briefly during the exchange.

He leads you away from the register--don’t want to piss off the spoiled debutantes and assistants on lunchtime coffee runs--and you stammer out a thank-you-thank-you and you promise you’ll pay him back as soon as you can and Jesus Christ, isn’t that just adorable? Someone like you, some lost kicked puppy who can’t even afford new boots, promising to pay him back?

He doesn’t care if you pay him back, but he finds that he would like something out of this exchange, so he says that instead of paying him back you can do him the honor of going to lunch with him. His treat. 

He insists. And you can’t really say no, can you? You are hungry and he did just pay for your things and it’s the least you can do to oblige his request.

He’s not stupid. He doesn’t take you to some razzle dazzle fancy restaurant where you’ll feel embarrassed and out of place. Instead he takes you to a quiet diner, classy not greasy, where you can have an easy conversation and tell him all about yourself.

It’s funny. Normally he brings up his family name, his grandfather’s books, to women he picks up, to get them impressed and hooked and pliable. Something about you, though. Something about you is making him want to turn this into more than a lunch date and pressure for a quickie in the car to repay him. 

So he holds back to see what he can do with you on his own. No quickie in the car, but instead before he drops you off--at a bus station, you insisted--he brushes his hand over yours. Can he get your number? He swears he can feel the heat coming off your cheeks as you fumble for your phone and let him put his number in your contacts.

He waits a day, then asks you out again. Dinner, this time. He asks you if you know any good places and you recommend a dive bar that you can go to after work (because 1) schedule and 2) cheap) and shit, he’s all for it. There will be time in the future to impress you with restaurants that have dress codes instead of sticky floors. You sit close on the stools and you buy him a drink (real cute, real real cute) and just for you he keeps the baggie in his pocket there all night instead of heading to the bathroom to liven things up.

Your relationship develops with an almost shocking speed. He knows just how to reel you in. I mean--look at you. Working your ass off at some dead end job, living in an apartment so shitty it takes you almost a month before you reluctantly agree to let him see it.

He can understand, though. Because you’re not that stupid and you know he’s wealthy, even before he casually brings up his family in a “it’s no big deal but I don’t want to keep things from you because we’re getting serious” sort of way. 

You pretend to be casual about it all, but he can tell you’re suddenly wondering: why the hell would someone from this wealthy family want anything to do with me?

It’s a question Ransom asks himself a lot. He asks himself this when he’s snorting coke off another woman’s stomach (hey, you’re dating, but he’s got needs and they aren’t met with hand-holding) or when he’s eating another greasy burger at a shitty bar because you refuse to let him buy you a nice dress to wear so he can take you out somewhere fancy.

You’re not the type of person he normally goes for, not at all. He has strings of girlfriends and flings, but they all tend to fit that same cookie cutter mold: wealthy do-nothings with their parent’s credit card who want someone else to spoil them for a while, without caring who it is or what they’re like. They’re easy pickings that Ransom can burn through and then toss aside when he’s bored of them. Some of them cry but a few days later he’ll see them on someone else’s arm, it’s the circle of life.

With you, though, there’s more. You don’t expect him to pay for dates or anything at all (even when he wants to spoil you a bit) and you have actual conversations and you seem to actually give a shit about what he says and does. You argue with him, too, when he wants you to do something (just let him take you shopping, for Christ’s sake!) or he asks you to move in (again) and you say no (again). I mean, you really fight with him, spitting words and all.

And unlike his previous girlfriends, you don’t come crawling back a few hours later because you want to buy a new purse with his shiny credit card. Instead, you make him apologize first. Fuck, that’s hot. It’s also something he tucks away in the back of his mind to work on later--but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he sometimes has the overwhelming urge to push you against the wall and fuck you for the first time right after a good argument. 

But he knows that would destroy your image of him entirely, so he holds back. He’s good at crafting a version of himself that appeals to others when he has to, and you’re maybe the first person that’s been worth all the effort he’s put into you so far.

But you need a push, a push that makes it so you can’t go running back to your shithole apartment when you fight or when you question whether or no you two have a future. You do, you’re just too naive--too inexperienced with money, to say it charitably--to realize it.

So he tips off the fire marshal about your apartment building’s shoddy fire escapes and well, damn, in the process of the investigation all the little corners that your landlord has cut come crashing down. At least they were discovered before it was the building that came crashing down.

But the evacuation of the building leaves you--and countless others--high and dry. You don’t have any family in the area, and your only half ass-decent friend in the city lives in the same building but her parent’s aren’t going to let a stranger move in.

When you finally realize you have no options and call him, voice tentative and embarrassed, he knows just what to say to get you to pack your meager belongings and wait for him to pick you up. He’s no-nonsense about it. 

He knows how to avoid deflating your pride, how to keep you from deciding you’d rather stay in a shelter than take his charity. You’ll pay him back, he says, you’ll figure out a rental plan or whatever. He even teases--he’s not the best landlord, but he won’t take 2 weeks to change the toilet if you submit a maintenance request. It makes you crack a smile and bam, just like that, he knows he’s gotten in.

That night, after takeout and wine and a Netflix movie neither of you paid attention to, you fuck for the first time on his expensive sheets on his expensive bed and afterwards, when you’re both sweating and cuddling and reveling in the afterglow, he makes a note to buy you some new lingerie. 

It’s all very homey, for a while. He could do without you leaving for work and working your ass off, with your freelance shit, sometimes staying on the computer until two, three in the morning. But it’s nice to have you close all the time, available to him whenever (almost whenever) he wants. He brings home takeout and you snuggle on the couch and he finally even convinces you to go out with him to a nice restaurant wearing something he’s bought and hot damn, do you look good, head-to-toe in the clothing he’s chosen for you. Especially, later that night, in private, in the lingerie. 

Does he love you? The word hasn’t left his lips yet, hasn’t crossed yours either, but he can feel it underneath the surface. No. It’s more than love. He wants you. He wants to have you. And not just for the afternoon or the summer, but forever. 

He spins daydreams about how he’ll clean you up nice and introduce you to the family. Probably to Harlan, first, because everyone knows that’s whose opinion really matters. Harlan will like you--he would probably like you without any primping or fixing, actually, which is more than he could say for his parents or anyone else in the family. Then once you’re in, you’re in--you’ll come to family dinners and vacation retreats where people always end up in ridiculous arguments, and you two can exchange snarky comments about the family on the ride home.

And yeah, sure. You fight sometimes.

He throws out your old clothes and buys you a wardrobe befitting someone he wants to integrate into his family. You fight about that.

He makes comments about you how you should quit your job or at least try to get a degree--he’ll pay, as long as you agree to go to a university within driving distance--to work somewhere more respectable than a chain restaurant. You fight about that.

He gets pissed when you want to meet some “friends” at a bar without him, because why would you need to go anywhere without your loving boyfriend in tow, unless you were trying to flirt with someone else? You definitely fight about that.

And, okay. Maybe he’s hypocritical.

Maybe he goes out late at night when you’re stuck doing your “freelancing work” and he’s in a rotten mood about it, and he ends up on the floor of a swanky club with drugs in his system and lipstick on his neck. He doesn’t come home until the next morning and you’re pissed and red-eyed and arguing with him, accusing him even, but you have no shitty apartment to stomp back to anymore so you’re stuck. 

Until you’re not stuck. Until he casually snoops through your phone and sees that you’re looking up cheap-ass apartments and hey, you’ve already booked a few interviews already. The thought of you slipping through his fingers makes him more sober than he’s been in a while. He’s got to do something. Not to himself, of course. But to you. To keep you with him.

It’s easy enough to get you fired. He’s a ‘Thrombey’ after all, and some nice crisp bills anonymously sent to the right hands is all it takes for you to come home one night, cheap mascara (he notes: buy you some better quality makeup soon) running down your cheeks. Your freelancing isn’t nearly enough to get you into an apartment.

He assumes that you’ll give up on the idea after losing your job, but you’re nothing if not stubborn (one of the reasons why he likes you) so you start the job hunt the next morning, fresh mascara in place. 

Damn, do you keep him busy. Anonymous calls. Cash in nice white envelopes. Rejection after rejection. You get so sad, so depressed. You don’t even want to go out to restaurants, so he orders in and you snuggle in his lap while he feeds you bites of orange chicken and rubs your back. It almost brings you two closer again, starts to mend the rifts that began when you refused to get over his occasional late night out.

But then you break the uneasy mending by snooping and woah, you don’t like what you find on his phone. 

You fight. 

Damn, do you fight. This time there’s no pretense of potential forgiveness as you begin wildly throwing your clothes into your ratty duffel bag from the back of the closet, telling him to fuck off fuck off fuck off, telling him he’s crazy, telling him that what he’s doing is fucking illegal and--

It’s the shock that hurts you the most.

The shock you feel when he grips your wrist hard and pushes back on your shoulder when you try to yank away, pushing you against the wall with a hard thud. It’s like having a rug pulled out from underneath your feet when you feel a slight ache in your back, on your shoulders, when you tell him to Let go, goddamn it and he only pushes back harder to keep you in place. It’s Ransom. It’s Ransom who’s doing this.

His voice feels unrecognizably cold when he leans in and hisses in your ear.

“You think you can just leave me? After all I’ve done for you? Let me tell you something--you won’t get another job within one hundred miles of here, within one thousand miles of here, unless I say you can. So just put your clothes back in the closet, chill the fuck out, and stop being such an ungrateful bitch.”

It’s the shock that makes you numbly hang your clothes back up in the closet, fold them again with shaking hands, and sit on the bed until the dam breaks and you cry.

And oh fuck, he’s sorry. Really. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and then he’s the one who’s crying and confessing that he didn’t want you leave him because yeah, he knows he’s a fuck up, he knows he’s got a drug problem, but he loves you. 

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He loves you. “I love you,” he says, again and again, half-laughing.  And he tells you you’re the only person he’s ever dated that made him want to be a better person but he doesn’t know how.

You don’t know what to say because maybe you do love him--but he hurt you and got you fired, but the tears on his face seem so genuine and he tells you he’ll never, ever hurt you like that again and fuck, he says, if you want to go get a job he’ll drive you to the interview right now just-let-him-blow-his-nose-first-please.

You make him sit down and then you’re the one apologizing and the rest of the afternoon is a shaky truce between you two as you drink hot chocolate and order in takeout and watch a movie together.

It’s not until you’re both under the sheets, satisfied and then showered, that you think about what he did to you in a clearer light. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, pulling and tugging. You think you might love him. He hurt you. He took care of you when no one else would. He cheated on you. 

I love you, he tells you, when your mind is starting to tug itself into sleep.

He hit you. He said he was sorry.

He hit you.