#empty chair do a solo!!!

[ranjxtul]

dance moms came out over a decade ago and it’s still a beloved piece of culture, like abby lee is a very abusive person and i genuinely hope the girls are doing okay at this point, but i eat that shit up every time. like goddamn dance moms is my roman empire

[bibiundtinaundzombies]

olenna and margaery would have be absolutely unstoppable on dance moms. catch olenna waterboarding abby lee miller so her little margaery gets a solo.

[buckyseternal]

part two to this angsty beauty - enjoy 🖤

Your head pounded when you woke up, sunlight filtering through the curtains in your shared bedroom. Well, in your bedroom now. Who knows if you’d even be able to keep the apartment – would he want to stay here or would you? He said he’d be here today to pick up his things, so maybe he was letting you keep it. Maybe you’d surprise him with an empty apartment when he came to collect his things, and you’d be long gone.

Gone, that’s where you wished you could go. What did that even mean..?

It didn’t matter.

You got up and cleaned your face, throwing on some workout clothes and stepping out into the cold air. It was winter in New York City, and everyone else was bundled up with long coats and scarves, boots and their fuzzy socks peeking up at the top. You walked the five miles to the Avengers tower in some leggings, running shoes, and a light hoodie, not even bothering to put the hood on.

You slipped into the meeting just as it was starting, taking a spot next to Natasha this time instead of your usual one. There was an empty chair next to your ex-fiancé, everyone taking notice of it but not mentioning it more than a quiet glance amongst each other. Bucky listened with intent as if nothing had happened – you stared at the small scratch in the glass table until your eyes went fuzzy.

“I know we just finished one mission up – seriously, great job, you two-” he gestured to you and Bucky. Clearly not reading the room, he continued. “Truly a dream team, you two work great together.”

You could hear Bucky huff out a sarcastic laugh and you just rolled your eyes. How he had the audacity to sit there and act like he hadn’t just shattered your entire world last night, you would never know. It’s always been fucking hard to be with you. His harsh voice rang in your ears, flashbacks from last night hitting you like a train.

“Tony, could you..?” Natasha motioned for Tony to continue with his agenda and stop lingering.

“Right.” His voice was drowned out by the blood rushing through your ears, and you could barely hear what he was saying anymore, starting to zone out again.

Natasha nudged you, and everything came back into focus.

“Solo mission, Canada. Rumlow’s back.” She whispered it over to you as indiscreetly as possible, the details that Tony had just gone over, but without all of his theatrics.

You looked over at her. Rumlow? You mouthed. She nodded her head grimly.

“I can do it. I have the most experience dealing with him-” Bucky piped up finally, acting as some sort of martyr.

“I’ll go.”

All heads turn to you, finally having spoken up and looked up from the scratch on the table.

“Are you out of your mind?” Bucky’s words sliced through the silence. You locked eyes with him and there was nothing but fury and heartbreak in yours. You could see where his hands were in fists below the table, balled up and trying to keep his composure.

You looked at Tony. “I’ll go. Rumlow doesn’t know me. Even if he had files on each of us, you know mine is sealed. I’ve only been on covert missions that didn’t deal with the public-”

“Tony, you can’t let her go on this mission!” Bucky tried to speak over you. You could tell he was getting mad.

“-and because of that, my identity has never been known. To him, I’m just a random girl. Send me. I’ll get it done.”

It was silent in the room, and you could cut the tension with a knife. But Tony had made up his mind.

“Those are all…excellent points. Meet me in 20 in my office and we’ll go over it. You leave tomorrow.”

You closed your eyes, a feeling of relief washing over you. The meeting ended and you got up to leave, managing to round the corner before you felt a grip on your arm, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“You can’t go on that mission alone, he will kill you,” Bucky said through his gritted teeth. You tried to keep walking but his grasp on your arm was too strong. You knew you could never overpower him. “I’m going instead.”

“You know what you can fucking do-” you turned around in his arms and managed to shake out of his hold. By this time, the people who were left after the meeting were all silent and watching. You barely took note of them as you felt your vision cloud with rage.

“Hey, guys-” Steve tried to step in, tapping Bucky on the shoulder. It was no use. Your eyes brimmed with tears of rage.

“No, you go back to wherever the fuck you went last night and leave me ALONE!” you yelled at him, whipping around and starting to storm off. Before you got too far though, you turned back around and threw your engagement ring at his feet and let it clatter around the tile floors for everyone to see. “Sorry if I’m too hard for you to deal with right now, but I’m going on that mission alone and I hope that when I’m done, I can fucking stay up there away from you.”

He watched as you walked down the hallway and turned into Tony’s office, the door shutting behind you. He stood there in silence, the audience behind him in utter shock. They all began to dissipate, going in their own directions, until it was just him left.

I'll probably turn this into a multi-part fic, what do y'all think?

[baddiewiththebook]

ONE OF THE BOYS [PART 2]

-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]

-> a/n I tried to tag everyone I saw, but some of y'all weren't linking. Also, there is a part three because part two became so long. Whoops!

[Part 1] Part 2 [Part 3]

-> <-

“You're eventually going to have to talk to them,” Robin shimmies her backpack into the empty chair next to her rather than being strewn across the lunchroom table. “As far as they know, you changed your hair and your clothes and now you hate them.”

You place your lunch tray onto the open space, then sit across from her.

Distancing from your friends was cruel, and you knew that. Robin is also right. Still, you wake an hour early to get to school ahead of them. Taking windy pathways past the gymnasium that stunk of socks to avoid Eddie on his way to his classroom that is two doors away from yours. You carry all of your heaviest books now because Gareth’s locker is across from yours. You do regret leaving that sandwich in your locker though. Gross.

With a routine schedule, two months have flown by without a hitch in the plan. Robin likes sitting with you at lunch, but she does wish you chose to sit here rather than watching you screw away at a tight bond with the boys over at the other table.

Things were desperate by the first week when you shoved toilet paper up your nose in order to fib to Eddie that you were too sick to go anywhere. You missed two days of class just so you could keep away from him.

Then, there was the band performances. You never missed a single night that Corroded Coffin played music at the scrappy biker bar at the outskirts of town. The boys had stopped inviting you after “missing two,” but you snuck into the shadows in the back of the bar. No one really bothered you there. Stage lights distracted the performers enough to where they could only see the front row of drunks.

All of the practice in Gareth’s garage paid off. Corroded Coffin was good - no, excellent. You were so proud of the boys.

You wish you could tell them.

And, so, maybe Robin is right. All of this running around is silly and reckless. You miss all of your friends dearly. Even Eddie, who still you find absolutely and undoubtedly the most complicated soul you ever met in your entire life. Your friendship is more to you than desperately clinging to his ankle like a shaken chihuahua in heat.

Maybe there is a part of you that still wishes he’d see. All the effort you put into your hair, your skin and your nails isn’t just about proving that you aren’t just one of the guys. You knew this from the very beginning. Still, even after your conversation with Gareth that one night, you still play out this plot a little longer.

You like the shiny bling and the tighter clothes that get you a bit more attention. But, you didn’t have to change yourself completely - right?

“Isn’t it time for me to mingle with people who have similar interests as me?” You say finally out of your head. Snagging one of Robin’s fries, you drop down in the seat across from her.

“You've proven you can be a chick with or without that frizzy haired freak. Don't act like you don't like the same stuff they do,” she flicks your jacket, which has hours of patchwork done. You had sewn on patches of your favorite bands. Most of the bands, you had learned from Eddie, himself.

Hours of listening to music together in his trailer, while sharing a blunt. Eddie would get a wind of energy and then he’d leap onto his bed for a solo performance. Fingers stroking a guitar that never existed. You laugh as he tumbles over his mattress, and he tells you that’s when the crowd will carry him - to victory!

You warm at the memory.

Eddie is the only person at his lunch table. Kicking his foot up onto an empty chair, he lounges and he waits for his friends. He’s always the first to get there because his class is so close to the cafeteria. It takes Gareth and Jeff a longer time because they come from the gym. And, the freshman come from the opposite side of the school, so they take the longest to get to the cafeteria.

“Go on,” Robin nudges you. “I’ll see you in math later.”

By the time Robin kicks you thrice in the shin, you get over your worries. You want to patch your friendships up with the boys, but you’re not sure what to tell them. Explaining the truth felt horrific. That you like - er - liked Eddie. Gareth’s confession in the kitchen.

Yeah, the truth seems far fetched.

Your second option is to beg for them to quit calling you ‘one of the guys,’ but that too came off risky. You've never had a problem with their comments before, or their disgusting antics and habits. Once you smell a Jeff fart, then all of the other farts seem forgiving. Seriously, no one should ever give him cheese again. Yet, they do.

Anyway, talking to Eddie first feels less daunting then to come up to all of them at once. But, with your stalling, your wish comes to late. The boys rush the table, hollering and whooping like unkept animals.

You stop in your tracks fully when you see two women beeline for the table. They never invite people to their table. Or at least, they never invite just anyone.

Roxie is easy to recognize. Candy coated red lips meet that of Eddie’s pale cheek that blushes a deep crimson at the affection. Eddie hangs his head, so he can smack a wet kiss to her lips. She uses a free hand to swipe the spare lipstick from his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie cooed.

Roxie touches his hair in a way that makes his eyes droop low, and he rests his head on her chest. All while he keeps his conversation with Jeff going.

Meanwhile, the other woman is her opposite.

Brunette hair cascades down her back, and tangles amongst her woven sweatshirt. Arms wide open with her slender fingers covered by the net sweater she hid under. She sneaks up on Gareth, and hangs over his neck. Gareth cranes his neck, and whispers in her ear making her laugh sweetly. He touches her wrist with gentle fingers and he pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with his free hand, before they have a chance to slip further down her face.

“Indie!” Dustin shouts.

The girl hanging from Gareth picks her head up, and grins with a shining sparkle in her eye at the young freshman. She reaches over to ruffle his hair.

You panic.

Slamming into someone’s shoulder, you apologize and you retreat like a mouse being stepped on. Time slows down. You move around people as fast as your feet will carry you.

You can hear your breath in your ears meeting up with your heart banging against your ribcage.

Robin calls to you, but you can’t hear her. Blood rushes through you, and you swear your can feel the swimming and the tingling. Your fingertips tingle when you push open the door into the hallway.

Technically speaking, you couldn’t be out here if you're on our lunch period. A few classes still go on, but mostly the teachers didn’t want anyone to catch them smoking in their classrooms where they shouldn’t be. It’s not like the smell lingers.

Somewhere down the hallway, a classroom is having a heated debate. Voices bounce from wall to wall. Echoing into your eardrums. All. Too. Much. You aim for the big showy doors at the front of the building.

Cool damp air hits your cheeks. Trees stand tall. Birds hold meetings on their branches. They sing soft melodies. Outside smells earthy.

Immersing yourself in the sourness of the damp remains of rainfall, you slow your jagged breathing. Your heart beat regulates.

Keys trembling in your fist, you find your car parked not too far away in the parking lot. Some asshole has blocked your passenger side in, so even if you wanted too you wouldn't be able to get in that way.

Kicking yourself for taking the cowards way out, you catch a tearful glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Mascara slips down your cheeks. Your drowning in two inches of water.

Eddie's bandana sits in your glove compartment. It still remains his with the lingering tang of old cigarettes and sweat. You told him if he left that nasty thing in here that you'd wash the stink out.

You haven't.

Clinging to a tissue, you use that to pat your face dry. Dabbing at your eyes, you don't want to disturb your makeup. Funny how a few months ago, you would be scrubbing your cheeks raw to get anything off of your face.

The tapping on your window startles you because you think a teacher has seen you. However, you find only Robin with a pitiful expression on her face. She waves for you to roll down your window, then holds out your backpack and your jacket that you’ve left behind in your scurry to get out of school.

“You left your things,” she looks at your puffy eyes and your worn out makeup. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you reach out for your things, only to put them in the passenger seat next to you, “I think I’ll go home.”

“Indie is a really nice girl-,”

“I’m not worried about Indie.”

Robin winces at the sharpness of your tone slicing through the air like butter. You apologize to her.

“I’m going to go home, Robin.”

“Roxie and Eddie are only going to last for a day - I guarantee,” her shoulders bobble. “It’s Roxie.”

“Yeah,” you say thinly.

Robin taps your car. “Get home safe.”

“Will do,” you say. “Thank you.”

-> <-

When you arrived at school the next day, you're in class for less than fifteen minutes before your name blasts on the intercom to report to the main office. Robin salutes you from her seat in the back of home room like you’re taking a final walk, before they take you around the back and shoot you between the eyes. Well done, soldier.

Although not as dramatic, you were served a detention slip for after school. You suspected as such, since you left halfway through school without an explanation. Next time you'll go to the nurse, and heat up the thermometer with your tongue. Give her a cough, or a sneeze and she would send you home.

You tap your fresh manicure across the etchings in the desk. Profanities. Markings of once was, and forever will be.

Low rumbles cause for distraction. You pick a desk next to a window where you see the gray clouds clustering in close. They spit at the ground. Droplets of water slip across the glass. You guess which droplet will get to the bottom first, and silently cheer the winner.

Your eye drifts to the front of the class where your chest rises and falls at the next person to walk through the door. All those months of hiding your head felt worthless when Eddie shows up.

For a moment, you think, he’s looking right at you. You swallow, but you try waving. Eddie does ignore you and plops himself into a chair at the front of the classroom. His backpack drops with a thunk.

Tipping your attention back to the window, the rain comes down harder in flashes of wet thunder and lightening. Dark and stormy weather is your favorite. Because, after the rain stops, you like splashing in every puddle until you can’t see the color of your boots anymore.

You can’t do that in your new sneakers. Not a speck of dust on them. Barely out of the box.

“Everyone in their seats,” a man in a blazer walking with an arch to his spine tells us. He hovers at the front of the classroom with both hands on his desk, while peering just above his square framed lenses. Wild gray hairs stick out on end near his ears. You wonder if he’s done this on purpose to accentuate that despite he’s bald on top of his head, he still in fact has hair. “I’m Mr. Clark, and this will be an hour long detention session.”

You came prepared with notebooks and homework to do for the next hour.

“I’ll be taking attendance, and then you may quietly do your homework or read . . . for all I care, bang your head against the desk just be quiet,” he aims the metaphorical bullet at Eddie and misses, and hits the wall just over the top of his head.

Eddie clicks his teeth. “You got it teach.”

“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Clark groans. “Will I ever get tired of seeing your face?”

Eddie grins famously. “Oh, you know you’ll never get tired of me, Dick.”

“It’s Richard,” he clears his throat, then straightens his tie, “Mr. Clark to you.”

You miss the banter. The smart mouth Eddie that has you drooling. Oh, God, please resist getting sucked in again.

The notebook in front of you has pages of blank white paper. You focus on filling in the lines with your math equations.

“Solve for E,” you tell yourself in a hushed whisper. “What ever happened to X?”

So, you solve for E.

You raise your hand when your name is called for the attendance. Pretending that Eddie didn’t whip around at your name, instead you solve for E. You solve for E because E is the equivalent of- E is the equivalent of-

Eddie can’t help, but watch your eyebrows get closer and closer to your nose. You get frazzled easily when you know you’re close to an answer that’s on the tip of your tongue.

You’re breaking now. Keeping your head down, as Eddie burns holes into the top of your head. E isn’t an equivalent of anything. E is the most complex and confusing letter of the alphabet. You swore up and down that you would avoid E. E’s in front of you. There’s no way to escape E for an entire hour. Even when you think you've solved E, you still have to see E living in a trailer across from you. E’s lights still on. Eating. Watching TV. Changing. Sleeping. Dreaming.

Crap, you are not thinking about the fifth letter in the alphabet. And, you are certainly not thinking about math.

You throw down your pencil in frustration.

Eddie waits for Mr. Clark to finish his attendance taking. In mere moments, the old geezer passes out despite his fifth coffee of the day. He rocks back in his chair, arms at his side with a trail of drool spilling out down his chin.

That’s when Eddie moves.

“Hey,” you have your head down on your desk by now, but Eddie doesn’t care.

He doesn’t understand why you’re avoiding the group. Obviously, he misses when you would sit at the table and you correct his homework from the night before. You’re too smart for him. Eddie knows this. You’re more than a brain to him, though. The way you speak with your hands more and more when you get excited.

Eddie likes to pretend not to understand why he gets nervous when you lean over his shoulders to show him how to work out a problem in one of his classes. He pretends to not notice the scent of your soap that smells so sweet and delicious. That the smell lingers when you leave.

What he can't shake, however, is why you haven’t been speaking to him for the last two months. Darting into empty classrooms when you think he’s not looking. When your home, you'll keep the lights off or low enough that he might forget you’re home (he doesn’t). And, you think you’re clever sneaking into the back of his performances with the band, but Eddie sees you there dancing by yourself with a grin on your face that could break apart the gray days and bring back the sunshine. You haven’t missed a single performance yet.

So, where have you been?

You bring your head up from the table because you know Eddie is smarter than to think you’ve fallen asleep. Sometimes you talk, or you twitch your arms - Eddie’s seen this when you knock out after a long day. He'll let you sleep there, but he'll take off your shoes so that you're comfortable. And, he'll even place a blanket over you because you'll start to shiver. But, he never stays. He doesn't want you to wake up because Eddie is notoriously clumsy. Instead, Eddie would sneak into the living room twiddling his thumbs making no noise until you wake up. He wouldn't turn on the television. He wouldn't warm anything up in the microwave. He wouldn't even open his fridge. He would sit on the floor of his living room kicking his feet together, and plucking at the carpet fibers.

You never sleep long - thirty minutes at most.

Eddie thinks about how much time you spend together in his trailer at this moment. You’ve shared everything. Clothes. Towels. Blankets. Toothpaste. Food. Secrets. You've made a mark on him when he wasn’t looking. If there is a way to tattoo someone into their brain, into their heart, you're there.

That terrifies him.

“Hi,” your voice melts him.

Eddie stumbles over his words. “Erm-,”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I just-,”

“How are you doing?” Eddie wants you to keep talking. He’ll ask about anything to keep you here with him. Tempting you like a rabbit, and him holding onto a carrot, he waits for you to bite.

“Good,” you reply. “You?”

“Yeah, good.”

You can’t hold back. “You’re with Roxie, now?”

“Hm?” He hums. “It’s casual.”

“Casual,” you repeat. “Like I said- erm- I’m sorry that I haven’t been around. My classes-,”

“Don’t lie to me,” Eddie’s eyes swell, and you fall deeper into the trap. “What’s happening to you?”

Okay, truth time.

“I liked a boy, and he didn’t like me back,” you stretch out your top. “I even tried changing my look, but that seems pretty pointless now. But, I guess I just got tired of being compared to a boy.”

Eddie could faint. You're infatuated with someone so much that you changed your entire wardrobe. Guilt rubs at him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie's denying what he already knows about himself. That if he kept comparing you to one of his guy friends that certain emotions couldn't grasp hold of the surface for air.

“Who's comparing you to a boy?”

He had to be sure.

“Seriously?” you frown. “Everyone. You. Gareth-,”

Confirmed.

“Is this about Gareth?” Eddie clenches his fist around the back of his chair. “I swear to God, I’ll pummel that little sack of shit.”

“Eddie,” you scold. “It’s not Gareth- never mind.”

“Wait, who’s the guy?”

You hum. “What?”

“You said you liked some guy?” Eddie pieces together. “It has to be one of us, right? I mean you stopped talking to all of us specifically, so which one of us is it?”

“That’s not important,” you suck in a breath. “Eddie, I’m doing homework.”

He snorts, the flips the page so he can read the question, “you’re doing it wrong.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t I usually the one who’s correcting you?”

“Gareth’s girlfriend has been helping me since you- never mind,” Eddie sees the tension in your jaw. “Okay, so to solve for E, you plug in this number here and then you take the square root there.”

You’re irritated, but Eddie is right and you mark your paper up how the equation should be.

“Thank you.”

“So, it’s Gareth,” Eddie presses on.

“What?”

“The boy you like that doesn’t like you back?”

“No,” you write another math equation out on your piece of paper. “Actually, Gareth liked me, and I didn’t feel the same.”

Eddie knows this, but he just needs to hear you say you don't like his friend.

“The plot thickens,” he gets comfortable. “Is it Jeff? Come on, Jeff is a catch.”

“Eddie, please drop it,” you beg.

Eddie throws a few more names out that you can ignore over your homework. But, slowly he begins to run out of ideas. You know where he’s going, and you’re not sure how to react when he says,

“It’s not me is it?”

Your pencil stops scribbling, and if you’re careful you can pretend to be thinking really hard about - what two plus two equals. Oh, damn.

“It is me.”

Those three little words trip you up more than Eddie’s jaw being on the floor right now. You stammer for a little too long. Tripping over the right words to say to him.

This is it.

The moment you’ll lose him for good.

You want him to just tear your heart from your chest and squeeze it until it pops. Make the pain of an aching heart go by so much faster.

“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Clark rose like a zombie from the afterlife. “Is there a reason that your seat is empty?”

Eddie whirled around. Still stunned, he replies,

“Uh. . . right, sorry.”

Without making too much noise, Eddie puts himself back into his original seat towards the front of the classroom. Fidgeting with his pencil, someone might mistake that he’s doing homework for the first time.

Eddie lives across the trailer park from you. How could he not see this coming? All the nights he's spent rescuing you from the clutches of your mom, who, despite being a wonderful host, has this unnecessary plea that you embrace your ‘femininity.’ That’s what you call it, he thinks.

Oh, and now to let you down.

Eddie’s seeing someone great. Roxie. She’s - she’s - she’s not as much of a slut as people say. And, he likes - no he loves that thing she does with her tongue.

Okay, he’s getting distracted.

You’re one of his closest and longest friendships he’s had. And now, you, have to go and change that.

Eddie’s mad. Angrier than angry. How dare you bring this to him.

Two months you kept away. You ran around the school like a chicken with your head cut off trying to avoid all of your loyal friends. And, you brought Robin into this mess?

Robin, at the very least, is a sweet and a neutral party. Okay? She doesn’t involve herself with anyone’s drama. She just sticks to the side of the drama like she's riding in a sidecar, and she takes notes. She lingers.

Eddie rubs his eye.

Maybe if you and he went on one tiny - the tiniest - date. As in, he doesn’t pay for food, kind of dates then you’ll get whatever you want out. You can go back to being friends, and Eddie can still see Roxie. Because, he likes Roxie.

He doesn’t like you like that.

Eddie wants nothing more than to forget the conversation you two just had. Yet, you’re lodged in his brain like a damn tumor. Yeah, a tumor. Growing at an alarming rate, he wants to smush your pretty little face. Not in a violent way - no, he’s not like that. He just wants to get out the tension, and - and hold you for a night? Does that make sense?

No, Eddie it does not.

Eddie wishes you didn’t smell so good today . . . and all the other days. If you smelled like an ogre, he could stop thinking about taking you on that ‘barely-call-it-a-date’ date. Although, if you were an ogre and you did smell as good as you do right now - ugh, that doesn't matter!

None of this matters. Why is he thinking like this?

In theory, he’ll take you somewhere romantic. To release you of your crush faster, he’ll spend the money - okay? He decides to break the bank for you.

Only once.

There’s a little spot outside of town that has the most delicious steak dinners. They have a dimly lit dining room, so Eddie wouldn’t have to see the dress you spent hours deciding on wearing. Your bare skin softened by the scented lotion you bought just for the night. He can hear your laugh like a song he knows by memory. You tilt your head back, exposing the flesh of your neck.

After your dinner, that he pays for - not you, he’ll walk you down the street where he parked his van earlier. He’ll have cleaned out and scrubbed the seats until every stain kicks the bucket. Driving you home, he’ll feel that knot in his chest that he knows from watching cheesy romantic comedy movies as practice for when that crap happens to him (he doesn't do that . . . shut up.). That knot tighten a little more by the time he gets to the trailer park. And, by the time he gets out of the car his fingertips start to shake.

Eddie will open your door, if he can get there before you. Taking your hand in his, he’ll feel the warmth of your skin against his. How right the moment feels. How nervous your breath is against his. How close you are to him. He’ll be the one to learn in first - you're too nervous to make that leap.

Lips as sweet as milk and honey. He would kiss you for a long time, always coming back for more. Eddie won't find himself getting enough of you. You’re touching his hair, and he melts.

Eddie will never want the night to end.

“Munson!”

Eddie doesn’t recall falling asleep. Yet, his eyes snap open. Mr. Clark’s slobbering from the side of his mouth. He’s so close that Eddie makes out the patches in his face where he’s forgotten to shave.

The classroom is emptying. He only catches a glimpse of you leaving.

“Go home, boy,” Mr. Clark begs. “You and I both know you don’t want to be here for any longer.”

No, Eddie does not.

In fact, Eddie would much rather be wrapped in your arms in either his bed or your bed.

Eddie shoves his notebook and his pencil back into his backpack knowing full well he heard something crunch unhappily in there. Racing out of the classroom, he sprints after you in the hallway.

But, you’ve already gone.

-> <-

tags: @hellfirenacht @queercodedcharacter @ogoc-19 @littlewinchester1 @stardustingold @ghost4love @spenciesprincess @animechick555 @foggyfooz @aactuaaltraash @loves0phelia

[moonriverrise]

Steve has a secret, well “secret” may not be the correct way to describe it. He has something for himself, thats what. Ever since he stopped playing basketball and doing swim competitions once he graduated he's had way more free time, which at first he filled with shifts at Family Video, or bothering Robin.

Then, when she started school he started doing art more. Which, may come a surprise to many, as he never really talked about his interest in paintings and old art.

Greek sculptures that are able to show life in a still ethereal way, while still being able to twist it at their will. Renaissance oil paintings, capturing tragedy yet still being able to portray it as beautiful, in their own terrible twisted ways.

He likes sketching on paper, painting on canvas. His paintings aren't usually too different from the things he sees around him. Honestly thats the only things he paints, people, his friends, places he goes, things he sees that stick with him, dreams, moments that play on repeat in his head.

Around his Junior year, after the Demogorgon, Steve had turned the sad basement in his sad empty house, into his own space. A place where he can go and do his art, hang it, play music on his walkman, or using the record player he got from a pawn shop a few months prior. Somehow the basement is the only space that actually feels like his in his house, not even his bedroom.

Steve’s art was not very consistent to be honest, mostly the kids and Robin, landscapes that he liked, the Demogorgon/dogs, the Mindflayer (he needs some way of getting those out of his head, and somehow drawing them down feels freeing.) He does have a few paintings of Nancy from when they were together, she’s become less of a model for his work after everything though.

The last time he painted her in a painting alone, was one of that bathroom in a girl he barely knows’ house, a spilled drink on Nancy’s dress, and red solo cups littering the counter.

Steve’s art shifts though, after a moment that will never leave his mind. He knows who Eddie Munson is, obviously. How could he not? Honestly Steve isn't that surprised Henderson and the others befriended the guy, he does run a DnD club.

But then, Henderson needs a ride home after their club meetings because his mom is working late, and then Lucas and Mike’s parents are also asking Steve to pick them up too. Babysitting duty, as per usual.

Steve arrives a bit earlier than he planned. He didn't have any project to consume himself into, hitting an art block begrudgingly. But then, Steve sees Eddie Munson, sitting on a fake throne, watching the kids and other club members argue, he has his chin rested on his fist, and he's wearing a white tank top, showing off his shoulders, given the fact it’s still September.

The lighting of the small theater room captures Steve’s interest like a moth to the flame, and he is regretting having left his sketchbook at home, even though he never draws around the kids or anyone he knows.

Eddie Munson’s face and curly locks fill up the pages of Steve’s journal and some canvases for months after, and Steve rarely genuinely complains about coming to pick the kids up.

Afterwords, months later from that day. Chrissy Cunningham dies, and Eddie Munson almost goes with her. God, or whatever deity that was looking down upon him, was on Steve’s side in that moment, when he was able to revive Eddie and then drag him out of the Upside Down.

Steve gets closer with Eddie after that, they become actual friends. Steve was so used to witnessing his muse from afar, it was so…exciting, to see Eddie in all his glory, just a few feet away, and his smile being directed at him.

“Do you even have any hobbies, Harrington?” Steve blinks. Him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and the party, are all hanging out by the pool. Steve is lounging on one of the chairs, sunglasses over his eyes as Eddie talks beside him.

“What?” Steve responds.

“I mean…I like barely ever see you do anything besides sort Movies at Family Video, or boss around the kids. Like, what do you do when we're not all together?” Eddie asks, moving his hand a little as he talks. Steve thinks for a moment.

“Funny,” Steve answers instead. Eddie scoffs.

“I'm being serious, man! What do you do?” Eddie laughs a little, most likely at the ridiculousness of it all. What would Steve know, Eddie is like a puzzle, and Steve has to take every minute slowly, deciphering everything he lays out for him, via tongue or action.

“I don't know, what do you do?” Steve says, almost carefully.

“Band stuff, DnD, Writing,” Eddie lists. “And I guess saving the world now, but thats a bit of a side hussle.” Steve scoffs.

“Whatever, man.” And thats that, they don't talk about it again. But it sticks with Steve, because his friends really do think he doesn't do anything with his life. It's not like he has college classes to study for, so what does he do?

Later, maybe two or three weeks after, Steve decides he wants to show Eddie his space. The two of them are alone, Robin is in Nevada, visiting her grandparents, so the trio’s usual movie night is cut down to a duo’s movie night.

Although Steve finds himself mostly focusing on Eddie and his beautiful hair sitting next to him, than watching ET. The little alien scares him a bit anyway. Eddie notices him staring though, his eyes flickering to meet Steves, then a smirk spreading across his lips.

“We are watching a movie, lover boy.” Eddie says. Steve goes red, his gaze shifting to his lap. Steve furrows his eyebrows then stands and shuts the TV off. “Woah! Hey!”

“I want to show you something.” Steve says, it's a bit quieter than he meant it to be, but his tone indicates something to Eddie, which has him staring at Steve, starstruck.

Steve walks out the room and hears Eddie follow him. He gets to the basement door and opens it, flicks on the stair light.

“Basement- woah- okay, guess I'm getting murdered. Thought I’d go out in a more metal way than this.” Eddie says as they walk down. Steve laughs a little and shakes his head.

“I just think you should see this.” Steve says. “Nothing life threatening, I promise.”

“Alright, I trust you, Stevie.”

“Good.”

Steve turns and flicks on the light as they step onto the concrete. The lights flicker on, revealing the paintings on the walls and art supplies on the tables and counters.

“Woah-” Eddie says. “Is this, all your stuff?” Steve sighs, he folds his arms and faces Eddie. He looks shellshocked.

“Yeah.” Steve says. “You said I don't have any hobbies, I do, actually.” Eddie looks around, walking slowly.

“Is that Henderson? Why is he wearing yellow gloves?” Eddie asks. Steve walks over to a painting of Dustin from Steve’s angle while they were walking on the train tracks, a bucket of raw meat is in one hand and he's wearing the headphones for his radio.

“D’Art,” Steve says. “That was when we were leading him away. I made that one after everything happened. I was trying not to think about the Demogorgon stuff and everything, so I just drew him. I have one of Max from that day I never finished painting in a stack I think too.” Eddie doesn't say anything for a minute after Steve is done explaining.

“You can paint.” Eddie says, though not like a question. “These are beautiful…” Eddie looks around and walks to another one he sees. It's one of the Byers and Hopper’s, all hugging while laughing. El looks the happiest. Steve had painted that after they had all gotten together after everything. “Why…didn't you tell anyone?”

“About what?” Steve asks, folding his arms as Eddie brings up a hand to touch the painting.

“This- Steve, you're amazing at this. These are…” Eddie trails off as something catches his eye, he slowly starts to walk towards a big painting propped up behind one of the tables laid out in the middle of the room. Steve walks to him to see which one he's looking at.

An angel, knelt over a puddle, crying as it stares at his reflection, which is blurred and dark. He stands in a forest, his wings are long and huge, sprawling out above him.

It’s one of Steve’s bigger ones, the inspiration came from a dream he had after they had read about Icarus in his english class back in Highschool.

“It’s… magnificent.” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles gently at Eddie’s reaction. Eddie backs up a bit and looks away from the painting. “Is that me?” Steve follows his eye, to the painting. Eddie walks towards it, Steve stays behind him. It’s the first one Steve ever made of Eddie, the one of him on the throne.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve says. “I made that the first night I came to pick up the kids.” He says. “The first time I met you, actually met you.” They share a look.

“You are incredible, Steve Harrington.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem! reader 18+ requested by @loveshotzz and @palmtreesx3

You thought you were doing an A plus job, all things considered. 

The corner of the restaurant was quiet, dark. Dimly lit with tabletop sconces that glowed amber, bouncing off the white linen. It was much fancier than your usual haunts, but Eddie was only back in town for a few days and your boyfriend had insisted on paying. His treat, he’d said. 

And Steve was really living up to the word, his fingers doing more for you than the chocolate lava cake you’d been ignoring in favour of white knuckling the edge of the booth. Steve was tucked into the suede bench next to you, talking across the table to Eddie about his new single, guitar solos, tickets prices - you didn’t even know anymore. The boy had one arm around your shoulders, an affectionate and casual touch but it only seemed to be a distraction for what his other hand was doing underneath the tablecloth. 

You hadn’t thought too much about it when he’d picked out a dress from your wardrobe for you, pressing a kiss to your cheek and telling you he liked that one, that you looked so pretty in it. Now, you realised his plan, flushing hot when the waitress came to take away your empty dinner plates, Steve thanking her with a polite smile as his fingertips skimmed up the inside of your bare thigh. 

You weren’t sure how he was doing it, talking so casually to Eddie while two of his fingers were pressed to your clit, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. To anyone else - hopefully Eddie included, it looked like your boyfriend was resting his hand on your leg, all affection. 

Innocent. 

But if Eddie’s laugh wasn’t as loud and the music coming from the speakers above your table wasn’t as close, you were sure everyone would have heard the slick, wet noises Steve’s fingers were making against your cunt. You were too wet, too keyed up, sitting on the edge of an orgasm and it kept getting teased closer when Steve moved his big hand and stretched the lace of your underwear against your folds, all friction and pressure. 

You tried to nod when the boy’s did, laughed a second after Eddie, smiled and hummed when Steve asked you a question, his eyes dark, knowing. Teasing. He bumped his nose against your cheek, pressed a kiss there, all sweetness and light as he pinched your clit between his finger and thumb. And when you jumped a little, brows scrunching, you tried to pass it off as cough, clearing your throat with a burn in your chest and Eddie was looking at you, smiling in a way that made you think he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought. 

And when the boy’s finally finished their desserts and you knew Steve would taste like chocolate and strawberries when he finally kissed you, Eddie leaned onto the table, his arms folded and his eyes hooded, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he watched the way Steve’s wrist moved almost minutely under the table. 

You held your breath, panic in your throat, ringing in your ears and you were just about to wrench Steve’s hand away when your boyfriend sped up his efforts. 

And then:

“You gonna let her come, Harrington?” 

You were on fire, embarrassed and turned on and everything in between. Eddie was watching your face now and you wondered if he could see the glow in your cheeks from the sconce, from the low lighting all around. You whined, unable to help it, turning to bury your face in the crook of Steve’s neck and you felt the boy laugh, the vibration of it in his throat and he kissed at your forehead, your hairline, all while rubbing two, thick fingers on your clit, over and over and over—

You heard Eddie take a sip of his wine, red, a Merlot. The same colour as your lipstick. “She’s been so good, this whole time,” he cooed and he leant back on his chair. “Make her come, Steve, s’only fair.”

And as if the boy hadn’t been toying with you this entire time, as if Steve wasn’t entirely in control, he leaned down, chin ducking to nose at your cheek, whispering in your ear while his eyes were on the other boy. “You gonna let Eddie watch you come, honey?”

You weren’t sure if you had a choice after that, not with the way both boy’s attention had you dizzy. 

[wxshing-aep]

The Prom Committee (pt 1)

Ethan Morales x fem!reader

based on this request:

"how about one where y/n runs an after school club so Ethan keeps getting detention on purpose to see her because he thinks “clubs are for dorks” to quote Paxton and so his reputation as the bad boy isn’t ruined"

Warnings: swearing, banter, the word boobs

AN: decided to make it a 2 parter cause it was getting long while I was writing it and wanted to give Ethan more depth of character than the actually show so part 2 coming tmrw probs!

When his assignment was handed back by Señora Diaz upside down, Ethan wasn't surprised by the big F glaring back at him in red ink when he turned the page over.

“Stupid bitch” he muttered under his breath.

“In Español, Ethan” Señora Diaz paused on her way back to the blackboard, unsure of what he said but certain that it wasn't in Spanish.

“Sorry" he retorted and she continued her route back to the front of the classroom.

"perra estúpida”

“ethan!”

That’s how Ethan ended up in detention for the umpteenth time in his academic career, tapping his pen on the desk in the nearly empty classroom with Mr. Shapiro's happy go-lucky self staring back at him.

"Well, happy to have you here Ethan!" Mr. Shapiro greets picking up a clipboard from his desk. "Not happy to be here" Ethan deadpanned. "Sorry to hear that. Not sure how you managed to get detention during the first week of school, but hey I think that might be a new Sherman Oaks record! Congrats buddy!" Mr. Shapiro cheers before realizing the younger boy is not the slightest bit amused. "Alright, tough crowd."

"Moving right along then," Mr. Shapiro clicks a pen in his hand "time to take roll!" which causes Ethan to look around the empty classroom.

"...I'm literally the only one here"

"I know, I just love checking things off lists," Mr. Shapiro clears his throats " so do I have a Morales comma Ethan?"

"seriously dude?"

"Second call for Ethan Morales"

"you're gonna keep going til I say here, aren't you?"

"You betcha!"

"Here."

"Awesome!" Mr. Shapiro marks a giant check by the one name on his attendance sheet. "god I love doing that- Alright so unfortunately I've gotta skidaddle to help out with the faculty potluck but lucky for you sir we're implementing more of a reformative detention style this year!"

"What the hell does that mean" Ethan asked.

"It means, that instead of sitting here for the next few hours, you my friend, get to offer your help to one of the after school clubs or committees that are a bit low on helping hands" Shapiro responds with finger guns. "so guess who's today's newest member of the prom committee!"

"yea, no. I'm not joining some stupid after school club. clubs are for dorks, losers, and ugly people" Ethan responds grabbing his backpack out of the chair next to him to get up and leave.

"well actually it's a committee"

"even worse"

"Alrighty well I can see what the other options-" is all Mr Shapiro gets out before he is interrupted by your voice from the doorway.

"Oh- hey! Mr. Shapiro, did you find anyone to help with the prom posters? Eric said he'd help me out but then canceled cause he said he had to train with the assistant swim coach to quote make Michael Phelps my bitch end quote. Whatever that means, so I'm kinda flying solo here" You say, drawing Ethan's attention towards you as well.

hot damn. okay maybe after school activities are not only for ugly people. He thinks you might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen and definitely takes a mental note of your outfit that's hugging you in all the right places. He quickly realizes that he doesn't know your name and has no idea how he's never been informed of your existence prior to this moment. He's snapped back to reality by Mr. Shapiro responding to your question. "Ah- I'm sorry but Ethan is-"

"super excited to help decorate for prom" Ethan finds himself blurting out before Mr. Shapiro could finish his sentence.

"Oh- well that's great! Uh Ethan just report back by 6 so I can log your hours! I'm gonna get going, you kids have fun decorating. Go crickets!" Mr. Shapiro says, making his exit as you watch him almost skip down the hall.

"Sup, I'm Ethan" Your attention is brought back to the brown eyed curly haired boy who's suddenly standing in front of you (how the hell did he cross the room that fast, you wonder) with an outstretched hand. He never really shakes hands, he just wanted an excuse to touch you. He's cute, you note mentally. You accept the offer and shake his hand. "and you are?" he continues.

"I'm-" you pause noticing those not so innocent brown eyes are directed elsewhere, "acutely aware of the fact that you're staring at my boobs".

Ethan thinks his brain might've just short circuited cause he was definitely just caught red handed. He'd recently grown a lot more confident with girls since his summer growth spurt and subsequent glow up had dramatically increased the number of girls interested in him, but there was something about you and how you so deliberately called him out that had definitely thrown him off his game.

"Sorry- I uh- I was actually looking at your shirt. They're- It's nice" he wants to die he thinks.

You chuckle at his sudden change in demeanor. "Hmm. Yea, I know they are" you respond, turning on a heel and heading toward the auditorium.

"You comin or what?"

-

For one person, you had made pretty okay progress in a week. The current task at hand was making posters to get people excited for the theme reveal. The ground was littered with several half finished or barely started posters.

"Can you draw?" You asked Ethan.

"I'm not much of an artist"

"Really? the graffiti on the side of the school says otherwise. Your handwriting definitely sucks though so I'll do that, but the art's good and if you can do it with a spray can, you can definitely do it with some paint and markers" your unsolicited review of his graffiti made him crack a smile. His latest act of defiance had been a giant snake comically eating a cricket accompanied with the words "get fucked" on the side of the school building.

"You can't prove that was me" he challenges.

"Maybe not, but Mr. Shapiro had mentioned that I might have a detention helper today thanks to Señora Diaz and I happened to notice the words 'stupid bitch' spray painted on her car containing the same weird ass t's as the graffiti on the side of the school and here you are, Ethan."

"Damn, you're good" he pauses realizing he can't throw your name back at you because he still doesn't know it.

"Y/n" you say quietly.

"Huh?"

"My name's y/n"

Pretty name for a pretty girl, he thought.

"Alright y/n. I'll draw as long as I don't have to to touch any glitter. that shit's impossible to get off"

"deal"

"and I don't write my t's weird"

"you write your t's like a crazy person"

-

Time was pretty much flying by. Together you'd gotten nearly twenty posters done and were slowly finding out more information about each other. You were informed about some of Ethan's tattoos and how he'd actually drawn the designs for all of them himself. Not an artist, my ass, you thought. Ethan learned that he hadn't met you before because you'd previously been homeschooled and had all but begged your parents to be able to go to school with other kids for your senior year until they finally cracked and agreed to enroll you at Sherman Oaks.

"Ah I see, you're a total secret weirdo. That explains your freaky detective skills" he teases.

"I am not a secret weirdo. I just like criminal minds and puzzles"

"You were homeschooled. All homeschooled kids are a little weird"

"That's an unfair stereotype"

"Whatever you say, y/n"

"If anything you're the secret weirdo. or at least an undercover art nerd"

"I'm not an undercover art nerd"

"Yea you are. Something tells me this whole" you gestured largely to him sitting a couple feet away from you, "tortured angsty hot skater boy thing you've got going on is a pretty recent development" you comment absent-mindedly. You looked back up from your poster when he didn't respond to see him sitting there, arms crossed with a smug grin on his face.

"What?" you prodded.

"You totally just called me hot"

You're now very aware that he's a bit closer to you than he was before.

"mm don't think so"

"oh you definitely did"

"did not"

"did too"

"did not" that one came out much less confidently considering his hand had made its way to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. damn, he's good.

"whatever you say, y/n" he almost whispers. have his eyes been that sparkly this whole time? He's leaning in and you're definitely not backing away. You're maybe a centimeter away from his lips until the alarm blaring from your phone, which seemed like much better idea hours ago, sent you flying back from him and scared the shit out of both you.

"shit- I- god that scared me, I uh set an alarm for 6 so you'd remember to check in with Mr. Shapiro cause, ya know, I thought we'd both probably be busy. Um- busy making posters, i mean. Obviously I mean making posters cause we definitely wouldn't be busy doing anything else so-" you ramble.

The smug little smirk has made its way back onto Ethan's face as he is quite enjoying this role reversal from your first interaction of the day.

"shut up" you say to him.

"I didn't even say anything" he responded, hands in the air in surrender.

"I've gotta head home, but thanks for helping out even though you basically had to be here. If you ever find yourself in detention again this semester, feel free to help out. Hopefully the committee is more than just me by then" you say, starting to gather your belongings. Ethan secretly hopes it isn't, he likes the idea of hanging out with just you.

"I probably will find myself in detention again. It's kinda part of this whole tortured angsty hot skater boy thing I've got going on" he says throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"not what I said" you still attempt to deny.

"sure it wasn't"

"bye ethan"

"bye y/n"

Yea, he'll definitely be finding himself in detention again.

-

Read Part 2 here

[captain-hawks]

ADVERSARIAL APPETITES

♡ — aki hayakawa x f!reader

The only thing worse than accidentally running into the Lust Devil is having to call Aki fucking Hayakawa for help.

18+ ONLY

wc — 1.9k

prompt — coming in pants, praise kink (requested by @antique-remains)

additional content — enemies to lovers, edging, masturbation, phone sex, light brat taming, light dom!Aki vibes, voice kink, mentions of anal sex, coming untouched, dirty talk, anal fingering

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“Hayakawa.”

“Yeah?”

His voice is slightly muffled, and you know there’s a cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth, burning orange embers dangling precariously as the white stick shakes with the slight movement of his lips.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, the back of your head thuds against the creaky motel headboard as you close your eyes and exhale noisily before muttering, “I need your help.”

Later, you’ll look at your call log and be horrified to find that you called Aki fucking Hayakawa to grovel for assistance. Like this is your first goddamn day as a Devil Hunter. Like he’s not the most insufferably broodish bane of your existence. 

You may never forgive yourself for this temporary lapse in judgment, though that will ultimately be a problem for Later You.

Later—when you’re not stripped down to your bra and panties in a dingy motel room with a questionable smell lingering in the faded brown carpet, your blood-stained button-down shirt and pants carelessly tossed over the back of a half-busted chair, filthy knives left discarded on the nightstand where they’re sitting precariously close to a well-worn copy of the Bible. 

When the metallic taste of blood isn’t still lingering in your mouth from your split bottom lip.

When you’re not about to crawl out of your skin with arousal because your simple in-and-out solo assignment was interrupted by an accidental run-in with the fucking Lust Devil. 

The Lust Devil, who had laughed with an irritatingly melodic voice as you tried and failed to decapitate her. Your knives sang through empty air with each swipe as she repeatedly disappeared into a cloud of hazy, pink vapor, the sickeningly sweet smell of which left you doubled over gagging and gasping for breath. 

She’d kissed you on the cheek and tapped your nose with a deceivingly girlish little giggle before taking her leave, ominously lilting, “Good luck with that, love.” 

You’d hardly made it to this shitty, back road motel with the dredges of your self-control intact, almost orgasming from the mere feeling of your car bouncing with the bumps in the road, scraping your thighs together as you floored it. Abdomen pressed desperately against the edges of the dubiously stained sink, you’d scrubbed your hands raw with scalding hot water thrice in the cramped bathroom before unceremoniously stripping down and flopping onto the bed. 

After an hour of trying and failing to bring yourself over the edge, your sticky, arousal-soaked fingers are now cramped and sore from repeatedly plunging them in and out of your aching cunt. Try as you might, every time you reach the precipice of release, your pleasure evaporates in an instant, leaving every nerve ending in your body painfully ignited with need. Pathetic tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you desperately hump your hand, powerless to expel the insurmountable lust burning inside of you. 

Clearly, masturbating isn’t the solution to the Lust Devil’s little game. 

And Aki says as much after you finish explaining yourself through gritted teeth, fighting for your life to stave off the embarrassing urge to dip your fingers between your thighs again while the call is still active. 

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?!” you cry out in frustration. 

“Her power is fuelled by the fear of something, remember. But it’s not the concept of lust.” He pauses for a moment. “It’s the fear of lusting after someone that you shouldn’t. She feeds on the shameful feelings of acting on inappropriate sexual desires.”

You raise an eyebrow, even though he can’t see you. “So you’re saying I should come back and seduce Kishibe sensei.”

“You’re fucking shameless.”

“I like a quick solution.”

You can hear his exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. “From what I’ve been told, it’s not about physical consummation. It’s a mental thing.”

“So I just need to think about a dirty little secret while I’m touching myself, and then I’ll finally be able to orgasm?”

“Essentially.”

Twenty minutes later, half of the pillows and bed covers have been angrily tossed to the floor in your attempts to touch yourself in every position you could possibly think of—sadly to no avail. 

“Yes?” Aki sounds bored when he answers your next call, and you make a rude gesture in the direction of your phone. 

“It’s not working.”

“And?”

“And I’m two seconds from losing my mind. Can you put that stupidly smart brain of yours to use and actually help me?”

The other end of the line is quiet, so you add with an annoyed huff, “Please.”

You can hear the slight amusement in Aki’s tone as he asks, “What, do you need me to tell you how to masturbate?”

You pointedly ignore the odd feeling that zips up your spine at his words. “Wow, you sure know how to talk dirty to a girl, Hayakawa.”

He scoffs. 

He fucking scoffs. 

There’s a shuffling sound before he responds in a low, clipped tone, “Stop being a fucking brat.”

Everything is silent save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. 

“I…” you trail off, not sure what kind of response you can formulate with the way your heart’s suddenly pounding in your chest. 

“Tell me what you’re doing,” he intones smoothly, your toes involuntarily curling at the cadence of his deep voice. 

“Laying in bed,” you reply, far shorter of breath than you were moments ago. 

“And what are you wearing?”

“My bra and underwear.”

“That’s too much. Take them off.”

Your sharp inhale is your only response, and though Aki’s normally hard-pressed to even suggest you do something on a regular day without getting a snarky response in return, your hands are like phantom limbs as you comply with his request. 

“Are you naked now?”

You nod, only to belatedly realize he can’t see it, so you reply, “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Your back arches upward from where you’re lying face up on the mattress, those two words catching you entirely off guard. 

Aki’s the bane of your existence most days, for reasons your foggy brain can’t quite remember now that you’re naked and dripping wet to the husky sound of his unfairly attractive voice in a shitty hotel room in the middle of nowhere. You’ll certainly hate yourself for this later, for shamelessly imagining the slightly bored look on his stupidly handsome face as you spread your legs wide, exhaling shakily while running your fingers over your sensitive, peaked nipples. 

But oh, if it’s an inappropriate orgasm the Lust Devil wants?

It’s what she’s going to get. 

(And if you’re silently moaning now in anticipation at the thought of Aki fucking Hayakawa murmuring dirty things to you over the phone to get you off, nobody else needs to know that.)

“I like you like this,” he murmurs.

“Like what?” you ask, as if you don’t already know. 

He chuckles.

—

You’re insufferable. 

Absolutely, positively insufferable. 

You live and breathe to make Aki’s job far more difficult than it needs to be, with your snappy, headstrong attitude and your penchant for nearly getting yourself killed on a regular basis. 

But right now?

Right now, that’s the last thing on Aki’s mind. Because all of your bristled, sharp edges have gone pliant on the other end of the phone, your scathing, impatient remarks replaced by the sound of your heavily aroused, labored breathing. 

“I bet you’re already soaked,” he says, shifting slightly from where he’s seated on his couch as he feels himself harden in his slacks at the thought.

“I'm dripping all over the sheets,” you admit. 

He bites his fist. 

“Touch yourself for me then.”

You don’t hesitate—he knows that because he can immediately hear the lewd, squelching sound of you starting to pump your fingers in and out of your wet hole. 

“Slow down,” he chides, just to be a dick. He can’t let you off that easy, after all. 

“Fuck you,” you pant out with a whine. 

“Maybe if you behave,” he drawls, clicking his tongue. “How many fingers are you using?”

“Two.”

“Put in another.”

He hears a strangled moan fall from your lips. 

“S’tight,” you whimper. 

“How do you expect to take my dick then?” he asks, the words past his lips before he can stop himself. 

There’s a slight choking sound from your end. “How would you fuck me, Hayakawa?”

“Aki,” he corrects you with a slight edge to his voice, not sure why he suddenly feels compelled to do so. 

“How would you fuck me, Aki?”

His dick is straining painfully against his zipper now, a dark spot of precum staining the black fabric of his pants. He presses the heel of his palm against his throbbing shaft to relieve some of the pressure as he hears the damp slide of three of your fingers plunging in and out of your cunt. 

“Till you’re begging me to come.”

You moan for him. 

For him. 

He’s fucked. 

“Would you fuck my mouth to shut me up?” you breathe out, words hoarse. 

“I bet you’d look so pretty choking on my dick.” More precum leaks through, and Aki’s muscles tense. 

“Would I look pretty with your cum all over my face?”

His dick is so painfully hard it feels like it’s going to fall off. 

Aki’s going to kill the fucking Lust Devil with his bare hands. 

“You’re filthy,” he comments, hips rocking upward to no avail.

“Rude,” you exhale between a moan and a whimper, and he imagines the way you’re probably teasing your supple breasts while fucking yourself on your fingers right now. 

“That was a compliment.”

“I haven’t even told you what I’m doing now,” you tease. 

He raises an eyebrow, letting himself run his hand over his throbbing shaft briefly one more time. “What’s that?”

A loud, broken moan follows. “Using what’s dripping out of me to finger my ass.”

Oh. 

He’s really fucked. 

Aki bites his lower lip so hard he tastes blood as he resists the urge to furiously fist his cock. 

“How many?” he croaks. 

“One.”

“Give me two,” he nearly growls. 

“I can’t—“

“Prep yourself for me. Two fingers.”

Aki’s fairly certain he’s never been so desperate to fuck anyone in his life as he is in this moment. 

He hears you gasp and whimper as you slowly ease a second lubricated finger up your ass, knows it’s shoved all the way in by the sobbing moan that follows. 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

“Good girl,” he says again, because he could tell what it did to you the first time. 

You keen at the praise, and he hears as you resume playing with your pussy while plunging in and out of the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks at the same time. 

“I’m close,” you sob. 

“Come for me,” he tells you, like he’s not on the verge of an untouched orgasm himself. 

“Wanna feel you come in my ass,” you whimper. 

Aki’s helpless to hide his answering moan, the mental image sending him reeling. But it’s the sound of you crying out his name as you come that’s his undoing—

“AKI!”

The coil in Aki’s gut unfurls like a whip, white-hot pleasure washing over his body as he trembles with the force of his orgasm. Cum floods his boxers, his hot, sticky seed leaking all over his balls and soaking through the front of his slacks. He gives in and roughly grasps his cock through the damp material, riding out the aftershocks as cum drips along his inner thighs, belatedly realizing just how loudly he’s moaning right along with you. 

Then it’s quiet for a moment, save for the sound of both of you breathing hard. 

“Did you—“

“Text me the address of that motel. Now.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[sydsaint]

Protective Solo owns my heart <3

Summary: the reader is Nick's assistant who finds herself in Logan Paul's line of sight. Much to her dismay. Lucky for her, Solo Sikoa seems to have a soft spot for her.

Smackdown is well into its program on a usual Friday night. You've been tentatively seeing to all GM Nick Aldis' needs as his assistant.

"YN!" Aldis catches your attention with a shout as he's looking down at his phone.

"Yes, sir?" You answer his prompt with enthusiasm.

Nick glances up from his phone and nods out toward the locker room area. "Could you please go and fetch Paul Heyman for me?" He asks you. "And Solo as well."

"Sure." You nod. "Can I ask what for? Just in case they ask?" You ask him.

"Just a meeting," Nick replies vaguely.

You nod and take off for Roman's spacious locker room. You come up on the door with 'The Bloodline' scrawled across the door. You knock briskly on the wood and wait for an answer.

A few seconds later, Jimmy Uso cracks the door open and peers down at you. "What do you want, shortie?" Jimmy wastes no time in confronting you.

"Mr. Aldis has asked to see Paul and Solo." You explain. "May I come in?" You ask him politely.

Jimmy narrows his eyes at you and glances around the empty space behind you cautiously. He glances back down at you one more time before he begrudgingly steps back from the door and lets you inside.

"Thank you." You nod at Jimmy and step through the door. "Excuse me, sorry to bother you, Roman." You turn your attention to Roman lounging in his chair. "Mr. Aldis has asked to see Paul and Solo." You explain.

"What for?" Roman quirks a brow at you.

You bite the inside of your lip, wishing that Nick had just explained what his intentions were with Solo and Paul. "I'm sorry, he just said it was for a meeting." You explain sheepishly.

Roman's jaw twitches and you watch him beckon Paul over to his side with the subtle flick of his wrist. You remain by the door and watch Paul and Roman whisper to one another for a moment before they both turn back to you.

"Take Solo with you." Roman turns to Solo and nods in your direction. "Paul will join you in a few minutes."

"Oh, okay." You nod and glance at Solo standing stoicly on the other side of the room.

Without a word, Solo stalks over to you and waits for you to leave. You offer Roman a small smile and turn around back to the door.

Solo reaches over you and pulls open the door. You nod at him in thanks and step out into the hall. Solo follows and shuts the locker room door behind him. You wait for the door to shut before starting your journey down the hall silently.

You've been working for Nick for a few months now as his assistant. Roman and The Bloodline have been a nuisance for Nick since he took the job, and you as well. But there's just something about Solo that draws you to him. Despite his stoic nature.

"Sorry to take you away from Roman so randomly." You attempt to make small talk while you walk.

"Don't worry about it." Solo replies dryly.

You nod and continue on the journey back to Nick's office. You get to the door and Solo once again steps ahead of you and grabs the door for you. "Thank you, Solo." You offer him a thankful smile.

Solo nods and you head inside the office. "I have Solo here, Mr. Aldis. Paul will be joining us shortly." You inform Aldis before stepping back over to your desk.

Nick beckons Solo over to his desk and you busy yourself with work while the pair chat. Paul shows up a few minutes later and comes over to your desk.

"Miss LN." Paul greets you. "Sorry for the delay." He offers you an apology.

"No problem, Paul." You reply. "Mister Aldis will see you now. He's with Solo chatting at his desk." You nod toward the boss's desk.

Paul heads over to Nick's desk and you once again get back to your work. A few minutes later Paul and Solo whisper to one another for a moment before Paul points over to you subtly. Solo nods and walks over to your desk.

"Is there something you need, Solo?" You look up from your work at Sikoa.

"Nah." Solo shakes his head.

You nod and Solo remains posted up by the side of your desk. Paul and Nick remain at Nick's desk chatting about something or other.

A few minutes later, the office door swings open and Logan Paul comes sauntering in with a self-entitled smile plastered on his face. "YN!" Logan walks over to you, making a note to ignore Solo. "How's it going beautiful?" He asks you.

"Logan." You reply dryly. "Mister Aldis is busy at the moment." You warn him.

"Fine with me." Logan leans over to your desk. "I came by to talk with you." He winks at you.

Your jaw twitches in annoyance at Logan's advances. Solo catches the subtle gesture and eyes Logan out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm a little busy, Logan. Sorry." You attempt to politely get him away from you.

"No trouble, babe." Logan shrugs. "I can wait." He continues to lean against your desk.

You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your palm. Next to your desk, Solo matches your sigh. You watch from the corner of your eye as he uncrosses his arms and steps up to Logan.

"You can go ahead and leave." Solo sizes up Logan. "Now." He stares at Paul with a no-nonsense look.

Logan laughs and turns to Solo but second-guesses himself when he sees the look on Solo's face. Logan backs off and glances at you one more time before he scoffs and exits the office.

"Thanks for that." You turn to Solo after Logan slams the office door.

"He come by often?" Solo leans back next to your desk and crosses his arms over his chest again.

You nod, recalling all the times you've had to put up with Logan meandering around the office when you're trying to work. "Only when he's bored." You answer Solo. "Which just happens to be almost always." You snark.

Paul and Nick finish up their conversation so you don't catch the flare in Solo's nostrils. Paul walks over to your desk and collects Solo before both of them head out.

Nick walks over to your desk after the pair have gone with papers in his hand and questions ready to fire at you. "Did I hear Logan Paul in here a minute ago?" He asks you.

"Mhm." You hold your hands out to receive Nick's papers. "Sikoa scared him off." You muse. "What are those for?"

"Just some copies I need to be made up," Nick replies. "I really should have a talk with our United States champion about his manners." He sighs to himself.

You nod and take the papers. Nick walks off back to his desk and you neatly put the papers into a pile before taking them over to the copier in the other room.

It takes you around 15 minutes to make all the copies that Nick needs. When you come back into the office Nick is talking in a rushed and concerned tone with a couple of the security staff.

"Is there something going on, sir?" You drop the papers at your desk and hurry over to Nick's.

"It seems that Mister Sikoa has decided to teach our US champ some manners himself." Nick turns to you. "The pair were just separated after getting into a brawl backstage." He explains.

Your eyes widen in surprise at Nick's explanation. "Oh." Is the only reply you can muster.

"I'll go have a chat with Mr. Paul," Nick adds. "I trust that you can handle speaking with Mr. Sikoa?" He asks you.

"Of course, sir." You nod. "What would you like me to tell him?" You ask.

Nick bobs his head in thought for a moment before he answers you. "Just please let Mr. Sikoa know that he cannot go around assaulting people backstage. Especially champions." He informs you.

You nod and head off to the trainer's room that they've got Solo waiting in. You nod to the security officers at the door and they let you in.

Inside the trainer's room, Solo is being treated for a minor cut to the eyebrow from the fight. You walk over to him and dismiss the trainer cleaning up his cut.

"That cut looks like it stings." You comment.

"It's fine," Solo replies.

You nod and bounce on your feet, unsure of what to say. "Can I ask who started the fight?" You ask him.

"I started it," Solo replies plainly. "And ended it." He adds.

"Right." You nod. "And can I ask why?"

Solo looks at you through the blood trickling down his face. But he doesn't have to say anything to answer your question. "Yeah...I know why." You bite the inside of your lip. "But you didn't need to. I don't need any help in dealing with Logan Paul." You insist.

"Kind of seems like you did," Solo replies, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I-" You take notice of the smile he's trying to hide. "Okay!" You stifle a laugh but not the amused smile on your face. "Thank you, again, Solo." You thank him in a whisper. "Clean him up and then he's free to go." You turn back to the trainers. "Don't let it happen again, Mister Sikoa!" You glance at him and raise your voice.

Solo nods at your raised tone. "Yes, ma'am."

You exit the trainer room and head back to the office with an amused smile on your face. When you get back Nick is already back from his chest with Logan.

"I presume that your conversation with Mister Sikoa went well?" Nick asks you.

"It did." You nod and sit back down at your desk. "I don't think that this will be happening again." You assure him.

Nick nods and sits back down at his desk ad well. "Yes, I don't think so as well." He agrees with a knowing smile.

[erwinsvow]

wait I still absolutely love love love kook trio reader with Rafe and because I think Rafe trying to control himself because he’s her ‘friend’ is so funny to me because hello I love him but I can totally get around to her and JJ 🤭

rafe thought he was really good at it—keeping himself under control. he thought no one else could see through the hard exterior, that he was keeping the possessiveness he felt over you well concealed.

he wasn't.

if the obvious staring at all the times of the day weren't enough, he was touchy with you, touchier than what was considered normal for your little friend group. you were the touchy one, always leaning against kelce's shoulder in the backseat when you were sleepy or keeping your feet splayed across top's lap during evenings spent out on the boat.

and though at first you had been the touchiest of all with rafe, he was starting to overtake you. a hand on your waist on the course, only pulling away when it was his turn to swing. sitting in the chair closest to you during lunch at the club, keeping his hand on the back of your seat, pulled closer to his than normal.

even during parties when he'd normally stalk off to sell and flirt with random girls—something that you used to be okay with but now made you feel a little unsettled, a little queasy—he was glued to your side, making sure the drink in your hand was from him, making sure your head only rested against his shoulder, your legs on his lap.

and normally, you ignored it. a little part of you was pleased, you'd always liked rafe the best, maybe because he had been the hardest to win over. when you first started hanging out with the boys, he'd put up the biggest fight, if topper and kelce were to be believed. rafe was the one who had been opposed, the one who thought a girl would ruin the vibes.

so it was nice, almost strangely satisfying, that he was so attached to you now. trying to be a good friend, like he always put it, like today.

rafe had given you a can of mango seltzer poured into a solo cup. what he didn't know was that topper had poured about two shots of vodka into the cup when rafe walked away to make a quick sell. and then kelce had topped you off again when rafe went to go make his own drink, so as a result, you were deliciously drunk, leaning back on the couch, pushing the soles of your feet against rafe's thighs while he kept a firm hand on your knee so you didn't tip over and fall off.

you giggle at his touch, everything feeling hot and tingly.

"really? that fizzy shit does this to you?" he asks, low and quiet. at first you're a little quiet, and he's a little worried—you're never quiet. but you laugh, thudding your head gently back on the arm of the sofa.

"rafe, when has one can ever done this to me? you're funny." you say, pushing yourself up and balancing on your elbows to look at him. you look pretty, enticingly so, almost enough to distract him from your words. the short denim skirt and white shirt is among his favorites, and he stares a little longer than he normally would.

you don't notice—he's always staring at you.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"how do you think that bottle of vodka got empty so quickly?"

"they gave you more?" rafe questions, his hand coming to your ankles to hoist them to the side so he can stand up. he searches for topper and kelce, spotting them with two girls by the pool table, and just as he starts to take the first step, you sit up, grabbing his wrist and holding him back.

"hey! what the hell's that about?" rafe turns to look back you, staring up at him with your pretty eyes and confused expression. "i always drink with you guys. why would i stop now?"

"because i had said-"

"yes, i know you said not to." he sits back down, body facing yours, too close not to arouse suspicions from other people watching. you don't mind though, you're used to it. "i know you're being a good friend rafe, but i can't stop having fun because you're worried about me."

the alcohol has made you surprisingly honest—normally he thinks you whack the side of his head and call him an idiot.

"right.." rafe says slowly, processing the words. "a good friend. right. i am."

"i know you are." you lie back down, swinging your feet across his lap again, resuming position.

he strokes the skin of your legs, all the way from your thigh to your ankle. a boy walking by stares at your short skirt, but darts away when he sees how rafe's looking at him.

"you're all good friends," you ramble. "so nice to me, especially you. i thought you hated me at first. sometimes i worry you still do."

"could never hate you, kid."

you giggle again, taking another sip of your drink.

"stop being an idiot then, and have fun. i'll go get you another scotch if that's what it takes."

the night goes like that until kelce and top rejoin, and even then, you somehow end up like always—asleep next to rafe at tannyhill. you wake up to the blare of your alarm, while rafe covers his ears with the pillow.

"turn that shit off," he mumbles. "where the hell are you goin' so early?" you yawn, stretching next to him. he looks up, eyes opening by themselves, yearning to catch a glimpse of exposed skin.

"i have to go back home. will you bring me? pleeease?" you elongate the word, singing it sweetly so he'll comply.

"right now? why?"

"i'm going on a lunch date. i wanna get ready, y'know, look nice," you say, turning off your alarm and fiddling with something on your phone, replying to a text he thinks.

rafe sits up immediately.

"a date? with who?"

"um, this guy my friend buys weed from sometimes. he's nice, though, not weird at all. well, not weird like that, like not creepy, but he's funny-"

"shut up. you're not going." you turn from your position to look at him.

"rafe, you're so weird. friends are supposed to be excited for each other."

"right. excited."

"c'mon let's go, i don't wanna be late." you gather your discarded clothes on the floor, but keep his shirt on, wearing it home like you always do.

"friends," he mumbles to himself. friends. that's when he decided he was gonna have to do something about you.

[myouicieloz]

Collide

Huh Yunjin x 6th member!reader

Synopsis: you can’t take your eyes off her, specially when she’s dancing. thankfully, yunjin makes sure to put up a show for you.

Warnings: suggestivee. safe for work ma babes ^^

Word count: 1.6k

Notes: I SHALL PERSEVERE. fuckass writers block 😤. i will noooooot proofread this ^^

“Oh my God. Are you ok?” Yunjin asks, turning her attention away from her choreography as soon as she catches you desperately choking on water.

You throw your phone on the other side of the couch— as well as the bottle you were holding, in hopes of controlling the coughing fit that has you shaking rather violently. Still trying to gasp for air, you manage to nod, thumbs up to let Yunjin know you’ll most likely live.

“Just fine.” Your voice comes in between breaths, still accompanied by weakened coughs. “I drank too much at once.”

She giggles, walking towards the couch so you can sit side by side. You make sure to grab your phone back so your bandmate doesn’t reckon the cause of your coughing fit: scrolling through TikTok, you found a fan cam of the red-haired girl performing at their showcase just days ago.

Her bare waist, tight cropped and low-waisted jeans were enough for you to breathe in deeply, looking anywhere in the empty room but at her; carefully to not be reminded of the sin that was your bandmate’s body. Not only that, but the way she moved, too— sharp and flawless, skilled as she played with her hair and bit her lip while looking at the damn camera. Yunjin is well aware of how hot she is, and she sure as hell makes good use of that when performing.

It’s torture.

“Are you sure?” She frowns, and it’d be adorable if your mind wasn’t clouded by how she’d react if you just pushed her down the small sofa and ruined her relentlessly until someone had to barge in, worried about the screams coming from the room— only to find her whimpering under your touch, begging for more. “Your face is all flushed, and your skin feels hot. Y/n, are you sick?”

You shake your head, doing your best to duck from your bandmate’s attentive touches. It’s comforting to have her hand cupping your cheek, but her touches are electrifying. A single brush of her fingers is and your heart skips a beat, along with a familiar ache that starts growing in your core.

“It’s nothing, unnie. Don’t worry.” Her smile is so pretty. She loves to be loved by you. “You might want to take a small break, though. Come on, you’ve been here for hours already! Don’t push yourself too hard.” You offer, even though it’s obvious she’s going to decline. Yunjin’s too much of a perfectionist, so much so that it’s incredibly common to find her in that same practice room during late hours of the night, rehearsing the group’s choreography so she’ll be nothing but perfect once they go on stage.

The hate train Lesserafim’s been receiving has been getting to her, you know it as much. It’s easy to see in her chapped-off nails, disheveled hair, and how she never stays still, due to the amount of coffee she consumes on a single day. She’s too hard on herself, and you wish she’d open up more. How much better would it be if she just didn’t bottle it up so much, and relied on you instead? You’re bandmates, after all.

Touchy as she’s always been, Yunjin grabs your hand and leads you to the middle of the dance room, in front of the mirror. You’re left standing awkwardly, with a confused face until she rushes back with a chair. “Actually, I needed your help with something.” She gestures for you to sit, which you do. “It’s my turn to record something for TikTok, and manager-im asked it to be a dancing piece. Can you tell me if it’s good?”

You gulp when she launches her jacket lazily onto the ground, setting up her song of choice on her phone. The beat starts slow as the singer’s sweet voice echoes through the room, and Yunjin walks towards you in unhurried, precise steps. There’s not enough air, with all your mind clogged by her, and you can feel the slick dripping from your cunt. Once she finally reaches you… it’s insane. Her fingers brush your collarbone, the shadow of a proper touch has you shivering as she places both of her hands on your elbows and pushes herself down, her hips swirling just as the melody drags on— you can’t do anything but hold her by the hips, adding pressure to her rocking back and forth in your lap.

Her covered cunt brushes against yours and it’s the best feeling you’ve ever experienced; it feels heavenly, to have the friction just right where you need it. Yunjin’s arms go up in an arched movement, leaving her pretty neck all exposed. It’d be so easy to just push her in and suck on her porcelain skin until no makeup could hide such hickeys. Along with the song, she breathes in, which rides her crop top enough that you can see her lack of a bra.

It’s borderline painful: the way her actions lit your body on fire, the desperate need for more, the way she does a hair flip, still so attentive to the music you don’t even hear anymore. The only bang in your head comes from the pleasure building up down in your lower abdomen, waiting. Anticipating.

Yunjin grabs you by the neck just as the chorus hits, brushing her mouth against yours. She makes her way down to your neck, teasing her teeth against your clavicle whilst her other hand toys with the hem of your sweatpants, tapping in the right rhythm. “Do you want it?”

“More than anything.” Your response comes immediately. You’re soaked, and there’s nothing more in the world you want more than for her to touch you. “Please, Jen… Want your fingers inside.”

Yunjin is always eager to please, and you’re so glad for that. Her hand makes her way past your panties, and she smirks once she’s met with the mess you’ve made. “Does my dancing turn you on that much?” Her sultry tone does nothing but entice your moans, “Oh, Y/n… that’s pathetic.”

In any other situation, you’d give her mockery an answer just as filthy. But as her fingers brush your slit, gathering slick as Yunjin uses your juices to press her thumb on your clit, you can only muster a loud whine. Tangling your arms under her neck, you lift your hips a bit further, in hopes of having more.

More. It’s all you want. You need more.

“Jen, f-fuck. Please, I need—“ Two of her fingers enter your cunt unannounced, making you grasp. Yunjin’s movements are just as precise as her choreography, thrusting in and helping with the ache in your pussy right where you need it.

You’re not proud of how lewd you sound, all at your bandmate’s mercy as she fastens her pace on your dripping sex. She’s still in your lap, and the combined pressure feels just perfect.

Yunjin’s mouth leaves a trail of kisses in the valley of your boobs, her wet, cherry lips enticing the fire in your body. “I know what you need, baby. Just let go for me, you can do it.”

One command of hers and the tingling sensation that has been building up in your body explodes, allowing you to feel the wave of pleasure you’ve been so eagerly anticipating from the moment you entered the room. You cum with a high cry, with Yunjin’s fingers going even faster as you ride out from your orgasm. It’s not enough, though — you still need more. You think she’s going to give it to you, but your friend’s fingers retreat completely.

Yunjin’s left you a breathless mess, hot and bothered and just so desperate to have her in any way as you stare at her, hopeless and confused.

“Why’d you stop?” You whine, puting.

Yunjin laughs at the sight of your puppy eyes, so big and watery from frustration.

“Because that was it.” Her answer is resolute as if she didn’t make you cum seconds prior. With a fake frown, she adds, “Should I post it? Is it good enough?”

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lip as your hands find their way to her waist, bringing her to your lap once again. Even the smallest amount of friction _hurts_, from how horny you are, and you wince.

Noticing your struggles, Yunjin giggles as she leaves small, wet kisses on your jaw. You decide to play coy, too, “Not at all. In fact, I think you need a lot more practice. Go again, from the beginning… please?”

Yunjin laughs so hard she drops her head back, pinching your nose. “Sure, baby. I think so too.”

You kiss her again, exploring your way into her pretty mouth as your hands lift her shirt, groping her tits. Yunjin makes an effort to be perfect, and you’re so glad for her hard work.

“Oh, and Y/n?” She calls you, her tone all innocent. Yunjin’s lips are addicting, and she’s such a good kisser… it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else. You hum in acknowledgment, and that seems to be enough for her, “You should lower your phone’s brightness before watching my thirsty edits, next time.”

You’d for sure choke again, if it weren’t for her devious laugh, silencing your shock with her sultry movements on your lap.

[facioleeknow]

Always right ° Bang Chan

You and Chan are at a party and things get very steamy ;)

WC: 1263 Genre: College AU, smut 18+ ONLY

TW: drinking, partying, dry humping, talks of sex, tipsy chan and reader, chan cums in his pants and he is very hot, mention of masturbation, sort of public sex

A/N: this mf lifts 140kg, he's insane and he wants me dead. Also reblogs and comments are highly appreciated since I am running a little low on confidence and inspiration, thank you <3.

The party was officially over. Red solo cups laid on the floor, abandoned and crinkled. The music was faint and so were the lights, if you weren’t so close to Chan you wouldn’t have been able to see him clearly.  You and him were the only ones left at his house, at least the only ones awake. One or two people were sprawled down on the pool chairs, fully passed out, last time you checked. 

Chan gave off heat in waves, his warmth seeped into your bones, giving you a sense of tranquility and helping you with the chilly night air coming from the open window. A half empty bottle of soju was passed between you two, every sip made you more lightheaded  and warm. Your cheeks shined a bright red and your eyes twinkled.

An invisible bubble wrapped around you, making the intimacy in the air even more pronounced. Rivers of words flew out of your mouth with ease; you could never stop talking when you were together, a gift from being friends for a decade. 

“What would you do if you were a man for a day?” asked Chan with a giggle when you made a face.

“Ew, I would never want to be a man for a day, that’s nasty.”

“It’s just a what if situation,” he giggled even more at your antics.

“Honestly?” you looked at him, with your lips pursed.

“Honestly,” he was now facing you. His red cheeks matched yours, a wide grin on his face.

“I would beat my meat the whole day.”

Chan choked on the liquor, a loud laugh resonating in his chest.

“You’re a pervert.”

“I’m not,” you argued, “being a woman and cumming most of the time are not compatible things. And also, don’t pretend like you wouldn’t spend the whole day with a hand down your pants if you were a woman,” you quipped back.

“Alright you got me, but I would do it for science, so I could pleasure my hook ups more,” he stated matter of factly. Your face must have reflected how unimpressed you were because Chan giggled once more and sipped at the bottle of alcohol.

“What about communication, Christopher? Maybe if you want to know what a girl likes, you should ask her.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

Giggles escaped both of your lips. He was even closer to you now, his breath tickled your face; you swore you saw his eyes glance down at your lips and then up again at your eyes, but then again it could’ve been the liquor talking.

“Have you got any more silly questions or what ifs for me?” his eyes weren’t your main focus anymore, your eyes were glued to his lips. The plush flesh of his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, a smile still present.

“Are you attracted to me?” You huffed at the boy’s question.

“That’s a dumb question, Christopher. You are a handsome and muscly man who is also very caring and kind, every girl in our college is attracted to you.”

His eyes twinkled, from the alcohol and in amusement. He put the bottle down next to him.

“Are you though?”

“As I said, every girl in our college is attracted to you, and I am a girl in college, so..” you trailed off. Chan’s warm hand found the expanse of your thigh, his thumb gently rubbed your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat but you contained yourself, skinship wasn’t unusual for you two, especially since he was a real cuddle bug.

“Then,” he face was so near yours that your noses almost touched, “are you sexually attracted to me?”

His words shocked you and you slightly widened your eyes. His wicked side only came out once in a while, but you have always enjoyed it. If Christopher wanted to play then you would do the same.

“Are you?” Your eyes fixed on each other’s faces, trying to see who would break first.

“Should we fuck?” you giggled loudly. Something shifted in Chan’s eyes after your question, they became dark and full of lust. You had never seen him like that, but you couldn't say that you minded.

“I thought you would never ask, baby.”

His big hands wrapped around your waist and carefully lifted you in his lap. The move felt effortless, your weight didn’t affect him at all, you were as light as a kitten. That made you incredibly wet, the gym had definitely paid off.

“You said communication is important, tell me what to do then baby,” his lips inched closer and closer to your ear. A delicate kiss was placed behind your earlobe and it made your pussy throb with need. You should’ve been ashamed at how fast you were getting worked up but it was Chris who was working you up and also you were way too horny to care.

“Kiss me please.”

The boy under you slowly reached for your lips and laid a chaste, soft kiss on your awaiting lips. His lips were soft and plump, they felt heavenly, you couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like on your pussy, wrapped around your little clit,

The kiss was fast and sweet but soon after came a second and a third and soon your lips were molded together. His tongue peaked out of his lips and licked at your bottom lip. A series of huffs and whimpers came out of both of you, the air around you felt sticky and stuffy.

You didn’t realize that your hips had started to move until Chan held your hips in place. 

“What do you want , baby? Communication, remember?” he sounded cocky. You whined at his words, there was no need to be a smartass.

“Please Channie, let me grind on you.” He finally slacked the bruising grip on your hips and let you move back and forth on his lap. A prominent and promising boner pressed against your hot clothed core. The stimulation wasn’t enough to let you see stars but it sent tingles of pleasure up and down your spine, besides Chan’s huffs and puffs were better than anything you had ever experienced in your life. 

The boy threw his head back against the cushion of the couch, giving you free access to his tempting neck. Your lips latched onto his pulse point and started to suck gently, occasionally biting and then licking the area. Your hips sped up in their rhythm as wetness collected on your folds and soiled your panties.

“Oh god, baby, is it bad if I already want to cum?” he asked with a guttural moan. His ears and cheeks bright red, his eyes screwed shut. 

“No Channie, go ahead:”

Your lips trailed a sensual path up and down his neck. Cold hands made their way up his shirt and trailed over his lower belly, abs and then landed on his pecs. Your fingers pushed and circled around his hardened nipples, a whine coming out of Chan’s mouth.

The moment you pinched his nipples, hard, the boy knew he was over. He scrunched up his face in pleasure and his muscles contracted. Hot spurts of cum came out of him quickly, coating and effectively ruining his favorite pair of pants and underwear. His breath was labored when he looked at you, face flushed and slightly sweaty. You looked like a goddess.

“You didn’t cum,” he stated, his voice strained.

“You did, though, so I think I deserve a reward for it.”

Chan giggled breathlessly and slapped your hip playfully.

“You’re right, as always.”

Taglist: @kflixnet @bahng-chrizz @hann1bee

[onsunnyside]

here's one of the prompts from this ask: presenting... camboy!Rafe

After yet another falling out with Ward, Rafe had to find some other way to make quick cash. He didn't expect to keep this virtual career going for over a year, growing to love the flattery and attention as much as his real-life hookups.

You're Sarah's best friend, a fellow kook-turned-pogue, and spent more time at the Cameron house than your own. This summer, Rafe travels back home from college and gets a little careless, so used to his private dorm where he didn't need to stifle any moans or dirty talk.

It's a late night by the pool, music plays from Kie's speaker and empty beer bottles litter the patio. John B and Sarah are cuddled by the stairs, chatting with Pope as JJ does his umpteenth cannonball, splashing you and Kie as you lounge on floaties.

Unfortunately, it's your turn to get more snacks and drinks. You begrudgingly trek through the big house, already a little inebriated. You gather chips, popcorn and beer on the shiny island counter before a loud noise catches your attention. Curiosity gets the better of you and you follow those strange noises and find yourself in front of Ward's office, the door just barely cracked open.

Rafe sits in his father's chair, pristine white shirt unbuttoned with a light sheen of sweat on his chest. Your eyes drift to his arm, the sleeves rolled up and muscles tense under his tanned skin. He murmurs something under his breath and you creep closer, trying to make out his words.

"Hm, is that so? You think you deserve my cock?" His pink lips stretch into a smug smirk, "you're gonna have to bend over my desk and show me where you want it."

The angle blocks his lower half, but you don't need to see it to know what he's doing—the jerking motions of his arm, the hitches in his breaths, and his blue gaze locked on the screen before him.

"If you beg real nice, I'll let you taste my cum. Shoot my load on your pretty face and claim you, maybe I'll even take a few pictures." Rafe groans heavily, his arm speeding up, "is that want you want? You wanna be daddy's little cumrag?"

For the next few days, you avoid him like the plague, but that's hard to do when it's his damn house. Every time he comes around, you slip away, muttering an excuse about going home or doing an errand. Sarah is the only one partly concerned since you were never at Rafe's throat like the rest of the Pogues.

Your luck had to run out at some point: he corners you at a kegger, you should've known he'd show up at the Boneyard with the rest of his friends.

"I've been back for a month and you haven't said more than three words to me."

You grip the solo cup tightly, nervously peering up at him, "hi, Rafe, how are you?"

He laughs, shaking his head. His new buzzcut makes him appear more rugged and confident. Ugh, he never used to make you weak in the knees, but now you're having trouble standing upright—hopefully, it's just the alcohol.

"I'd be better if you didn't look at me like I'm covered in blood. C'mon, you're Sarah's only friend that I can actually tolerate." He rolls his eyes, "don't tell me they turned you against me in a couple of months?"

me thinks... one thing leads to another and you're making out against his truck, your dress hiked up to your thighs as he hooks your knees around his hips. You pull away for a breath and his hand wraps around your throat, his wet lips trailing down to your jaw: "Is it bad that I want to get caught right now just to see the look on JJ's face?"

At the mention of your friends, you snap out of it and shove him away. Guilty and ashamed, you can't imagine what Sarah would think about you hooking up with her brother, and the rest of the Pogues definitely wouldn't be happy about it either.

You leave the party early and once again, avoid Rafe, going as far as faking sick when Sarah invites you over.

fast forward to the filthy stuff: don't even get me started on you starring in his cam shows. Rafe is all too eager to show his viewers every inch of you, how pretty you moan, how you melt with just the slighest of touches.

He's such a tease: he grinds his hard cock along your clothed cunt, showing his fans just how needy you get, "look at that, she's soaking her panties," he chuckles, reading the rush of comments on the laptop screen, "Yeah, she's gonna ruin them tonight—maybe we'll have a little fun and send them to the highest tipper. How's that sound, baby? You want a stranger owning your messy panties?"

He's obsessed with cum shots: he’ll cum on your pretty, tear-stained face or one of your used holes, "open wider for daddy." And of course, you obey, blinking up at him with his seed on your cheeks and lips. He leans down and spits, spreading his saliva and cum on your tongue, "such a good girl, you'd let me do anything to you, hm? You wanna show our fans how pretty you look right now?"

this au makes me very interested in Rafe's and reader's exhibitionist adventures 😳 ofc fooling around at the country club, mayhaps golf cart shenanigans, and definitely riding him in his truck... this will be a full fic 😌 or a collection of drabbles !! we'll see hehe

[justaaveragereader]

Hi bestie!! (Hope it's okay I call you that)

Ever since I watched the MATZ mv, I can't get the thought of Hongjoong chained up to the chair out of my head. Unable to touch you while you suck him off and tease him, him begging you to let him cum but you are loving how desperate and whiny he sounds.

Do you think you could write something for this? It's okay if you're not comfortable with it! No hard feelings at all <3

Thank you in advance! Love your work!!

Hey Bestie😚 I’m COMPLETELY fine with you calling me that!!! I’m absolutely IN LOVE with this request, whiny Hongjoong? With inspiration from the Matz video?!? I’m CRIMINALLY ill. I was so excited to write this, I got you for sure babes💙, hopefully I was able to deliver👀😙! I was so comfy writing this, maybe a little to comfy lol my thumbs were just clacking away with excitement! I swear I’m in love with any sub like ateez member this request was just👩‍🍳💋!

—•——•——•——•——•——•——•——•——•——•

Please…Please

Word Count: 888

Warnings: Sub!Hongjoong (he’s very whiny), Dom!Reader, Oral (Receiving), Edging, Degradation, Teasing, Begging, Exhibitionism, Spit, If I Missed Anything..👀Lemme Know

✍️Masterlist✍️

“Please! God, please please.” Hongjoong choked out through a sob. The clinking of the chain around his body echoed out in the empty room. You had been invited by Hongjoong to watch his solo shoot, while everyone decided to break for lunch, you decided you wanted to eat something else.

With his pants around his ankles, his leaking cock resting against your tongue that was laid flat on the underside of his cock, the pulsing vein throbbing on your tongue. His eyeliner smudged from the tears overflowing from his eyes. Alternating between sucking the head, and letting your tongue run along the length of his cock, bringing him close to the edge each time. Just to pull away and watch him whine hysterically as quietly as he could. Not wanting to alert the staff or Seonghwa of what was truly going on.

“God? Hmm…is that what I am to you?” You looked up at him, watching the streaks of his makeup spread across his pretty face. Sending him a flirtatious smile, you grab his leaking cock. Giving it a quick pump before, spitting on the tip of it watching it slide down the side. Rubbing your thumb slowly over the slit of his cock head, watching your leftover salvia, and his pre cum mix. Hongjoong watched your every move. Even though he couldn’t move much, he hawked you down. While he looked down at you, the power that you held between you both was enough to make him cum with his eyes closed.

“But Joongie you sound so cute when you whine.” You say through a fake pout, your hand slowly beginning to pump his cock up and down. Squeezing his eyes shut, his body does a very noticeable shiver. The chains holding his body back clink again. Trying his best to move, just so he could feel your skin. Tears pool at his eyes, while they are squeezed shut, he tosses his head back. Letting out a high pitched whine. His hands are clenched into such tight fists, his knuckles turn white. His tiny whimpers fill the empty area, his morals slipping away.

Standing up, you continue to pump him slowly. Putting your hand on his chin to tilt his head down so you are eye to eye. As soon as you drop your hand from his face his eyes shoot open..

“Please please touch me again..please..” he ends his sentence with such a desperate whisper you can help but let a sadistic smile grace your face. Your hand picks up speed in pumping his heavy cock. Letting your other hand roam across his neck, your nails lightly scratch at his skin, tilting his head back so he looks up at your body that is looming over his tied up frame. The dull lighting in the warehouse catches a couple of shed tears, making them twinkle.

“You really are a slut for me aren’t you Kim Hongjoong?”

His eyes flutter at your degradation. Your hand continues to pick up speed as you continue to talk to him..

“What would you do if Seonghwa walked in here right now? Seeing your face drenched in tears, makeup all smudged..” your hands come up to his jaw, holding it lightly, your thumb hooking in his mouth, prying his mouth slightly open, the dull light catching the grill in his mouth. Letting out a semi loud cry at the thought of anyone stumbling upon the both of you.

“Please…please..please let me cum. Please..”

Biting your lip, you push your thumb down on his tongue, alternating between letting your thumb skim the bottom of his grill and feeling his tongue between the padding of your thumb, immediately he closes his mouth around it letting out a loud, breathy moan at the taste of your skin. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, his eyes continuously flutter behind his lids.

“I’m going to cum, please…plea-se.” He says muffled due to him still sucking on your thumb, voice cracking at the end with his high in reach, his body shivers, cock jumping at the excitement of finally being able to enjoy the full blown pleasure. Tears pour out of his eyes..

“Yes..yes! Yes!” He moans louder and louder, the empty warehouse echoing with squelching noises, and his breathy moans. Just as he bites his lip, you let his deep red cock go. Letting out a loud cry he jerks his whole body, chains clanking loudly.

“Please let me cum, pleaseee..” he whines out, dragging out the “e” in please, his body is covered in a light sheen of sweat. His pupils are blown, and his chest letting out a deep heave. Just as you are about to speak, you hear the director announce loudly that there were 5 mins remaining before everyone was due back on set. Letting out a desperate cry Hongjoong rocks his body back and forth the chains making noise with each struggle of a movement. Dropping to your knees slowly, your mouth hovers above his brick hard cock, your warm breath making it ooze even more with precum. Rubbing your thumb lightly over the slit, his cock jumps in your hand.

“How many times do you think you can cum within 5 minutes Joongie?” You say with a smirk on your face before your lips latch onto him.

DO NOT REPOST.

[lazywriters-blog]

INNOCENT WITH A LIAR

I couldn't just sit by and do nothing after witnessing those pictures of Lyney holding- ahem! Oh, I think I just dodged a bullet again.

SUMMARY: You've heard voices around you as you are blindfolded, while you know you aren't in danger as it is a magic show, one can only pray nothing goes wrong.

WARNING: Nothing I can think of mentioning. Am I implying hypnosis? Yes, maybe. Also, I accidentally posted this... So... There's that.

The magician gave her the creeps, gently holding her shoulders and urging her to sit down on the chair, she looked at him one last time as he whipped out a piece of cloth and aligned it with her eyes, blocking out the crowd of people watching them, not being able to see them provided some relief.

Then, she felt his breath fan her earlobe and his voice closer than before. "Relax, your shoulders are far too stiff, there's no need to be scared," he murmured, his grasp increasingly growing tighter.

She doesn't feel good about this.

"Ladies and gentlemen! I shall make her disappear and reappear right from where she came from." he declared, showing his clothed wrist to the public and grinning wide. The lack of his touch further cemented just how tight he had held, "Don't close your eyes."

She is certain everybody is looking at her intently, straining their eyes to not miss a second and a whiff of the magician's secrets. Surely, if they focused without blinking once, they'd come to know how he did his tricks.

However, she doesn't know why she has to be blindfolded.

"On the count of three, say it with me... One..." he begins with a cheerful tone, and suddenly she's not too sure about why she accepted to volunteer, It seemed like a bad decision now that she's here on the stage and waiting impatiently.

"Two..."

"... Three!!" he pitched up his voice and then, the floor opened up beneath her making her fall to her doom as the crowd gasped.

She groaned as she fell out of the chair and landed someplace dark, picking herself up from the fallen stool she took off her blindfold and set her eyes on the door, jogging towards it she twisted the handle and it refused to curl and open. If this was a trick, someone would have to have been around to help her. Surely!

Mirrors reflected her frame and the candles did little to light up the place, arrayed hangers gently swinging right and left, and the make-up stalls smeared with accidental paints and lip tints, a resting spot and other things a dressing room would contain.

Unbeknownst to her, she had someone else taking her place.

"My dear audience she's appeared." Lyney smiled, and the spotlight showered down the seat she had been seated in. "Now you know she couldn't have walked there on her own."

The crowd clapped and she could hear them above her, she'd always known magicians tricked people but why did it have to be her? She frantically looked around, this had to be a mistake! Why would he have a problem with her?

There they were, still with their blindfold on and gripping the seat for dear life, heaving for air as the audience laughed loud and clear at the bowing magician. It had been his solo performance that evening and they couldn't be more impressed, indeed a grand finale for the parting.

She prepared herself to crash into the door hopeful that it would cause an unmissable thud, but nothing indicated they'd heard it, she had to make another sound.

She had to make them know whoever was in her place wasn't her! And she's still down here!!

"I shall see you all in my next performance!" he spoke over the sounds she managed to make, perhaps she had it wrong, and they were just keeping her there for the time being to make sure their magic secrets weren't exposed. "Hey!! I'm still here!!" she shouted.

"Hey!!! Be careful my dear people!!" he nervously grinned as rows of seat gradually emptied, one person hanged around a little longer to glance back and look at the magician quickly vanish behind the curtains rushing to the backrooms.

Of course, they had believed his lies.

The house was cleared of every citizen as lyney approached his sister who returned from the shadow. "So, how did it go? Did people believe it?"

"Looked like it, but was it really necessary?"

Lyney stumbled a little but regained his confidence quickly and retorted, "Of course, it was necessary! Otherwise, my feelings would have gone unheard." he muttered, his sister did not want to see him sad that had to be why she assisted.

But, doubt was a natural notion to any person.

"Alright... If you say so, let's go and see her." She unfolded her crossed arms and faced in the direction of the hidden rooms, lyney perked up and led the way to the secret passway underground they'd trapped her into. Nobody knew she never left the theater.

"Okay, wish me luck! If anything goes wrong, I need you to back me up Lynette."

"Yeah yeah, don't worry I won't let anyone find you confessing your love-"

"Hey! Not so loud!" he hurriedly urged.

"Stop being so paranoid bro..." Lynette deadpanned, leaning against the wall while her brother finally opened the door, looked at her once, and stepped in.

Perhaps the landing had been harsh, he should have kept something softer to cushion the fall but no use grieving over it since the task was complete and he had won his prize. He only needed to speak up and... Let his brain do the automated work.

Besides, he had practiced near to perfection. It couldn't be hard. He hopes at least.

"Hello, my dear lady... Sorry about the situation I put you into, I hope you are not that mad at me." he slowly pulls off his gloves, and sets his hat by the makeup booth. The room lit up bright with lights and candles, he had prepared everything to accommodate her short stay and make it somewhat romantic.

"I see you've taken off your blindfold, that's good... I would have been too shy to take them off myself since your eyes are so pretty..." he mused, closing the distance inch by inch and absorbing the shift in her behavior, usually when one's shoulders are raised and their backs erect. They're ready to fight out of fear. He'd know to be careful.

Her eyes are wide open and her breaths are audible for him to hear, the room had been quiet until he appeared. She didn't scream bloody murder whilst she had been down there, so maybe that's a good sign for him to consider.

"Are you alright? I could-" She quickly moved back when he took a step far too big, but he swiftly recovered, "I could take you someplace better if this is not to your liking." he lowered himself to her level, and magically, a plate of cake sat atop his palm. "You like cakes, don't you? I brought this for you earlier."

She hadn't eaten before coming to his show. "What do you want?" she asked the question nagging her, shuffled back some more, and glued her eyes on him. "Are you the one behind the serial disappearance?"

"Oh no! I would never do such a thing, but you are an exception I couldn't resist. Forgive me." he rested his hand on his chest and peered down. "I never would have done it if you hadn't gone and stolen my heart, honest. Unfortunately, we were... Ways apart and it had been hard to simply let my feelings drowse." he carried on.

"You see, I like you... And I couldn't find any other way to express that without..." he shook his head, "I wanted it to be a secret. That's all." he put on his plastic fake smile he's shown to the audience mere seconds ago.

"Oh..." she stared at him, he couldn't say it was a reaction he was anticipating. "What's wrong?" he took the bait even while understanding everything was wrong.

"Nothing... I thought I was kidnapped and... Awaiting bad things to happen." she softly uttered and faked a smile, he knew they were perfect for each other.

"I would never hurt you," he reassured.

"... Yeah." she had been slow to respond.

"Perhaps not the best confession you've witnessed but," he pulled a bouquet of roses out of thin air, "would you give me the pleasure of being your date for tonight?"

She did not move and stared at the bundle of red held before her, something about him just didn't sit right with her and it was driving her insane, she couldn't tell what troubled her.

She took in a deep breath and shook her head, "I'm sorry I'm far too frightened tonight to be your date, may I leave?" She wondered if her polite tone would do the job, "I would love to tomorrow." She had to fake something.

"Oh! That's alright..." he lowered his hand. The sight of his smile dropping was unnerving for her to watch, and she didn't know why, had she seen this exact enactment before somewhere?

"Can I escort you outside?" He stood up on his feet as soon as she had walked to the door and he closed the distance between them, She didn't want to show her back to him, she quickly turned around and gulped, "Please don't get so close to me." her heartbeat had picked up.

He didn't say anything but hurt had been written all over his face, "Can you unlock it?" she gestured to the door.

"Can I show you one more trick before you leave?" he mumbled.

"No, I'm good, I think I've seen enough of your magic tonight. Can I leave?"

"I know it looks bad but 'father' would have never encouraged such behavior from me." he gripped his fists, "I needed this to be perfect!! But I blew it!!" he shouted, and she stumbled back to the door to support herself. "I can't let you go knowing everything."

"Lyney, is everything alright? Why are you yelling?" A girl's voice resounded outside, she had never been so happy to know someone else could ambush her.

"Please, can you open the door?" she tried her luck at convincing the other voice, but Lyney quickly sternly retorted, "Don't, Lynette. I need your help."

"Why are you doing this? I won't tell any of your secrets to the public! I swear! Just open the door!"

"I need you to calm down. Everything is alright, you can relax." he took a small step forward, and two steps back when she refused to let him touch her, "I won't hurt you I promise! Don't do this to me!!" Everything hurt and he couldn't deny that it kept growing the more he drank in the terrified expression on her face.

Lynette could no longer stand still hearing the voices inside. She opened the entry and to her surprise, her brother's beloved crush fell out and landed on the floor, "Lynette! I told you not to open it!"

"My bad. She's the one you confessed to last night and failed?" She didn't seem bothered by the harsh tone her brother used. "You know, 'Father' would probably want to meet her if word gets out, right?"

"If it gets out, I won't let it."

"Whatever you say, bro. Do your thing."

[hotchfiles]

↪ day six. perfectionism — #marchhotchness

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ wool to brave the season ❞ ─ a choiceless hope blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: but as you sat down on the floor of the crappy hotel, sharing bad coffee and feeling his warmth by your side, you knew that you wouldn’t have him any other way. even if you don’t really have him. content warnings: set before the first part. you can read it without reading the rest tho. just a bit of angst and idiots in love and partnership and criminal minds canon descriptions of crimes. word count: 800+

    You woke up to the faint sound of shuffling of paper, the room was mostly dark and chilly, the clock on your bedside strikes two in the morning. You didn’t have to look to know, but still, you checked the other bed finding it empty, a source of light coming from steps ahead on the small hotel room showed you the prettiest scene.

    Your partner in his pajamas, coffee pot and cup next to the lamp on the desk, his eyes were glued to the files and the thick book under them, which you imagined to be the crime classification manual. 

    The team had been briefed on the way there, but arriving in Seattle after dinner time made the plan of getting to the scenes as fast as possible change, and you were both told to rest for the night. 

    Hotch promised you he would go to bed in a bit, three hours ago. 

    You scoffed, getting up and taking the blanket you were just cozied up on with you, dropping it on his shoulders swiftly, he jolted in the chair in surprise, smiling when he noticed it was just you. “Did I wake you? Tried not to make any noise.” 

    His voice is raspy from how tired he is and from not speaking for a while and weirdly it brings you comfort, hearing him speak so quietly in the almost full darkness of that room, no outside noise coming in, as if only the two of you existed, as if he was yours. 

    “It’s cold, Aaron. Go to bed.” You don’t answer his question, instead you sit on the edge of the bed you were just sleeping on, waiting to hear him justify the ungodly hour of his work. 

    “I’m not cold anymore.” His attempt to not make it obvious the way he took a deep breath while tightening the blanket around him fails, and he knows you know he was trying to smell you through the fabric.

    “Alright, I’ll bite. What you doing?” 

    “Building a profile.” He says matter of fact, shrugs as he does so but makes sure to hold the blanket so it doesn’t fall, he feels cozy in it, basking in the smell of your body wash and by how soft the fabric was. It was your blanket after all, you took it on every trip. 

    “We didn’t even–” You start, trying to argument that you hadn’t gone to the crime scenes yet, but he had recently become one of the lead profilers, promoted before you which made you just about 5% jealous and 95% proud because you knew how hard he worked, and how this case had to come out perfectly. The result had to be perfect. 

    Aaron was like that, he was a perfectionist, a controlling freak perfectionist, and his first case as lead profiler had left him empty handed, not enough to build the profile before the BAU was sent away. Since then he had become more and more obsessive, you had to deal with it during work and imagined his fiancee had to deal with it at home. 

    Although you reckon she might have better outcomes on making him relax. 

    You, on the other hand, don’t have as much freedom to do something about it, so you do what you can as his partner and friend. You get up, turn the lights on, get your glasses and sit on the floor across from him, opening your hand and waiting for him to give you some of the files. 

    “What?” 

    “Pass me some of those, let’s bounce some ideas back and forth, you know profiles can’t be built solo, you might be biased.” You sighed at his reluctance, the guilt from waking you up clear on his eyes. “I’m already up, just do it, stop being so annoying.” 

    You were bossy when you wanted, too bad he actually liked that, so he just smirked and threw half the files on your lap. The first you open are filled with photos from the autopsies, you whine, something about the cold lab atmosphere and the dead almost blue bodies always creeps you out, and Hotch knew it too, “oh fuck me–” Trying my best not to, he lets the intrusive thought come and go quickly, ignoring it, “autopsies, really?” 

    He shrugs, “I’m looking at the crime scene ones, the whole scene is organized, clean, but the bodies are torn apart, disorganized, personal, there’s too much disconnection.” Hotch slips down from the chair, sitting on the floor by your side and putting the pictures in front of you both to analyze. 

    The coffee is starting to get cold, so he grabs his cup from the table, sharing it with you as you worked on writing the discrepancies you both found between the scenes and the bodies. 

    Aaron is a perfectionist. He needs his plans to go exactly as he schemed them, he doesn’t like change and he likes to be prepared for what the next day will bring.

    But as you sat down on the floor of the crappy hotel, sharing bad coffee and feeling his warmth by your side, you knew that you wouldn’t have him any other way.

    Even if you don’t really have him.