#entirely plotless

[daysofyellowroses]

red rose ii

kerry von erich x reader | 2.6k | sequel to this story (you can read this as a standalone as it's basically just plotless and i won't expect anyone to read a 10k fic just to know a backstory) | 18+ minors dni - this is plotless smut because i felt like it, enjoy!

“I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

A chorus of cheers rang out from the congregation, hands clapping together as whistles rang out around the church.

You met Kerry's eyes, standing across from him in your pink, puffy bridesmaids dress. He gave you a wink and you rolled your eyes with a smile as you cheered on Kevin and Pam, the two of them starting to head down the aisle. After a moment you were by Kerry's side, your arm in his as you began to leave the church.

“Second time today you've walked me down an aisle,” You grinned, looking over to your boyfriend. “Making a habit of it, are we?”

“Might just be,” Kerry teased, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all, I encourage it.” You smiled, watching a shower of rice wash over Kevin and Pam as they walked out ahead of you.

There was some standing around as the wedding photos were taken, all the various relatives and friends being swapped in and out, the photographer giving more demands thanan army sergeant. Part of you felt a little silly being in the photos, being a bridesmaid alongside Pam's old friends, but you had still been so thrilled when she'd asked you. After all, the two of you had become friends, which was a joy.

As Kevin and Pam took pictures with their parents, you rested your head on Kerry's shoulder, his arm around your waist. David and Mike stood across from you, bored expressions on their faces that made you smile.

“Can't memories be enough?” David sighed as he rested his hands on his hips, looking over to the photographer. “I'm starving, I'll eat his damn camera if I need to.”

“Give me half,” Mike sighed, folding his arms. “A crumb, anything.”

You smiled as you turned and whispered in Kerry's ear, his hand tightening on your waist.

“I'm still full.”

“Good to know,” He murmured softly, grinning as he looked down at your dress. “You know, you really can't tell this thing was crumpled up on the floor a few hours ago. All that panic for nothing.”

“I wasn't the one pulling it off,” You grinned, your hands coming to rest on Kerry's shoulder. “that was all-”

“You!” The photographer snapped, gesturing to you and the boys. “get on over here, all of you.”

“You hold him down,” David looked at Kerry. “I'll get the camera.”

A couple of hours later, you were taking your seat after your latest twirl around the dancefloor. You took a sip of your drink, looking out to the floor filled with people having the time of their lives. Your gaze fell on your dad, smiling as you watched him and Carla sway together, laughing about something and unable to keep their eyes off each other. A moment later, Kerry came and sat next to you, his arm resting over the back of your chair.

“Having fun?” He asked, looking over to you with a smile.

“Of course,” You grinned, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek, your hand resting on his thigh. “I was just thinking..my dad and Carla will stay a while longer, the house is gonna be empty. Seems a shame to waste it.”

“It would definitely be a shame,” Kerry smiled, resting his hand on top of yours. “I say we sneak out the back and if anyone asks we'll just say I felt sick and didn't want to make a big fuss.”

“Wow,” You raised a brow with a smile as you stood up. “I'm making a rebel out of you, Kerry Von Erich.”

The drive home seemed to take an age, all you wanted to do was get out of your dress (again) and wile away the evening in Kerry's arms.

When you finally arrived, you practically leaped out of the truck, rooting around in your purse for your key. You could hear Kerry laughing as you held half the contents of your purse in your hand while you searched, rolling your eyes with a smile.

“Alright I got it, we're good,” You finally fished the key out, walking up the steps to the front door and opening the door. You walked into the small lobby and turned as you waited for Kerry to join you.

“Still feels strange,” He grinned as he walked into the house, closing the front door. “I still expect to have to sneak through your window.”

“You can walk around the back and shimmy up the drainpipe if you want,” You grinned, lightly pushing down your puffed up sleeves. “For old time's sake.”

“And leave you here all alone?” Kerry raised a brow, striding over to you with a smile, wrapping his arms around you. “Absolutely not.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling truly content as you met his eyes.

“Good..I don't want to be apart from you for even a second. Who else is gonna help me out of this thing?”

“Good thing I got experience then,” Kerry grinned, and you laughed before an excited squeak flew out of you as Kerry picked you up and started walking to the stairs, your arms secure around his neck.

When you reached your bedroom, you got onto your feet and wasted no time turning your back to Kerry so he could pull your dress off as he had before you'd left the house earlier.

To your surprise, he took his time, standing close behind you as his fingers slowly released each button. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck and you let out a soft breath as you closed your eyes.

“Kerry,” You groaned softly, no real admonishment in your tone.

“Shh, we got time,” He murmured softly, trailing kisses down your back as he slowly unbuttoned your dress. “Just enjoy it.”

You didn't need to be told twice. As much as you had enjoyed the morning, it had been rushed. You'd been in Kerry's bedroom, with the background noise of David asking where his tie was, Mike banging on the door to get his shoes, and the radio blasting out.

Now, you were more than happy to feel Kerry's hands slowly glide along your bare back before he carefully eased your dress down your shoulders.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You moved slowly, holding your dress to your chest as you turned and met Kerry's eyes with a smile. After slowly pushing the dress off yourself to pool at your feet, Kerry held his hand out and you took it before stepping out of the dress and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Well this really isn't fair,” You grinned, moving your hand to lightly toy with the grey bow tie wrapped around Kerry's neck. “You get to stay fully clothed, bow tie and all, and I have to be naked?”

“You've still got these,” Kerry grinned, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. “So it's fine.”

“Is it though?” You hummed, moving your hand to gently stroke Kerry's cheek. “Because I don't think it really i-!”

You gasped as Kerry picked you up and carried you over to your bed, throwing you down on it and taking his suit jacket off. Your panties were instantly soaked as you watched him move slowly onto the bed, settling between your legs.

“I don't need to be undressed to do this,” He murmured softly,his hands gripping your thighs. You closed your eyes as you felt him slowly peel away your panties, feeling his gaze on you. It was already driving you crazy, your body desperately wanting more, but at the same time you found yourself enjoying that he was taking his time, giving you so much attention.

When you felt Kerry's hands gently moving along your thighs you let out a soft breath, your chest tightening as he placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh. You were sure neither of you had moved so slowly since you sparked your relationship back up again.

Not that it was a bad thing, of course. You were snatching moments where you could, in his bedroom or yours, in your truck, and that very enjoyable time when he dropped by the garage to pick you up and you got a little delayed. You couldn't quite meet Mrs. Davenport's eyes when you dropped her car back.

But now..now it was like there was nobody else in the world but the two of you, Kerry wasn't having to hold his hand over your mouth to cover up your moans, you didn't have the thrill of potentially being caught, but you did have Kerry between your legs, licking a slow stripe up your soaked core.

A moan escaped your lips and you relished not having to hide it. Your hands found the sheets as you let the moans fall freely. Kerry seemed content to keep a slow pace, taking you apart a little at a time, and your protests died in your mouth, replaced by ragged breaths and moans.

“So pretty,” Kerry murmured softly, and you slowly opened your eyes as you felt him slowly rub his fingers over your clit, spreading you open as he moved down. His eyes met yours and you felt like you could die happily in that moment as he smiled at you.

“All mine, ain't you darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You managed after a moment, your heart racing. “All yours baby.”

Your head fell back against the pillow as he slowly pushed his finger into you, his tongue slowly swirling over your clit. You wanted to tell him how good it felt, how you wanted, needed more, but the words couldn't get out, your mind swimming and your body crying out.

Emotion and tiredness and desire all melted together within you, and felt like you could cry as Kerry pushed another finger inside you, crooking the digits as they found that wonderful spongy spot inside you.

“Oh god,” You moaned, your hand falling over your forehead. “Kerry..I..please..”

You were sure you heard him murmur something like “I got you baby” but the building wave in your stomach grabbed your attention as it began to crescendo, a cry escaping your lips as Kerry worked you open.

It took a moment for the breath to settle back into your body, your heart hammering in your chest. Kerry lapped you up, and you whined at your own sensitivity while loving the feeling nonetheless. You reached down and touched his arm, wanting him closer, needing his arms around you.

Kerry moved slowly, your hands reaching out to touch his arms when he was finally above you, trying to steady yourself.

“Please tell me I can undress you now,” You murmured softly, your hands moving to the top button of his shirt. “Don't torture me..”

“Go ahead,” Kerry grinned, watching as your fingers moved to undo his bow tie, the material gathered around your hand as you unbuttoned his shirt. You hadn't had time to take his shirt off earlier, you relished in being able to freely.

“I love you,” You murmured softly as you slid the shirt down Kerry's arms. “You know that, I know, I just like reminding you.”

“I know,” Kerry smiled, getting his shirt all the way off before meeting your eyes. “And you know that I love you. Always have. Always will.”

“I always have too,” You smiled, hands moving to unbutton his pants. “I always will..you're it for me. Nobody gives me what you do, makes me feel the way you do.”

“You mean..like this?” Kerry asked, leaning down to kiss you and grinning into it as you gasped. You felt his hand move on top of yours, helping you push down his pants.

“Exactly like that,” You murmured softly, resting your forehead against Kerry's. “Just need you to do one thing..”

You gripped his shoulders, pushing him over onto his back.

“There, perfect,” You grinned, leaning over to pull his pants all the way off and dropping them to the floor before looking back at him.

“I think I should just keep you here forever. It suits you.”

“You won't hear me complaining,” Kerry smiled, holding his hand out to you. “C'mere angel.”

You took his hand, moving forward til you were straddling his lap. The friction of his shorts against your bare core was heavenly, your hips shifting a little.

“Comfortable?” Kerry asked, a teasing tone in his voice as he gently stroked his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Very,” You nodded, a soft moan escaping you as you moved again, biting your lip at the sensation.

“I was gonna take ‘em off but maybe not yet,” Kerry mused, moving his free hand to your hip.

“No,” You breathed, your hand moving to the waistband of his shorts. “I need to feel you. Please.”

Kerry gave you a nod before you pulled the shorts down, his hard cock springing free and resting against his stomach.

“Fuck,” You murmured softly, gently gripping Kerry's election and giving it a few slow strokes before lining yourself up and sinking down slowly.

“Oh god,” You moaned, your eyes falling closed as your head tilted back. “Mm..”

When you were filled completely, Kerry wanted no time in sitting up and wrapping his arms around you before flipping you onto your back. He took your hands on his and held them above your head, pushing deeper into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, wanting him as close as possible.

“You're everything, you know that?” Kerry murmured softly, leaning on to kiss your neck as you arched your back. “So perfect..my good girl..”

You slowly tugged your hand from Kerry's, moving it to grip his hair as his fingers deftly moved to your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple.

“I shouldn't let it affect me so much,” You moaned softly, your hand in Kerry's squeezing tightly. “But..fuck..”

“It's okay,” Kerry murmured, sucking a mark onto your collarbone as he thrust into you harder. “You can enjoy it, being such a good girl for me..”

“Mm,” You nodded, your eyes rolling back as Kerry hit that spot inside you, your hands gripping his hair. “Yes, I..”

“You what, baby?” Kerry asked, his lips trailing kisses back up your neck as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I..I love being your good girl,” You moaned, legs falling apart as Kerry began fucking into you harder, deeper. “Please..”

“I got you, darling,” Kerry moved his hand to grab your thigh, holding it up and open, your eyes clenching shut as you felt the wave build.

“Hey, eyes on me, angel.”

You felt like you could let go then and there, your eyes opening to meet Kerry's. You could feel the desire in his gaze, the want and the passion and the all consuming love that had you wanting to wrap your arms around him and never let go.

Everything fell away as you cried out, eyes rolling back as you saw stars, felt Kerry's warm touch and heard his sweet words somewhere in your mind, feeling him fill you with warmth.

It took a moment to come back down to earth, turning on your side slowly and wrapping yourself around Kerry. He wrapped around you instantly, placing soft kisses to your forehead and whispering to you about how good you were, how perfect and beautiful and wonderful.

It wouldn't always end in such a way, where you had time to heap praise and embrace each other. At least not for a while. But in that moment, there was nothing else, just the two of you, in your perfect moment.

[crossbackpoke-check]

thank you to @bhagell!! choose and then tag people you want to get to know better <3

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tagging: @whitenikes @catboy-mahura @gordiemeow @songsandswords @2minutes4yeehawing (if y’all haven’t already) and anybody who wants to participate!!

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

RED DYE NO. 40, a silverVdyne fic ( rated E, 4.8k words )

summary: Johnny never comes back from a gig without some sort of loudly voiced grievance or complaint; luckily, Kerry and V are there to help. tags: PWP, fluff, established relationship, post-canon, teasing as a love language, threesome, dirty talk, face fucking

( READ MORE HERE ) ( RBs AND COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED )

[hauntedjpegcollection]

friendship

wc: 3930 au: college au ch: benji, xavier, (briefly) lark, benny

There are stages to friendship. Xavier’s been through them before; it was effortless with Lark who was his friend almost instantly when they fit together into the back of a cop car. Frat party bust—it had been an experience that Xavier wouldn’t repeat, except Lark had made it bearable. Hilarious. Best friends for life sort of situation after that, stick together forever kind of deal. And it hadn’t been easy with Benny, who had answered the door in bunny slippers, briefs and safety goggles and nothing else when the two newly minted best friends had answered his Craigslist ad for room mates.

But, generally, there is the easy going flow of friendship. Natural progression. Structure?

There’s Tyler, a guy he plays street hockey with when they can get enough of a crowd going. Text memes occasionally, meet up for lunch, hang out at parties. Or Alicia, whose tire he’d fixed when he’d found her flat on the side of the road. She came to the apartment once in a while, because her wifi was bad at her place and she had a thing for Lark, and when he would randomly walk out of his room shirtless. Cody, Brennan, Asani—he had friends. And they had stages; meet, talk, hang out, don’t see each other for long periods, talk, hang out, repeat all stages except meet.

Are you coming over?

Xavier stares at the text, in his bathroom, as he brushes his teeth. Sort of. He does brush his teeth, just not the full two minutes and he’s mostly staring at his phone the whole time, accidentally focusing the brushing too much on the left side. Not even the usual enthusiasm (Xavier likes his teeth, is weirdly proud of them).

A drop of toothpaste lands on the screen and he jumps, as if a spell is broken.

Xavier texts back a dog emoji, because for some reason that feels fitting. It doesn’t really, it doesn’t feel fitting at all, but he has no idea why the text makes him feel…there’s no definable word that he can think of. Blames his massive lack of vocabulary for that, finds it easier than his inability to discern his own emotions. His stomach flips as he gargles mouth wash and then splashes water on his face. He touches the back of his neck with his cool hands.

Benji had felt a lot like Lark; they’d met. They’d become friends. They were inseparable. They were hang out all the time friends, they were text enough that Xavier had a special alert for a Benji’s text friends. They were friends like Tyler and Alicia weren’t. Benji had his own blanket for when he slept over, because he got cold all the time. He knew the door code into the building, he had a secret pack of cigarettes in Xavier’s room for when he stopped pretending he was trying to quit.

Only for as much as they hung out (all the time), for as much as they’d skipped all the other in between stages of friendships (wordlessly, seamlessly), Xavier had yet to actually go over Benji’s. His apartment was usually easier, was a fond and frequent place for people to meet because it was on the larger side to accommodate three men living together. They went places too, they went out together, they attended (and ditched) parties. But Xavier had never been invited to Benji’s before.

Before now.

Maybe it made Xavier nervous because he knew how private Benji was; how much he enjoyed his solitude, even when Xavier thought he probably didn’t at all. He felt that sort of craving in Benji that mirrored his own, which he’d never voice out loud and embarrass either of them. This little flickering, about to go out candle that was yearning for someone to wrap a hand around it, keep it soft and protected. I’d be that hand, Xavier thinks and then immediately humiliates himself with the romantic thought. Friends, he reminds himself. Friends, friends, friends.

So it’s not a big deal, to be invited over, except it feels like it is? It feels like it is because it’s never happened before. And he’s over thinking and didn’t even get to brush his teeth the full two minutes.

“In a rush?”

“What?” Xavier stops at the door, arm half in his jacket, fingers caught on the cuff. He finishes shrugging it on (awkward shuffle and all), staring at Lark on the couch. He lays there, uncharacteristically lazy, a leg thrown over the back while he looks at his phone. His dark eyes cut up to Xavier, brows upturned.

“You’re trying to leave without shoes on.”

“Holy shit,” Xavier glances down at his socked feet and then immediately back tracks to his room. When he comes out, converses in hands, Lark seems to automatically retract his legs to give him room on their sagging, bachelors pad couch. Xavier settles in, shoving the worn, falling apart sneakers on. He double laces them.

“You don’t smell like a skunk, so you’re not high.”

“No,” Xavier replies with a sideways smile.

“So where’s your doggy head at, man?”

For one singular moment, Xavier entertains telling Lark. Just sort of blurting it out, because it’s him. His best friend, the person he knows will never judge him for anything.

I’m going to Benji’s and it’s the first time I’ve ever been and it has that sort of feeling that a date has, but it’s not a date. It’s Benji. It’s just a friends place, but I’m nervous about it. Nervous to be around him, really alone, even though we’re alone all the time. But in his place? Where he feels safest, most comfortable, where he doesn’t let people in unless he really wants them in?

I think I like him, Lark, I think I like him more than a friend.

“Knock knock,” Xavier says instead. Lark rolls his eyes and looks back to his phone. He waits a minute and then heavily sighs out.

“Who’s there?”

“Tank.”

“Tank who?”

“You’re welcome,” Xavier says, placing a wet kiss to Lark’s knee and then hopping off the couch before one of his feet can connect with him. His heart is racing the entire way from apartment to truck, because he sprints. And only because he sprints.

—

“Ow.”

Xavier pulls up short, a hand to his forehead. There’s the dull sudden throb accompanied with a head injury, if it can even be called that. It’s less injury and more embarrassing, the way he’d slapped his forehead against the door frame leading into Benji’s bedroom. White blossoms in front of his eyes anyway, which squeeze shut in humiliation.

“Aw—fuck, that need ice?” When Xavier blinks his eyes open, he can tell Benji is holding in a laugh. He always sets his mouth in a certain way when he’s trying to stop himself. It inadvertently makes him look like he’s frowning; or, rather, he is frowning, but he’s not being mean about it. There’s a shine in his eyes, like he’d laugh if Xavier’s really not hurt. Which he isn’t—just fucking clumsy.

“You need taller door frames.”

“Nah, Xavier, you need t’shrink an inch, mate.”

“And live my life at a very modest six-foot-three? Absolutely not.”

He watches Benji step into the room fully. They’d not actually lingered in the apartment long; he was given half a sort of tour of the living area and kitchen, which smelled well loved with spices. A half hearted gesture to where the bathroom was and then—door frame for Xavier to run into, Benji’s bedroom on the other side.

And it is such Benji’s bedroom. So wholly his that Xavier feels buzzing at his fingertips while simultaneously instantly relaxed. It’s messy. Not in that dirty sort of way, but there are clothes strewn over a chair in the corner, and shoes scattered near the closet, and a laptop sits half perched on the bed, about to fall off. Textbooks are stacked beside that bed, leaning tower of Pizza style. There’s mugs lining a desk and posters on the wall and everything is so lived in and so Benji—and it smells like him too. Xavier feels dizzy as he walks into the bedroom and the sound of the door closing makes him jump.

“Alright?” Benji asks, looking at him sideways. He gives his room a glance and then grimaces, palming a hand over his face. “Fuckin’ Hell, pro’ly looks worse from your view than mine, yeah? Considerin’ how clean yours always is.”

“My room isn’t that clean.”

“You fold your pants—and socks. I’ve seen your sock drawer.”

“Why are you going through my sock drawer?” Xavier accuses, with a sneaky grin, poking a finger into Benji’s chest. He’s in a soft, worn in shirt, nothing Xavier has seen before. It’s plain, just a charcoal gray and he’s in sweatpants too. The loose kind that clearly have run through their elastic, years old and thin at the waist.

“Hide your weed there, don’t you? Hold over from when you lived with your parents. Mum never looked there, ‘cause she knew you folded them like a good boy.” Xavier is stunned to silence that Benji must remember such a small, throw away story like that. Probably told when they were together, high from sock drawer weed, or maybe out a bar and he was just rambling to fill space to keep Benji beside him. He softens at his edges, a hand fiddling with his hoodie zipper.

“Is it really folding, if you’re like turning them inside out together? Is that folding?”

“Don’t start,” Benji laughs, shoving Xavier’s shoulder. “This is the fuckin’ ‘is cereal a soup’ debate all over and m’not Benny. Not indulgin’ it.”

Benji goes for the bed next, throwing himself down onto it lazily. He groans as he scoots himself backward and gestures for the spot next to him. Xavier had been invited over to keep Benji company—that was what the short lived text exchange had said anyway. That Benji had a paper that was so dense and lengthy if he didn’t have someone with him it would be impossible. Xavier didn’t get it, but he was happy to be that someone.

When he did the meager course load his online classes required of him, he needed silence. He needed to be in his room, over his desk and looking at nothing else. If the world so much as poked at him, all concentration would be lost. Forever. He’d not get back to that assignment until ten minutes before it was due.

But Benji liked having Xavier there. Or anyone. Didn’t have to Xavier, he was sure. Maran probably, or Lark or Nomi—didn’t have to be Xavier. Only he’d been the one invited over, the spot on the bed was being pat in an inviting gesture for him. Xavier fiddles again with his hoodie zipper and decides he’s far too warm to keep it on. Sheds it quickly and tries to find a spot to put it, where he’ll both remember and it isn’t contributing to even more mess.

“You should talk me through it,” he comments as he flops backward onto the bed. It sinks with his weight, makes Benji tumble toward him a bit.

“What?” he asks, his voice pitched high in a way it usually isn’t. Benji had one of those gruff, deep voices that got raspy at the edges. He was always biting words in half, or only finishing them to a certain point until his Liverpool drawl got lazy. He enunciated the fuck out of that ‘what’ though. Xavier blinks at him, braced on his elbows, with long legs thrown off the edge of the bed.

“Through your essay? That’s what you’re working on, right?” They’re both blinking at each other now. Their shoulders and sides are wedged together, because it’s not a big bed. A strange sort of heat sinks into Xavier’s cheeks at how closely he’s being stared at. Sometimes, Benji did wander like that. In conversation, especially with others. Xavier would catch Benji just drift, eyes wandering or sometimes intensely focused on one thing while everyone around him was going. Sometimes, Xavier found himself on the receiving end of that attention and he wasn’t sure if Benji entirely meant for him to be the center of focus.

Not that he minded.

Fuck, he was really going to have to do something about this crush.

“I finished it,” Benji comments, leaning over Xavier to yank at the laptop that was creeping more and more toward clattering to the ground. It gets sat on both their thighs. Benji starts his routine of comfort; this haphazard sort of restructuring to get pillows in order and blankets where he wants them. Xavier lets himself become part of that routine, his knee getting nudged in a direction. He slowly lifts an arm and raises his brows, lips splitting into a wide smile.

“Whats all this, Xavier?” Benji asks.

“Aw, c’mon, I’m just long limbed, man. It’s more comfortable.” As he speaks, his arm slowly drapes around Benji’s shoulder. He unintentionally squeezes around his shoulder. Curly hair tickles his bare forearm a little and there’s a bit more wiggling before everything seems to settle. Xavier tries to ignore the odd knotted ball of nerves inside his stomach that started at that text message and hasn’t disappeared since.

Benji’s hand slaps at the keyboard of the laptop, waking it up.

“Wait—we’re really not studying?”

“Oh. No, yeah? Thought you wanted to watch that new movie. The one about the dragon.”

“Dragons,” Xavier corrects with a raised finger. “There’s supposed to be two.”

There’s a bit of shuffling to get the laptop closer to Benji. Xavier’s eyes wander. They look at posters and pictures that are strung up along the wall. He tries not to pay attention to how Benji’s elbow keeps brushing against his stomach. Maybe he should have kept his hoodie on. Instead, the flimsy old graphic t-shirt is so thin it feels like they’re skin to skin. And—Xavier is trying so hard to be normal, to be some sort of average, to think about what other people would do in this situation—but he does discretely tuck the tip of his nose to the top of Benji’s head while he searches for the movie.

“How come you wanted to hang out at your place tonight?” he asks quietly. Curls rustle as he speaks. A shiver runs down Benji that he can physically feel because of how notched together they are. The preview to the movie takes up the laptops screen—there is only one dragon, which makes Xavier nervous about the second dragon that’s meant to be in the movie, which is a sequel to one that Xavier is almost positive Benji has not seen the first of.

“Bit loud at yours,” Benji comments in a noncommittal tone.

“I could ask Lark to turn his music down.”

“Do y’not wanna be here or somethin’?” Benji asks suddenly, sitting up and putting the laptop to the side. Xavier blinks and tries not to think about how cold his side is, with Benji not there any more. He looks moody all of a sudden; tight lipped with his thick brows drawn down and his nose wrinkled. It’s—unfortunately, it’s a very adorable expression.

“I didn’t say that—”

“We could just go to yours—”

“I just want you to be comfortable, Benji,” Xavier interrupts before it can become an argument. He isn’t fully aware that his hand has settled on Benji’s lower back—is pressing just so. A soft and warm anchor that, six months from now, he will be told is all Benji needs to be comfortable sometimes. But in that moment, weeks into their friendship, it’s really just instinct to touch Benji like that. To smooth his oversized, freckled palm across him. He doesn’t notice he’s doing it and Benji doesn’t ask him not to, so it stays right there.

“M’in sweatpants?”

“Dude,” Xavier laughs, throwing his head back, nearly hitting it for the second time. He scoots lower on the bed, trying to contain the laugh because it’s making Benji look even moodier. Only a slight twitch to his lip betrays the theatrics. “I meant—you know what I fucking meant, you dickhead. Like, this is your place, right? Your place-place. Not just your apartment. I dunno—I wanna make sure you don’t mind me hanging out here. Getting my white guy penny smell all over your bed—”

“White guy penny smell?” Benji is howling then, bursting into a laugh that is explosive and shows himself backward. Xavier laughs too, louder than any music Lark has played over their movies. He rolls toward Benji, grabbing at his shoulders, snarling with laughter that is so overwhelming.

“Ina said I reek when it rains—man, I know I do, I can’t help it—”

“Hasn’t fucking rained in weeks, Xavier!”

“How long does it linger? Can you be honest with me? Do I smell bad, man?”

“You smell fuckin’ fine, you loon. Absolute wanker, right now. Swear. Should kick you out—you’re bein’ a clown.”

You love me, Xavier thinks and quickly bites down. It’s such a habitual response. When he’s bothering Lark into red cheeks and furious eyes. You love me, while he’s scooping the man closer for a hug. You love me, when he’s stealing a cigarette from Benny’s pack and nearly getting shoved off the balcony for it. You love me, sang high pitched with Matilda in the club bathroom (that he should not have followed her into) while she shares her chapstick and rolls her eyes.

And Benji is his friend—and loves him, like a friend. He’s sure. But he can’t bring himself to make that joke. He just settles back into the bed after a half hearted, awful wrestling match. His arm finds it’s way around Benji’s shoulders once more. His fingers idly take a curl to play with.

When the movie is over, Xavier mopes.

“There wasn’t a second fucking dragon,” he complains.

“I di’nt know a single fuckin’ thing that was happenin’ in that movie, Xavier.” They stare at each other. Benji has to angle his head up, because he’s sloped against Xavier’s side, tucked in close with arms around his middle. His soft breathing tickles. His eyes are so dark that they look bottomless and beautiful. Xavier cannot remember a single fucking thing that happened in the movie either.

“There were supposed to be two,” he promises before Benji bursts into laughter and they dissolve into another wrestling match.

—

“What kinda guy do you think Benji is into?” Xavier randomly asks Lark as they sit on the swings. Benny stands in the middle of the sandpit of the playground, safety goggles on. There is a home made rocket in front of him that he is determined to send to new heights—Xavier is unsure of what heights the previous home made rockets have made, or if Benny is comparing himself to other students in his curriculum, of if this is entirely arbitrary and he’s had too many shots of whiskey.

It’s nearly two in the morning, so the latter is entirely likely.

Lark, meanwhile, nurses that whiskey with a sour expression and then passes it back to Xavier, who then takes a swig with an equally disgusted set to his mouth. Benny is the only one of the entire trio who even likes whiskey and when he’d forced the two of them to come to his experiment (“You always need witnesses to greatness.”) he’d promised alcohol. They should have known.

“Why?” Lark asks, wiping his mouth with his palm. He swings once, toes of his shoes scraping wood chips.

“I guess I’ve just never seen him with anyone before.”

“I think he’s probably into hot blonds with tattoos,” Lark jokes, pushing himself once more and leaning far back. Nearly enough so that the back of his head skims the ground.

“You or Benny?”

“Me, obviously.”

“You’re only saying that because you and Matilda are arguing again.”

Lark laughs. He has a beautiful laugh that people don’t hear enough because Lark has mostly trained himself to keep quiet. But when it’s just the three of them, he’s never afraid to open up more, to let Benny or Xavier past a little more of the defenses. Xavier would love to return that; to let Lark know why he’s really asking. Because it’s been sort of plaguing him for a few days now, wondering what Benji likes about a guy.

What his interests are. What he looks at first. Maybe a defined jaw, or nice hands, or good legs.

Xavier glances down at his long, long legs in light wash jeans. They had originally been dark denim, but they’ve been washed so many times all the colors faded. The knees are worn in so thin that there’s the smallest hole starting on the left one. He feels oddly self conscious suddenly, tucking his legs more underneath him, rather than letting them splay out in front of him.

“Are you fuckers w-watching?” Benny yells, running backward from his rocket. There is a fire underneath it. Which feels dangerous, but Xavier only uncaps the whiskey and takes another long pull. Does Benji like blonds? Would Benny be his type, if his best friend wasn’t already so obviously into the pseudo rocket scientist in front of them? Maran is too cute for Benny, but Xavier can see it happening. He watches every single time they stand too close, or Benny sneaks away from a party with a pink haired boy on his trail.

“I think,” Lark slurs a bit. He’s stopped his swinging. If the rocket goes off, they both miss it because they’re staring at each other. Lark is very hauntingly beautiful under the streetlights.

“Benji is—I think he probably just wants a guy he doesn’t have to be cool in front of. Right? Just a guy he’s going to be able to unwind with. He seems—real strung tight.” Lark makes a balled fist and puts it to his own sternum. “Right, doesn’t he? He needs a fucking vacation.”

“Yeah,” Xavier agrees as Benny cackles in the background. He looks to the whiskey bottle that is horrifically low—which means all three men have had more than enough for the night. Xavier takes another swig. “Like, maybe a guy that wants him to be comfortable. Prioritizes that.”

“Uh,” Lark drunkenly ponders that. “I think he likes tall guys, too. I saw him hook up with—”

“I’m tall,” Xavier interrupts, pouting angrily. The top of Benji’s head could tuck under his chin, effortlessly. When they’re sleeping side by side, in whoevers bed they’ve ended up in for the night, he is all too aware of how…chest height Benji is.

“Yeah, like the tallest guy I know. Anyway, at this party—”

“I dunno where it landed,” Benny says breathlessly, suddenly there in front of them in a way that feels dreamy. Xavier blinks bleary, drunker-than-he-thought eyes at his tall ghostly visage of a friend. “I kn-knew that—you fucking dicks, you drank all my whiskey.” A quick glance to the bottle shows it empty, when it really had been a little fuller just a moment ago.

“You love me,” Xavier coos, hooking his legs around Benny’s thighs and yanking him close. All three laugh then, scrambling from the playground to wander back to their apartment. And Xavier tries very hard not to mention Benji again.

[outofmymindbebacklater]

Disney bring back adapting old fairytales from around the world instead of reproducing the same 7 they already made challenge

[july-19th-club]

im trying i swear im trying SO hard not to be bitchy about legends and lattes getting finalized for the hugo but . okay the hugo is a prize for science fiction/speculative fiction/fantasy fiction. and words mean things and essentially this is putting a very plot-lite romance novel with a fantasy setting up against political spec fic and like, books being entered in a contest that the left hand of darkness once won. which isn't to say that the contest itself is like, sacred ground - starship troopers, 1960 - basically heinlen's treatise on why the military is necessary to whip the youths into shape - like, it's a seventy-year-old science fiction prize, there's gonna be a lot of unlikeable books on there, actually. and its not to say that lighter books or books riding a wave of hype haven't won it before (harry potter won it in 2001)...it's just. it's a weird collection this year, is all, and the contest has skewed wider in its interpretation of spec fic in the past ten-twenty years, which i'm not upset about! words mean things but im also a huge proponent of thee two-time hugo winner UKLG's thoughts on genre. genre is as mutable as the clouds. we call things 'spec fic' often because they're difficult to categorize. but, and i'm saying this huge long preface because i genuinely don't want to seem like a wet blanket, but it's just...it's the wrong contest for the book. there's been a lot of good sff this year. but that's a romance novel. and also its not hugo levels of good

[chiropteracupola]

could we hear about tunnel kings for the ask?

THANK YOU for asking about this one! my favorite fic that I hardly ever work on or discuss!

[soppy cutesy voice] So There's This Three-Hour WWII Movie...

'The Great Escape' (1963) has long been a favorite film of mine, and on my most recent rewatch, I ended up putting down a few sentences on some of my favorite characters out of the quite expansive ensemble cast, Danny Velinski and Willie Dickes. I don't think I can summarize what I like about these two in a better way than how I said it previously, which was 'what if we dug a 300-foot escape tunnel and rowed halfway across Germany together, and fell in love along the way?'

“Not quite the seaside that I promised you,” offered Willie ruefully, his weight against the rail enough to set it to creaking. Rust flaked off and settled lightly on his boots, and with a flick of his toe, he sent it over the side. “Good enough,” said Danny, blunt as ever. And it was good enough, to look out at the dark expanse of the North Sea outstretched before them, and to know that their journey was almost over. A high, grey-clouded sky was still a sky, after all, and the silty grey water, brackish where it met the river, still a sea.

[hyprfixate]

magnum opus :: [H.H] x reader

read on AO3

summary: you get a call at 3AM from a number you should've blocked ages ago. you subsequently make three mistakes.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

tropes: exes to lovers, artist!hyunjin, artist x muse, grapheme-color and emotional synesthesia, angst-to-smut, post breakup yearning, hurt-comfort kinda

smut warning: semi drunk sex, dry humping, desperate hyunjin (like, very desperate), begging, biting, pussy eating, slow, needy sex, unprotected sex (use condoms ppl), slightly dubious consent at first, vaginal fingering

content warning: hyunjin has a drinking problem, mentions of past arguments and previous toxic behaviors

word count: 10.9k

author's note: this was supposed to be another plotless smut but I couldn't help myself lol. also i did not edit this. if you see typos no you didn't. enjoy!

A sound penetrates your subconscious, worming its way into your dream until you blink awake, eyes dry and not yet used to the darkness of your room. It takes a second to orient yourself, to recognize that the sound is real and coming from your phone. The digital clock by your charger reads 3:24 AM.

Had you been more awake, you would recognize the ringtone, or would have seen the caller ID. This is mistake number one of the night.

You swipe accept on the call, eyes still blurry and thick with sleep. You clear your throat, which proves useless when your words still come out croaky and garbled.

“Hello?”

“Hi, pretty girl.”

It feels like ice has been doused down your spine. You shoot straight up in bed, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing fully at attention. 

You know this voice. 

It's an entirely unique voice. A voice splattered with colors and textures you can't begin to comprehend. But even if it weren't, you know it would still be etched in your brain forever. Your hand shakes as you pull the phone from your ear to glance at the contact name.

‼️DO NOT ANSWER (Hyunjin)‼️

Oh fuck.

This has to be a dream.

You hear his voice crackle through the speakers one more time, his words unclear with the distance you created. Hyunjin shouldn't be calling you, and you certainly shouldn't have answered. It would be wise to hang up, to block his number like you thought about doing so many times. Instead, when you hear more crackling as he continues speaking, you hold your breath as you put the phone back to your ear.

This is mistake number two.

“-- you there, love?”

You swallow thickly, willing your mind to wake up faster so you can fully comprehend what is happening. You feel like you're floating. Or drowning.

"I didn't expect you to pick up."

Your heart hammers in your chest.

"Are you okay?" You ask after a few beats of silence. It's the only thing you can think to ask.

You hear a deep hum of contentment. “Yeah. Better now.”

The air in the room suddenly feels too cold. You should hang up. You need to hang up. But your fingers refuse to uncurl from the death grip you have on your phone. “Why… why are you calling me?”

You hear the distant sounds of the city on his end of the line, padded by his breathing. It sounds labored. Manual, like he's reminding himself every so often to inhale and exhale, too busy chasing a fading feeling. You could recognize that specific pattern of his breath anywhere. You close your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"Are you drunk?"

"No," he murmurs. "Maybe. I don't know."

That translates to a yes.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers. This is why you don't answer his calls. This is why you should've blocked him months ago. You feel the tension of the moment fizzle into nothing but annoyance. "It's four in the morning. Why did you call me?"

Hyunjin lets out a soft whine, his breath picking up.

"I miss you."

His words land like a punch to your chest, knocking the wind out of you. A simple string of words in that pitiful, whining tone of his, and you already feel like putty in his hands.

You hate this. You hate him.

You want to scream at him. Tell him that this is bullshit. He's bullshit. That you've been trying so hard to stay away from him. But your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your throat.

"No you don't,” you decide to be civil. “You're just drunk."

"But I know what I'm saying."

The civility only lasts so long. “Oh, fuck off," you breathe. There is no real power behind it, but it's better than nothing. "Don't say stuff like that."

He starts to speak, but a nearby train cuts him off. You think about taking the opportunity to hang up, but as much as you don't want to hear what he says next, you're powerless to stop yourself from listening.

"I missed your voice so much, pretty girl." The laziness of his tongue makes the words sound like something entirely new. "I missed hearing you say my name. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you say my name? Please?"

His words are slurred and heavy. You shouldn't be entertaining this. He won't remember this conversation in the morning, too busy with his extravagant artist lifestyle and the swarms of other girls that want his attention. You'll be a distant memory floating around his hippocampus with nothing to tether to, like an itch he will never find.

"Why?"

He lets out a shaky breath, the undercurrent of a whine coating his tone. "Please, baby." The desperation in his voice fills your chest and makes it squeeze tight. "Say it for me?"

You are weak to his voice, but the distant, angrier part of you refuses to let it affect you. He doesn't get to just call you in the middle of the night and ask you to talk to him. Not when he's had months to do that and hasn't bothered.

"No."

You hear him swallow thickly, a slight shift in his breathing as he lets out a short, humorless laugh. You wait for him to speak again, but you're met with nothing but silence. It stretches long enough that you wonder if he hung up, but then—

"I miss you so much, angel."

Six words.

It's only six words, but they hurt worse than anything else he could've said to you. You don't know if it's because you think he doesn't mean them, or because you hope that he does.

Regardless, emotion swells so quickly in your chest, you feel like you're going to be sick. You can't do this. You can't keep letting him do this to you.

"I have to go," you say finally, voice trembling.

"Don't hang up." He sounds panicked. "Please don't hang up. I need to hear your voice."

Your face feels hot, the back of your nose beginning to burn. You will not let him hear you cry. "No, Hy–” You stop yourself. “I can't do this with you anymore."

"Please, baby. Please. I need you. I can't stop thinking about you. I miss you."

That damned phrase again. Your breath stutters in your chest, words coming out softer than you intend. "You don't mean that."

"I do, pretty girl. I promise."

You shake your head as if he could see you. You wish he could see you through the phone— to see what exactly he's done to you, how he destroyed you. You know he doesn't mean any of this, that they're just the chosen lies from tonight's bottle of vodka.

There's shuffling on the line for a second. Then—

"Can I see you. Please?"

You close your eyes, the tears you tried so hard to fight spilling over and sliding down your face until they make fat plopping noises on your sheets. No. He can't see you. You can't do this with him anymore. You need to hang up. This has to stop.

"Okay."

And this is your final, biggest mistake.

—

You're not sure why, but you don't believe he'll actually show up.

You've played this game with him before, right after the two of you broke up. You remember the anxious anticipation whirling in your stomach while you waited for him one night, and how the first rays of the sunrise curdled it in your stomach. You suppose his way with words was what made him a good artist anyway—there is no surprise there.

So when you hear two raps at your front door, there is some surprise there.

You wipe the tears from your face quickly, running a hand through your hair and praying it isn't as wild as it feels. You glance in the mirror by your front door, giving yourself a once-over to make sure you're presentable enough, but you shake your head and stop yourself. It's not like he hasn't seen you at your worst before.

When you open the door, Hyunjin is standing in front of you, illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps on your block. He looks exhausted.

"Hi, angel."

You blink slowly, suddenly regretting every decision that brought you to this moment.

"You're here."

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "You look tired. Did I wake you up?"

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his question, stepping aside to let him in. "Yes. It's four in the morning. Obviously you did."

He has the decency to at least look sheepish as he stumbles past you, looking around your apartment with a faraway expression on his face. You can smell the alcohol on him. It makes you incredibly dizzy.

He toes his shoes off and you watch him quietly, something stirring in your chest. He remembers. You didn't have to remind him about the no-shoe rule.

The realization sends a course of emotion through you that you cannot parse, so instead, you choose to focus on shutting and locking the door behind you.

It's been a full six months since Hyunjin has been in your apartment. It may not be that long in the grand scheme of things, but the two of you used to spend almost every waking moment together, especially when you were dating. You had grown accustomed to having him around so much, his absence left an aching hole in your life, your home, your bed.

When you gain the courage to turn around, you see that he's standing at the threshold of your living room. Hyunjin looks like he belongs here, yet somehow he also doesn't. This isn't the same Hyunjin from your final weeks together—the one that you screamed at until you couldn't breathe. This isn't the same Hyunjin that, in the middle of your last fight, pressed himself against the front door, caging you in your own apartment while you cried and begged him to let you leave.

That Hyunjin was different. He had meticulously styled hair and sunglasses that cost more than your rent. He was swimming in his quick rise to success, riding the wave and content to let you drown under him.

You look at present-Hyunjin, who's now peeling off the hood of his oversized sweater. There are no sunglasses.  no neatly styled hair. They are replaced by a blonde buzzcut, and watery, red eyes that cannot stay focused.

It would be easy to see him as a stranger, an intrusion, but you can't. It just feels like he's come home.

You're staring for so long, you don't realize until he looks over at you from his awkward stance by the couch.

"Are you gonna come over here?"

You take a few steps toward him, but not too close. You are a flame and he is a gas leak. You will both explode on contact.

You choose, instead, to play offense. "What are you doing here?"

He looks around your living room, fingers twitching like they're begging for something to hold. He won't meet your gaze. After a bit, he lets out a deep exhale.

"I don't know."

"Why did you call me?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?”

He glances at you, his already watery eyes looking dejected and tearful, and your heart stutters in your chest. You wish you could hold steady to your hate for him. Sometimes it slips through your fingers like sand, leaving you scrambling to catch the pieces. Other times it's solid as glass. You wish it was always like that. You want to shove it in his face and let him suffocate under the weight of it.

But that look. The tears, the pain. You recognize it. It's a mirror of the same look you gave him when he broke up with you: heartbreak, rejection, confusion. 

You can't do this. You're going to cry. Or pass out. He shouldn't have come.

You open your mouth to say just that when he turns fully toward you, closing the gap a bit more. He's always towered over you– he's six feet tall and you're barely 5’1 on a good day– yet you find the intrusion surprising for a moment. You trail your sight all the way up to gaze into those red, unfocused eyes.

"You never say my name anymore," he says, the slur in his speech making a subtle appearance. He's wobbly on his feet. "Never on the phone, and not once since I've been here. Why?"

The question takes you by surprise. "What?"

"My name," he presses. He takes a step toward you, his presence pushing you one step back. "Why don't you say it anymore?"

You take another step back as he advances. You're not scared of him, you never could be, but the closer he gets the faster your heart beats. He's staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before, not even when you were together.

"I don't know," you echo. The lie is bitter in your mouth.

"Yes you do." He looks at you with those unfocused eyes, hurt flashing across his features. He takes another step. "You do know. You used to say it all the time, like my name was..." He trails off, his fingers twitching at his sides again, like he's trying to grasp something invisible. "Like it was yours."

You take a final step back, your spine hitting the wall. Hyunjin doesn't stop until he's a single step away from you, his chest so close to yours that you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"Don't,” you warn.

"Say it," he pleads. His hands are shaking, and you're beginning to recognize that it's not the effects of the alcohol, but a raw desperation. He's literally shaking with need. "Please. Just once."

You exhale slowly through your nose, willing your anger to come to the forefront. You feel the start of it in your bones, boiling hot and ready to lash out.“Why would I say it now? You only listened when it was convenient for you.”

His brow furrows, confusion warring with the lingering haze of alcohol. "What are you talking about?"

The words feel hot like bile in your stomach, the heat of your anger boiling everything in you. He's too close. You're getting too angry. You should stop now, kick him out and block his number. 

But Hyunjin closes the gap, his shaking hand reaching to cup your face. He barely connects with your skin before you feel the explosion.

"Don't touch me," you bark, jerking away from his hand. The hurt that flashes across his face only fuels your anger more. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to-- to come here, drunk and desperate, pretending like you care about what my voice means to you–"

"I do care," he insists, his voice cracking. "I've always—"

"No, you don't," The words tear from your throat, sharp and raw. You put both hands on his chest and shove him away from you with all of your strength. He stumbles back, but he's still not far enough.

"You stopped caring the minute that painting made you famous. The minute everyone wanted to know about the hot new painter with synesthesia and raw talent.”

It’s the first time you've said the words out loud. They taste like acid on your lips, and you hate that, but not more than how much you hate the way your eyes burn with tears.

You let the weight of your words settle between the two of you like a boulder in the ocean. You watch as Hyunjin grimaces, and internal war showing on his face before he lets out a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face and turning to take several steps away from you.

You don't want to feel bad for him. He deserves this. He deserves every ounce of pain you're feeling. 

You remember that conversation you had over a year ago, tangled in his messy sheets with your head on his bare chest. Your relationship was still new, still tender. The honeymoon phase seemed neverending.

As you laid there, his heartbeat was, at first, a steady pulse against your ear, but the longer you two basked in the afterglow, the faster it got.

You remember sitting up after a minute, hands cupping his face in concern. "What is it, Hyun?"

"I... I have something to tell you," he murmured.

He told you about his synesthesia, how it was his inspiration for pursuing art, but also an insecurity he struggled to coexist with. You listened to him, comforted him, encouraged him, loved him. Told him how amazing he was and how every little quirk of his just made him better.

A few months later, he was kissing you awake and saying he had a surprise for you. When you walked into his living room, you saw the most gorgeous painting you'd ever seen-- a canvas segmented into 4 sections, each section similar in their subject but distinct in composition.

"It's, uh. It's you," he explained, ears burning red at the tips. "Not a portrait of you, but this is how it looks when you say my name. When you're sleepy, when you're laughing, when you're upset with me, and when you... when we--"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. You knew.

It was you that encouraged him to submit it to a contest a couple weeks after that. It was you who picked out his outfit for his first gallery showing. It was you who said his name over and over the night after while he showed you just how he got the inspiration for that last panel.

And yet.

"You cast me aside."

You wipe at the tears that have traitorously slipped from your eyes. "I was behind you through all of that, and then you let the sounds of the attention you got become louder than me. I didn't mean anything to you anymore."

Silence stretches between you like a chasm. Hyunjin's shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath, his back still turned to you. The air in the apartment feels suffocating, thick with everything that's been said and has yet to be said. 

You don't even know why you're doing this, why you're bothering to explain anything to him when he's drunk. It'll be gone from his mind in the morning, and then what will have been the point?

You close your eyes and let your head thud against the wall. “Look. You should–”

"I never meant to make you feel invisible," he says.

You take a steadying breath. 

He carries on, his voice rough in the silence. "It was intoxicating. The praise, the intrigue, the attention-- I was seeing so many colors and shapes I'd never seen before. I'd never had so many people find it– find me interesting. Or worth something.

Your voice is small. “You had me.”

He turns back to you. There are tears streaked on his face, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart twist in your chest. “I know. But I got lost in it– in the attention. I was drowning in so many colors that meant nothing because they weren't yours. But I didn't realize that until you weren't around anymore."

You want to stay angry. You want to hold onto the hurt that's kept you safe these past months. But seeing him like this— almost as broken as you'd been feeling —cracks something open inside of you.

"Do you know what the worst part is?” At his silence, you continue. “I was, and still am, so proud of you.” Your voice is quieter now, more tired than angry. "Even when it hurt, even when it felt like you used me. I was proud."

Hyunjin opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his lips. You watch him swallow, hard, the deliberate bob of his Adam's apple catching your gaze. In everything he does, he looks like art. It's maddening.

He clears his throat, finally finding his voice. "Can I... can I show you something?"

You narrow your eyes at him, confused. "What?"

He fidgets in his spot for a second before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. After a moment of scrolling, he turns the screen toward you. It's a photo of a canvas—clearly a work in progress, layers of color bleeding into each other in abstract patterns.

"I've been trying to paint again," he says softly. "Ever since we broke up. But nothing's been working. The colors are wrong. Dead."

He flicks to the next picture. It's a similarly unfinished painting. "It gets easier to ignore how wrong they look after a few shots. Sometimes they move around like before. But it never lasts, because it's not you.”

The confession hangs in the air between the two of you. Unlike the heaviness of your earlier words, Hyunjin's float above you two like a balloon, hoisting the last of your irritation away with it. You see the truth of his words in the muddy browns and grays that dominate the canvas, so different from the vibrant explosions of his earlier work. It feels, painfully, like he's lost a piece of his soul.

You can't look at it anymore. You glance up at him instead.

He looks more nervous now than he did when you opened the door. It reminds you of your first ever date, and how he tried to hide his nerves with a devastating smile and charm. The memory chips at a hardened part of your heart.

You've missed him.

You've been so, so tired of missing him.

"Why did you come here,” you breathe. The question is softer this time. More genuine.

He puts his phone back in his pocket, gaze locked on you. Beneath the haze of whatever buzz he still has, you see a glimpse of your Hyunjin, the one who made you laugh so he could paint the bright yellow rays of sunshine that exploded in his vision. The one who left you sketches of your sleeping form if he had to leave before you woke up. 

The one who thought the smallest pieces of you were his magnum opus.

Perhaps that's why, when he takes a step closer, you don't move away this time.

"Because I'm selfish," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I miss you. Because I need to see it again– to feel it. Even if it's the last time."

He takes another step, the height of him caging you against the wall. His eyes search yours, desperate and hungry. "Please, angel. I am begging you. Say my name. Let me see it again."

The request vibrates through you, from the tips of your ears down to your toes. It's maddening how easily he can awaken something you've tried so hard to bury.

You know this is dangerous territory—that giving in now could shatter you all over again.

But his proximity is intoxicating, the familiar scent of him filling your senses. Your body remembers what your mind wants to forget—the way he used to worship you, the way your voice could bring him to his knees in more ways than one.

"This doesn't fix anything," you whisper, even as you feel yourself weakening.

"I know," he breathes, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the lingering alcohol on him. "But God, I miss you. I miss the way you light up my world."

Your back presses against the wall as he crowds into your space, not touching, but close enough that the air between you crackles with tension. He puts his hands on either side of your head, caging you in so that all you can look at is him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with need and something deeper, more desperate.

"Say it, pretty girl."

You let his voice be the final push over the edge.

"Hyunjin," you breathe, and you watch as his entire body shudders in response.

His eyes flutter shut, plush lips parting slightly as a soft moan slips out. He's trembling now, hands twitching on the wall near your head as though still fighting the urge to touch you. "Again."

"Hyunjin," you repeat. Your voice is stronger now. Your heart is racing, stomach twisting with nerves and desire. It's been so long since you've said his name like this, and the effect it has on him is beyond intoxicating.

He whimpers, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Fuck, I missed that," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin. You feel the brush of his low cut hair against your forehead. "I've never seen it like this before. Please, baby. Again. I need more."

The desperation in his voice makes you weak, and you find yourself sliding your hands up, up, up, until your fingers curl into his fuzz, tugging gently at the wisps of hair at the base of his skull. The reaction is immediate—Hyunjin grunts, low and guttural, his hips bucking forward against yours.

"Again," he pants. "Please. Please."

You drag your nails along his scalp, pulling another groan from deep within. You brush your noses together.

"My Hyunjin," you whisper, right against his lips.

He surges forward, crushing his mouth to yours in a hot, bruising kiss. You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he licks into your mouth. It's wet, messy, and desperate-- a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. You can't remember the last time anyone has kissed you this hard, this passionately—like he's trying to crawl inside you and never come back out.

He tastes like vodka and cheap beer, but underneath that is something that is so innately Hyunjin that you feel yourself melting, giving in to his touch and his mouth and his greedy hands. He shifts, slotting a thigh between your legs and flexing up into you. It pulls a moan from your throat that he swallows hungrily.

"Can I touch you?" He breathes his words right into your mouth.

You don’t hesitate. "Yes. Hyun, please."

His hands drop from the wall to the curve of your waist, sliding down until he has a bruising grip on your hips. His movements aren't as clumsy as you expect, but there's a hesitancy and nervousness that makes everything more enticing.

He uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his thigh. His movements are slow, deliberate. Your bodies are pressed flush together, his mouth still on yours, kissing you like you're the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence.

He bites down on your bottom lip and you whine his name right into his mouth. He hisses out a strangled sound before he breaks away, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, the column of your throat, and sucking a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin behind your ear. You're a mess of moans and whines and incoherent, half-finished sentences.

"God, you sound so fucking good," he murmurs into your neck. "Missed that too. Missed how pretty you sound for me.” He nips at your earlobe. “C'mon. Sing for me, angel."

He presses his thigh up into you more, the friction sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. You feel the length of him, hard heavy and hot, through his sweatpants. You dig your nails into his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping you. 

"Oh. Fuck, Hyunjin."

His hips buck involuntarily, a grunt slipping from him. He kisses his way back to your mouth. "That's it, my love. That's it." 

"Hyunie." You're panting into his mouth now, words coming out in broken gasps. It's overwhelming, all the sensations– his hands, his mouth, his thigh. You try to hold back your next words, but the building pressure in your stomach disintegrates the barriers in your brain. They come pouring out before you can stop yourself. 

"I missed you so much.”

The confession seems to do something to him. He curses and ruts up against your leg, chasing the contact, the friction. You're both breathing heavily, the space between you nonexistent, moving with a practiced ease that's only born from being familiar with each other. He knows your body like he knows art, like it's a medium for him to mold and shape into whatever he wants.

"Wanna paint you," he huffs out when you moan again. He drags his teeth along the length of your throat. "Want you to see the colors you make for me."

“Tell me.” You drag your nails along the nape of his neck. “What does it look like?”

He moves his thigh up, the sharp movement making you gasp and drop your head onto his shoulder.

"That," he pants, "That one is white. Soft on the edges like feathers. It feels like cotton in my ears."

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, his hips rutting against you with urgency. You can't help the moan that slips past your lips, and you swear his grip tightens, his breath hitching.

"Fuck," he breathes. "And that-- that one is hot. It's like rich red. Like the sun. It tastes sweet. Tastes like you.”

You whine into his neck, the combination of his words and the movement of his thigh making the heat coil tightly in your core. You're so close, right at the edge of your orgasm. You know you should stop-- that this is a dangerous line you're crossing-- but your body aches for him in a way it never will for anyone else.

"Come on. Cum for me, angel.” His voice is ragged, raw. "I wanna see it. Let me see it, please." 

And, well, you have never been able to deny him anything.

You tip over the edge, pleasure shooting through your body like a spark. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your vision goes white around the edges, a broken cry of his name spilling from your lips.

Hyunjin groans and ruts against you harder, faster. "Fuck, yes, that's it. Just like that, baby." 

He kisses you again, swallowing up every noise you make while he lets you grind your way through the aftershocks. His hands roam their way around your body, his nimble fingers slipping under your shirt to trace patterns on your skin.

You come down slowly, breathing hard into his mouth. When he's sure you've ridden out the last of your orgasm, he pulls back, eyes glassy and still a bit unfocused. His gaze is locked on yours as he slides his hands down your body, slipping a hand into the waistband of your shorts and moving to cup your ass in both hands.

Some of your wits return to you. You find the hairs at the nape of his neck again, dragging your nails against him gently. "Hyun," you breathe. "Hyun, you're drunk. We should stop."

"No," he whines. There's no aggression in his movements, just pure want. He tugs at your ass again, pressing his hips into yours. "Please, baby. I need to feel you."

He leans forward again, kissing down your jaw to your neck. The brush of his buzzcut against your face makes you shiver, but you don't pull away. Instead, you press a kiss to his temple, then another, and another, until you're kissing the shell of his ear.

"You'll change your mind in the morning," you murmur. The thought doesn't sting like you thought it would. It just seems like a fact. “Let's stop now.”

It takes some effort, but you manage to gently untangle yourself from him. You put a hand on his chest, not exactly pushing him but enough to signal a need for distance between you. He relents easily, stepping back and giving you space to breathe.

You take the opportunity to stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him: frazzled hair, blown-out pupils, kiss-swollen lips, and an erection straining painfully against his sweatpants. It's a sight that has your body singing for him all over again.

He looks lost. Desperate. Like you're the only thing keeping him together. Yesterday, you would balk at the thought of that, but now it makes your heart soften in your chest. You try to remember a time when you weren't weak for this man and come up short.

You sigh and reach out, resting your hand on his arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. "Come on, Hyunie," you murmur. "You obviously can't go home. Let's get you to bed."

He follows you down the hallway to your bedroom like a lost puppy, fingers loosely tangled with yours. When you flick on the bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminates the space that used to be so familiar to him. He stands there, awkward, until you turn down the comforter and sit on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to you.

"Do you want me to sleep here?" he asks, his voice small.

You nod. "I'll take the couch."

His hand tightens around yours immediately. "No." His voice is small, fragile. "Stay. Please."

You close your eyes, summoning strength from somewhere deep inside you. "Hyunjin, I don't think—"

"I won't touch you," he rushes to say, desperation creeping back into his tone. "I promise. I just... I can't be alone right now. Please don't make me be alone."

The plea strikes something painful in your chest. You've spent months trying to convince yourself that Hyunjin was fine without you—thriving, even. That he'd moved on to bigger, better things. But the man standing before you now, with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, is far from fine. 

"Okay," you relent, because you're weak and tired and overwhelmed from the events of tonight. 

When he slides under the blanket, there's a safe distance between you. Not as vast as it's been the past six months, but a tangible space nonetheless. You lie there on your side, staring at him, wondering if this is what it feels like to drown. He stares back at you, and you watch the redness of his eyes dissipate, his body relaxing under the weight of your gaze. You can't even find it in you to be angry, but you try. You really do.

He looks at you with those glassy eyes and a soft smile. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

You feel the anger slip through your fingers.

"You're drunk," you whisper back.

"I know."

You're not sure who moves first, but you find yourself closing the distance between you, your head tucked under his chin and your arm slung over his torso. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you find yourself melting into his embrace.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can hear the steady beat of his heart in his chest. You close your eyes, focusing on the rhythm, letting it lull you to sleep.

"Goodnight, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You're asleep before you can respond.

—

Sunlight filters through your curtains, painting warm stripes across your face. You stir, your consciousness returning to you in fragmented pieces. The first thing you register is the coolness of the sheets next to you. The second is the ache in your chest.

You open your eyes, staring at the empty space where Hyunjin had been.

Had.

He's gone.

The pillow still bears the impression of his head, the ghost of his presence lingering in the sheets in the form of his expensive cologne. You reach out, rubbing a bit of the sheet between your fingers, finding it cold to the touch.

Of course he left. What were you expecting?

You're not sure how long you lie there, staring at the ceiling, but it's long enough for the tears to come. They slip down the sides of your face and into your hair, leaving wet stains on the pillow as everything from last night comes back to you: the desperation of his voice on the phone, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his breath hot on your neck as he begged and pleaded for you to bathe his world in color again. It all felt real, so urgent in the midnight hour.

But morning has a wicked way of washing everything clean, the sober light revealing every mistake in detail.

You wish you could be angry. You wish you could feel anything other than the pain that's splitting your chest in two. You wish you could hate him.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes in an attempt to stall the tears before they get worse. This is exactly why you should've blocked him, why you shouldn't have let him in or slept beside him like nothing changed between the two of you.

"Stupid," You murmur. "I'm so fucking stupid."

A familiar weight settles in your gut, the same one your carried for weeks when he first left-- a noxious mix of anger, embarrassment, and grief. You thought you'd finally shed it, but here it is again, through no fault but your own.

You drop your hands from your face and glance at the clock, which tells you it's a bit past 11am. He's back at his fancy apartment by now, already forgetting the things he whispered in your skin. You let out a humorless snort, imagining that he's painting, finally able to put colors together properly after using you for inspiration.

You're about to drag your pity party to the kitchen when you hear it-- the faint squeak of your bathroom sink turning on.

Your eyes snap in that direction instantly. For a moment, you don’t hear anything else. Then–

Splashing. Someone is washing their face.

He stayed.

You freeze, heart suddenly pounding against your chest. You can hear the water continuing to slosh around for a second, then it shuts off.

More silence, just for a second, then the unmistakable padding of feet on tile.

The en suite door swings open. Hyunjin materializes in the door frame wearing the same clothes from last night. His hair catches the morning light like a halo and his face is freshly washed. His eyes are no longer glassy, even though they're rimmed with the telltale shadows of a hangover. When he sees you sitting up in bed, he pauses, hovering in the doorway as though he's unsure if he's still allowed in.

The two of you hold eye contact for a moment. It feels like forever, but you know it can't be more than a second or two. It doesn't matter how long, really. It's still too long. Long enough to make the ache inside you bloom until your entire chest is suffocating under its weight. Long enough to realize how much you still want him and need to keep him in this space that was once yours and his. Long enough to want to reach out across time and space and mold his edges into something that belongs solely to you—that only you can recognize. Something different and yet exactly the same.

"Hi," he says.

The breath is knocked out of you all at once. 

"You're still here," you breathe. You feel a new wave of tears behind your eyes. You think it might be from relief.

Something flashes across his face quickly-- hurt, maybe, or understanding. "Yeah." His voice is soft. "I told you I wouldn't leave again."

Did he say that? You don't remember. You can't exactly think over the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

The words hang in the air anyway, a fragile bridge stretching across the space between you. It feels precarious, like one wrong move will send all of it crashing down. You scan his face for any hint of deception, for a flicker of the old Hyunjin that prioritized his rising fame over you. But all you find is a raw sincerity that mirrors the ache in your own chest.

He takes a hesitant step into the room, then another, like he's waiting for you to change your mind and kick him out. You don't. You just sit there, heart thrumming against your ribs, watching as he drifts closer until he's standing at edge of the bed. There's barely any space separating you two, yet everything still feels so far away.

"Last night," he starts. He clears his throat, fighting against the tremble in his voice and hands. "It was a mess. I was a mess, I know."

You wait, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

"But even in the middle of all of that... I need you to know I meant it. Every word, angel. I still do."

Something swells inside of you, the pain making way for something soft and tender. It's overwhelming, but the good kind. The kind that makes you feel light and free.

"Do you?" Your voice is so quiet, you're not sure if he hears you. But he does, because his gaze softens, eyes never leaving yours.

Hyunjin lowers himself to the ground, situating himself on his knees so the two of you are eye level. He reaches a hand out, his long, slender fingers making their way across the space, gently cupping the curve of your jaw. You close your eyes, holding your breath while you bask in the way his skin makes contact with yours. The air around you feels like it might come alive. As you lean into the warmth of his palm, the ache in your chest begins to fade bit by bit.

"Yeah. I do," he whispers. His voice is thick.

There are a million things you want to say, yet the only thing you can force out is: "Why?"

He brushes his thumb along the rise of your cheekbone, the gesture tender and familiar. It's almost like he never left, like no time has passed between the two of you. He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, like the words are getting stuck in his throat.

"Can I show you?"

The question sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow and nod.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, the hunger evident in his gaze. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours and breathing you in. His breath tickles your nose, the scent of your toothpaste mixing with the smell of his sweater.

"Are you sure?" he whispers.

You answer him by closing the gap.

Unlike the kiss from last night, this one is slow, measured. You pour everything you've wanted to say since he left into it, and he returns it tenfold. He kisses you with a passion that threatens to consume, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly, tongue sweeping out to lick at your bottom lip. You part for him immediately, the taste of him igniting the dormant fire inside you.

Hyunjin kisses you like a starving man. You give him everything he needs, letting him map your mouth with his tongue, moaning into the heat of his kiss. You feel it everywhere, the heat coiling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. It feels like a revelation, and the way his grip tightens tells you that he feels it too.

"Say it, please baby," he breathes. The desperation from last night is creeping back in. His hand leaves your cheek, trailing down the length of your neck to your collarbone. He curls his hand into the neck of your shirt and tugs it down to expose your skin, dipping down to wash his tongue across your collarbones. You're already shaking before he even nips at your skin.

"Hyunjin," you moan. The sound makes him grunt against you, low and needy.

His mouth is on yours again, bruising, like he wants to drown in the taste of you. You sink your fingers into his hair, pulling gently and feeling his body shudder in response. He adjusts his positions on his knees, tugging you closer to him so your hips are flush against his chest. The heat of his feverish skin burns you through the thin fabric of your night clothes.

"Again, angel," he pleads, mouthing his way over your shirt, down to your breasts, hands trailing up your bare thighs and gripping hard. You let out a little whimper, head falling back as you thread your fingers in the wisps of his hair, holding on for dear life. He doesn't stop. The mixture of his mouth and his hands has your mind hazy and unfocused.

"Hyunjin. Hyun, please." You feel him shudder at that, his mouth kissing lower, lower, lower. When he reaches the hem of your shit, he grips it in his teeth and pulls it up, tongue darting out to run a stripe across your belly button. You pant and squirm, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin through his sweatshirt.

He nips at your stomach and you cry out his name, the sound breaking through the space like a firecracker. Hyunjin's hips buck up against the bed as his mouth finds your hip bone, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. Your back arches, legs clamping around his torso. His grip is bruising and you really hope he leaves a mark, that there are traces of him on you long after you're finished. You want him to burn himself into your skin so you never forget this again.

He's pressing sloppy kisses over the skin he's just bitten, murmuring a mixture of words you can't decipher. The sound is muffled against your skin, but you don't miss the way he says "angel" over and over again, the way his lips form your name against your body like it's a prayer, and he is the sole saint who has come to worship at your altar.

He shifts his mouth back to the waistband of your shorts, his big, blown out eyes fluttering open to stare at you in question. The look you give him is all he needs to peel off the fabric, slowly, teasingly, tossing them away and letting his fingers trail the newly exposed skin. His touch is hot on your legs, trailing up and down until you're panting for him.

"So perfect for me, pretty girl," he praises, his lips ghosting over your hips. Your brain feels like mush, like his praise is the only thing that exists anymore. You watch his long, perfect fingers slide up the expanse of your thigh until he reaches your heat, pushing your lips apart to reveal your aching cunt to him. His touch is so featherlight that it has your hips bucking up, trying to get more.

"Be still, love." He presses a kiss to your clit. "Be still for me. Let me worship you, yeah? Can you do that?"

You whine, desperately  trying to remain still, to let him explore every inch of your body with his perfect hands, to let him touch and tease you like he needs to.

"That's it, baby," he breathes. His fingers run along the wetness of your cunt. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me, my angel."

He slips his middle finger in with ease, sliding all the way to his knuckle. You barely have a second to adjust to the feeling before he dives down, plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. It sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine so sharp, you can't help the half scream that falls from your lips, your hand shooting out to grab onto his head. He moans in response, letting you grind yourself up into his face. He laps at you like a man possessed, fingers curling deep inside you to press against that one spot he's found countless times before.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your cunt against his eager tongue. His hair is soft under your hand, a contrast to how hard he's fucking his fingers into you. They move with urgency and precision. Each thrust has you panting his name, and in response his moans vibrate through your cunt.

He moves his free hand to grab the one that's gripping his hair and squeezes, fingers curling between yours in a silent show of gratitude for letting him touch you, letting him drown himself in you.

The combination of his touch and the sounds he's making has your stomach coiling, tight like a spring, and your release comes quick and sharp. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, and you call out his name, louder than anything he's ever heard from you before, so loud your voice bounces off the walls. He works you through it, licking up all the wetness that's pouring from you, groaning and growling like a starving man. He slips in a third finger to fuck you through the last of your high and the stretch is so good, so perfect.

His grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you grounded as the last of the pleasure courses through you, leaving you shaking and trembling against his face. Hyunjin keeps his eyes on you the entire time, watching you like a predator watches prey, pupils blown so wide only a sliver of dark brown peeks out at you. He only pulls away once you stop shuddering, dragging his fingers out of you with a loud, wet noise, slipping them straight into his mouth.

The sight of his plush, pink lips wrapped around those perfect fingers makes you whine and squirm with want, even though you've just been thoroughly fucked out. Hyunjin crawls his way back up your body and kisses you deeply. His lips are wet with you, and he fucks his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You find yourself gripping at the soft hairs on the back of his neck again in an attempt to press him closer. He pulls away slightly to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses down your jaw, teeth dragging across the hot skin.

"You drive me crazy, pretty girl," he pants. He sucks a bruise into the junction where your throat meets your shoulder. "Every noise you make, it sizzles in my eyes like fire. I see you everywhere."

You drag your nails down his neck and he groans into you. You can feel the impossibly hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants. He ruts against your body lazily, his movements sluggish. The post orgasm haze still hangs over your body like a heavy fog, slowing everything down to a sluggish, sensual pace. It's hypnotic and delicious, the feeling of his hardness dragging along your thigh while he peppers kisses along your skin. You know this dance, your bodies know the steps so well it feels like your back at the very beginning again, like no time has passed at all between the two of you.

"Let me have you, please." His voice is tight. His desperation is bleeding into everything, tinging the air between you like an intoxicating drug. It makes your head spin and your skin tingle. He shifts his position so his hips are rutting into yours now, slow, deliberate, and grinding right down into you. You're so wet for him still that there's no resistance in his movements. With your eyes fluttering from the sensation, you drag your fingers across the expanse of his broad shoulders and then down to the dip in his spine, trailing your fingertips up under his sweatshirt to drag across his hot skin. It pulls a shaky whine out of him.

"God, please angel." His cock throbs against you. "I'll make it good for you, so fucking good. Just please let me have you, please."

You tug at his sweater until he relents, breaking away to yank it up over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room. You take the opportunity to look at his chest, which is flushed with color and heaving with want. His lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, lust-blown eyes staring down at you like you hold all of the secrets to his universe. He's still getting harder in his pants, the fabric stretching taut over his cock, the shape of his length visible beneath it. The sight alone makes you dizzy, and the wetness that has been slowly building inside you reaches a crescendo, your cunt pulsing at the sight before you.

Your hand drifts down between your legs. Your fingers slide easily over the wetness that's gathered there from the pleasure Hyunjin has been so dutifully dishing out to you, and you don't even think about what you're doing. Hyunjin watches, eyes glassy as you dip two fingers in the wet mess he's made of your cunt. You slide them back up to your clit and moan, hips twitching into your own touch. His lips part a fraction, a breathy gasp spilling from him. He looks so painfully hungry that the thought of denying him crosses your mind for the briefest of moments. The thought disappears the second he opens his mouth.

"Baby, please, I need it." He shifts on his knees, squirming and aching for you. You almost don't recognize his voice— it's so raspy and tight with need, words stumbling out of him with no hesitation, no thought. It makes your skin hot all over again. You circle your fingers around your clit as you watch him watch you, his chest heaving in tandem with the movements of your fingers. 

Then he makes the prettiest little whine you've ever heard in your entire life.

The sound alone is enough to make you remove your hand and offer your wet fingers to him, his mouth falling open obediently to welcome them in. He swirls his tongue around your fingertips, lapping up any of the wetness he's left on you. He groans and shudders, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks and licks and hums around your fingers. Your brain feels like static and your thighs squeeze together to try and ease the ache inside you.

"Fuck, Hyunjin," you moan out, watching him suck your fingers clean. You try desperately to focus on keeping your hips still, the friction from your bodies moving together making you want to chase your pleasure again.

He moans around your fingers before pulling back, catching the hand you had been using to play with your clit and pulling it up to place a gentle kiss on your palm. He keeps eye contact the entire time, looking at you from under those thick lashes and his hooded eyes. His lips part just enough for the tip of his tongue to lick at your skin, his fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist. It makes your stomach drop. He has you under a spell and he doesn't even need to try.

He nips at your fingertips once more before speaking again, his voice low. "You make it so impossible to see anything other than you," he says, breathless. "Everywhere I turn, everything I see, there you are."

He shifts again, his body moving downwards and slotting itself between your thighs. He uses his free hand to wrestle himself out of his sweatpants and boxers, leaving them to hang low on his hips, cock finally free from their confines and bobbing heavily in the cool air. A shudder runs through him and you can tell it's both from the chill and the feeling of relief that comes from the sudden freedom. Your eyes linger on the head, leaking so prettily for you that it has your cunt squeezing around nothing again.

The hand holding your wrist pushes gently until it has you pinned above your head on the bed, the grip loose enough to not hurt you but strong enough to hold you in place. He reaches down to finally wrap his free hand around himself, stroking the length of his cock as he lets his eyes wander all over your body. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and you're transfixed by the way he lets it run along the swell of his mouth. He's such a pretty, pretty picture like this.

You think he might say something again, but the only sound that fills the space is his soft pants and moans. His strokes on himself once, the slick, wet noises making your brain go fuzzy all over again. Then he stops, leaning forward so he's hovering above you, the tip of his nose mere centimeters from yours. His lips brush against your mouth and his fingers twitch around your wrist, like he wants to let go but can't bear to.

You tilt your chin up to catch his lips, a soft whine bubbling in your throat. Want simmers under your skin so badly that you're a shaking, trembling mess under him. He coos at you in the kiss, and you feel him shift over you, lining himself up with your entrance. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, gathering the wetness that has dripped out of your pulsing cunt and onto the sheets, using it as lubrication for the tip of his cock to catch on your entrance. Your hips twitch upwards involuntarily, making him break the kiss with a gasp, and you both look down to watch as pushes the head of his cock into you.

"Shit," he whines. It comes out like a hiss, his eyes slipping closed. The feeling of your body welcoming him home has a shudder running up his spine. He releases your hand and uses his elbows to hold himself up over you, fingers burying themselves in the sheets surrounding your head. The tips of his ears are dusted pink, and his mouth is slack as he lets himself be enveloped by the heat of your body. He rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He feels impossibly large inside of you. It has been so long since you've had him this close, it's almost like you forgot how good he can fill you. He shifts and pushes himself a bit further in and you can't help the whimper that tumbles from your mouth. The stretch is so deliciously good that your hips twitch again, body instinctively trying to grind itself onto his length to get him right where you need him. He curses above you again and his grip in the sheets tighten as he nips at your throat.

"Angel," he chokes out. His breath feels boiling hot against your skin. "Please don't move. Not yet, baby. You feel too fucking good."

His voice is strained, tight in his chest like he's barely holding himself back from pounding into you like his body so obviously wants to. The feeling of being stretched by him has you quivering, cunt pulsing around the intrusion. It feels like it takes him forever, but he finally manages to fully slide into you, letting his hips press against yours so you can take the time to adjust to the fullness. His name is a mantra on your lips, the only coherent word your brain is able to conjure right now. He kisses your neck to calm you down, nuzzles his nose against you, licks at the tender skin that has a pulse beating rapidly underneath it.

"So tight, angel," he grunts. His teeth dig into the skin of your neck, sucking another bruise into your skin. "So fucking tight for me."

Your nails are digging into his back now, scratching angry red lines down his shoulder blades as you struggle to breathe beneath him. It feels so good, the way his weight pushes into you and lets you feel every twitch and pulse of his body, lets you feel him shake and quiver. He slides back a bit before pushing into you again, his entire body shaking with the effort it's taking for him to maintain this languid pace. His forehead is pressed against your skin still and his breath comes out hot and shaky as he fucks himself into you again and again, slow and shallow.

The drag of his cock has your toes curling. Your hands slide from his back to his shoulder, down to his biceps, fingers digging into the skin to leave crescents that you can't bring yourself to feel bad about. The heat is pooling in your stomach again, making the feeling in your toes and fingertips start to fizzle away. All that's left is you and Hyunjin. The artist and his muse.

"Hyunie," you breathe. "Hyun."

"I know baby," he grunts. You can feel the drag of his lips on you, leaving kisses against your feverishly hot skin. "I know. I'm here, I'm here."

He picks up the pace then, hips snapping against you to get his cock as deep as it'll go. Your brain has become static, aware of nothing more than the sound of skin slapping against skin, of the wet noises coming from where Hyunjin has returned to his home inside you. You arch your body into his hold and he slips his hand into the curve of your back, pressing you close so that every thrust brings him as close to your heart as he can get.

When he pounds into you particularly hard and you flutter around him, he grunts, sitting up and on his heels to gain leverage to piston into you deep. 

"So fucking perfect," he groans. He reaches down to thumb at your clit, circling it and grinding it down in time with his thrusts. You whine his name and buck against his hand as his thrusts get harder and faster in response. It has the coil in your belly winding tighter, so tight your body feels rigid against the bed. "Gonna show me that rainbow, right baby? Be good and come for me, yeah?"

You're already nodding frantically, words completely failing you. The sound of your skin meeting is loud, and your own moans are a chorus that's getting lost in his groans, in his pretty little whimpers of your name. It's all too much— you can barely catch your breath.

His hand that isn't playing with your clit finds one of yours and brings it to your stomach, pushing your palm into the skin below your belly button. When you feel it—the subtle bump from the tip of his cock, pressing against his fingers and into the flat of your stomach—you moan and dig your nails into the back of his hand.

"Fuck," he grits. "You like that angel? You like feeling full of me?"

A distant pulsing of your clit is the only warning you get before your orgasm hits you hard. You scream Hyunjin's name, nails digging into his skin for something to tether to. Your orgasm washes over you like an electric current, shooting up your spine and down to your toes. It whites your vision out, each pulse of Hyunjin's thrust translating into faded bursts of colors behind your eyes. The force of it makes your cunt squeeze down hard, so hard that you feel him stutter in his rhythm above you. You feel him drop forward to grip onto the pillow behind your head and bury his face into your chest, fingers digging in tight, hips bucking up into you. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's biting hard down on the fabric of your shirt, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You don't need to look to know he's coming inside of you, filling you up and painting you white.

It feels like the two of you ride through the aftershocks for years before he comes back down enough to gently slip his cock out of you, hissing from the sensitivity. You barely even feel him roll off of you, the world still tilted on it's axis significantly. Your vision takes a second to focus as your chest heaves. It takes even longer to realize that Hyunjin is staring at you from where he's lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow and an expression on his face you haven't seen in months. The thought that he could still look at you with a mixture of reverence and wonder after all this time is overwhelming.

But exhaustion is the prevailing emotion, and you only manage a small, sleepy smile before you pass out, lulled to sleep by the soft kiss he presses to your shoulder.

—

When you wake up a few hours later, you’re not panicked to find that you’re by yourself. The sheets are still warm, the shower is running, and there is still a dull, pleasant ache between your legs. You stretch, muscles nicely liquid and pliant, before patting around for your phone on your nightstand.

You do not find your phone. You find, instead, a piece of paper.

It takes a moment of sleepy shuffling, but once you get the lamp on, you see that it’s a pencil sketch of your sleeping form. There’s a cloud of colors surrounding you, beautifully rich blues and pinks that overlap to create equally vibrant purples. The colors feather out around the paper, swirling into soft, delicate hearts.

There is a single word on the bottom of the drawing:

Reconciliation.

[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss. 

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called. 

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode. 

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been. 

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation. 

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.” 

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug. 

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond. 

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time. 

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call. 

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name. 

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic. 

paige stares. 

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her. 

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly. 

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?” 

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms. 

what.  

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse. 

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient. 

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks. 

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed. 

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms. 

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased. 

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased. 

paige loves her so much. 

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else. 

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face. 

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful. 

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut. 

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both? 

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.” 

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression. 

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.” 

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.” 

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy. 

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct. 

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.” 

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night. 

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?” 

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit. 

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor. 

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact. 

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face. 

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen. 

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her. 

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional. 

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it. 

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit. 

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and. 

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out  “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue. 

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her. 

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head. 

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset. 

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge. 

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning. 

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range. 

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release. 

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure. 

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.” 

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.” 

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss. 

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down. 

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm. 

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question. 

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.  

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something. 

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers. 

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself. 

“fuck, azzi.” 

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes. 

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ. 

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer. 

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her. 

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate. 

holy fucking shit. 

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe. 

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon. 

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples. 

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat. 

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her. 

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot. 

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest. 

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head. 

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that. 

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen. 

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction. 

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth. 

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work. 

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her. 

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin. 

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses. 

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard. 

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful. 

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled. 

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones. 

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will. 

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s. 

she doubts it. 

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light. 

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.” 

and. well. paige is wet again. 

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.” 

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why. 

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face. 

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.” 

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest. 

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?”  and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever. 

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly. 

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.” 

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.” 

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde. 

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence. 

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out. 

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome. 

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written. 

they are so having sex again before they get up. 

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.” 

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts.  “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up. 

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter. 

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time. 

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity. 

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing. 

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em. 

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen. 

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points. 

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground. 

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up. 

nothing seems broken, which is good. 

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care. 

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her. 

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing. 

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying. 

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion. 

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning. 

and ohmygod. 

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her. 

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop. 

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself. 

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning. 

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably. 

azzi is going to murder her. 

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch. 

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall. 

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation. 

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato. 

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face. 

awesome awesome awesome. 

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool. 

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet. 

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world. 

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away. 

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk. 

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention. 

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series. 

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms. 

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.” 

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite. 

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish. 

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one. 

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

[withleeknow]

lifeline.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda?, slice of life?; unedited don't look at me lol word count: 0.7k listen to 🎧: lifeline - the rose note: weeeee it's been a good few months since i last wrote a plotless baby drabble so i might be rusty. in my head this is a companion piece to happy place :) wrote this v randomly bc i was in a mood lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

There’s a touch that Minho is familiar with, one that makes him drop whatever it is that he could be doing just to be there for you.

When your fingers dance across the back of his hand until you reach his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it so you could feel his pulse under your fingertips, he knows to take you into his arms and keep you there until you’re ready to let go.

It’s at the crack of dawn when you’ve just woken up from a bad dream, or in the middle of the dark, dark night when you’re plagued with bouts of uncertainty and your chest feels too heavy to fall asleep. Your hand tentatively traces over his pulse point, and Minho brings you closer, your legs tangled together in the sheets, his lips pressed against your forehead and his voice humming the melody of your favorite song.

It’s on the couch on a stormy evening, the room filled with the neverending patter of rain against the window, loud enough to drown out the trio of cats snoring in the background. You aren’t entirely there, your head is somewhere far away but you still absentmindedly reach for him, your thumb on the underside of his wrist. Minho lets you count the beats for a minute or so, before he pulls you into his lap, no questions asked. He tucks your face into the crook of his neck as he cards his fingers through your hair, gentle against your scalp, soothing when they rub the back of your neck.

It’s right before you both leave for a week-long trip with friends, when he’s hauling your suitcases to the front door but you tug him back by his wrist, and Minho knows that the airport can wait a few more minutes. He’s wrapping you up in his arms in an instance while yours wound around his neck, holding him flush against you as you breathe in his scent, your favorite in the whole wide world.

And it’s even when he’s putting groceries away that you come up to him from behind to hug him close. He rests his hands over yours where your fingers are securely fastened around his middle like a seatbelt, and you instantly untangle them in search of that familiar destination again. You press your forehead against the defined muscles in his back as you feel his pulse, beating steadily right under your thumb. A couple of minutes, it’s your little routine.

When Minho twists his body around in your hold to look at you, he scans your face for traces of discomfort, for any sign that you need him to ground you.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” you say with zero regard for the potatoes and onions that have been abandoned to roll around on the kitchen counter.

Then you’re guiding him down by the neck, a sense of urgency in your movement when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back just as eagerly, not wasting a single second as his hands find their rightful place on your waist.

You kiss him until you’re both breathless, until your cheeks are tinted with the rosiest shade of pink. When he opens his eyes, Minho finds you already looking up at him like you’re wonderstruck, your gaze doused in so much love that it proceeds to knock some more air out of his lungs.

“What was that for?” he manages to ask.

“Just… thank you.” You smile softly, nudging your nose against his before you press another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth for good measure. You’ve got more to say, he can tell.

The thing is, you two aren’t overly vocal about your affection for one another. He doesn’t have to tell you he loves you every hour of every day, and you don’t write him love letters like this is some kind of sappy romance novel.

What you lack in words, you make up for with actions, with an understanding that transcends the kind of love people often dream about. Whenever you search for him in your darkest moments, reaching for him and feeling his heartbeat against your fingertips like that is simply enough light to anchor you, to bring you back home, Minho knows that he’s your lifeline in every way that you are his.

And when you speak again after a brief moment, your voice gentle yet firm, he knows that it isn’t an exaggeration. He knows you mean it.

“I think you saved my life.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.09.2024]

[angelsuecult]

uncensored | s. crosby

warnings: MINORS DNI! a whole lot of cursing and smut. some roughness, so please read at your own discretion.

summary: sidney’s feeling in the mood to incorporate something beyond what you might expect. a forgotten phone catches all the nastiest details after a nice night out with friends.

wordcount: 6.2k

a/n: plotless smut with a twist, literally nothing more. also anon i saw ur message and i’ve been having connectivity problems all day which is why i’ve only just got around to uploading but thank u for ur kind words!! i don’t even know how i got this idea but.. also i felt bad that it wasn’t uploaded when i said it would be so i made it extra long! hopefully i can get that request one up today too, if not it will absolutely be up tomorrow. i hope y’all enjoy it! feel free to fill my inbox with your thoughts or requests! i love u little sluts🫶

The evening started innocently enough, the restaurant hummed with life, dim lighting casting a warm glow on the surroundings. Laughter and conversation filled the air as glasses clinked together, the smell of freshly cooked dishes floated through the air from the open kitchen. You were seated at a long table with a group of friends, a mix of familiar faces. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

Sid sat beside you, his thigh pressing lightly against yours, a silent connection that had been building since you first arrived. Every time his arm brushed yours as he reached for his drink, or when his fingers rested casually on your knee under the table, you could feel the tension simmering between you both. It wasn’t just the wine making your head feel light, its was the proximity, the heat of his body next to yours, and the way his touch lingered a second too long.

Across the table, your friends were in the middle of a heated discussion about the best vacation spots. You and Sidney were only half-listening, caught up in your own bubble as you sipped on your wine. His gaze flicked toward you, his lips quirking into a half-smile as if he knew exactly what was on your mind. The brush of his hand against your thigh under the table became deliberate, his fingers inching upward slightly.

At some points the conversation shifted toward the upcoming season, with Sidney’s friends asking him questions about training. You could see the way his eyes darkened slightly, how his attention wasn’t entirely on what they were saying but on the way your breathing changed each time his fingers inched higher and higher.

”Yeah, training has been good. Hard but good,” he replied absently, his hand now fully resting on your thigh, his fingers tracing circles that made it hard for you to sit still.

You shifted in your seat, your body betraying you as you fought the urge to react, not wanting anyone at the table to notice the dangerous game you and Sidney were playing. But he noticed. He always noticed. His smile widening slightly, his eyes locking on yours for a moment silently telling you he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

You learned in close, your voice low so only he could hear. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Crosby,” you whispered, shooting him a glance as you tried to focus on the conversation again.

His response was immediate, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered back, “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. You did love it—the thrill of it, the anticipation, the way his touch made you forget everyone else around you. The tension had been building all evening, and now, with the wine loosening your inhibition and the feel of Sidney’s hand on your thighs, you couldn't wait for the night to take the turn you both wanted.

Across the table, someone suggested heading to a local bar, and for a moment, the attention shifted from the two of you. “What do you think?” Sidney asked, leaning close again. “Should we continue the night or head home?”

You glanced around the table, noting how everyone seemed eager for the night to continue. But you weren’t thinking about them. All you could think about was Sid and the promise in his touch, the way his eyes held yours in that quiet, burning intensity that made your pulse race.

”I think,” you began, your voice low as you reached for his drink, taking a sip before handing it back to him, “we should get out of here.”

His eyes darkened at your words, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you met his gaze, the tension crackling like electricity. He didn’t need to be told again. He flagged down the waiter, signaling for the check, and within minutes, you were outside the restaurant waiting for your car.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you stood on the sidewalk, Sid’s arm casually draped around your shoulder. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the buzz of alcohol still humming in your veins. “I think we had one too many,” you whispered, your lips brushing the fabric of his shirt as you glanced up at him with a lazy grin.

Sidney chuckled, his finger trailing absentmindedly up and down your arm. “Maybe,” he agreed, his voice low and relaxed. He leaned down and pressed. A kiss to the top of your head, the lingering scent of his cologne mixing with the alcohol and the remnants of your evening. There was something about him when he drank, how it loosened his edges and made him playful—more willing to let go.

The car pulled up to the curve, and he opened the door for you, his hand resting on the small of your back as you slid into the backseat. Once inside, the tension that had been building all night felt even more intense in the confined space. The driver asked for your destination, and Sidney gave him the address. As the car started moving, the city lights flashing by in a blur, Sid’s hand slid higher up you lead, his thumb brushing the hem of your dress, dangerously close to where you wanted him most. Your breath caught, and you shot him a warning glance, but it was half-hearted at best. The anticipation becoming unbearable, the slow build from dinner now reaching a point where you weren’t sure you could wait much longer,

“You’re killing me,” you whispered, leaning into him as his hand continued its tortuous path along your thigh.

His grin was pure mischief as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Just getting started babe.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding instantly to the promise behind them. You pressed your thighs together, trying to keep some control, but Sidney wasn’t having it. His hand slipped between your legs, fingers brushing over the thin fabric of your panties, and you bit back a moan, your hand shooting out to grip his arm.

He chuckled softly, his lips grazing your neck as he whispered, “You’ve been teasing me all night. I think it’s time for some payback, eh?”

You were about to respond when the car hit a red light, and the driver turned around, asking you if you wanted the music to be louder. It was a surprising interruption, pulling you momentarily out of the haze Sidney had you in.

”No, we’re good,” Sid says, his voice steady, though you could feel like tension could beneath the surface. His hand stayed where it was, pressing lightly against you, a silent reminder of what was to come.

The light turned green, and the car started moving again, the city slipping away as you headed toward home. His hand stayed on you, a constant maddening pressure that kept you on the edge of losing all control.

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “I can’t wait until we get home.”

His hand tightened on your thigh, his eyes darkening as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Neither can I.”

When you finally pulled up to the house, Sidney paid the driver quickly, practically pulling you out of the car and up to the door. Once inside, the quiet calm of the house wrapped around you guys like a blanket. The tension from the night was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, you kicked your shoes off, tossing your coat on a chair, while Sidney lingered by the door, watching you. And you could feel his gaze on your back, heavy and intense, and it made your pulse quicken. You grabbed a glass of water, taking a sip before holding one out to him. “Want some?”

Sid shook his head, his lips twitching into a smile. “Not really thirsty.” He set the glass down, without taking a sip, his steps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room toward you, “I’m more interested in something else right now.”

The silence in the house was immediately drowned out by the heavy sound of breathing. Sidney had barely let you cross the threshold before he was on you—his hands gripping at your hips with a force that sent sparks through your body.There was an urgency between you, a raw need simmering just beneath the surface, set free by the alcohol still buzzing through your veins.

He pressed you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that was as much teeth as it was tongue, hungry, and desperate. You moaned into his mouth, your hands already threading through his hair, tugging him closer as he ground his hips into you. The hard length of him pressed against your stomach, a delicious reminder of what was to come.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he murmured against your lips,his voice low and ragged, sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid below your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress, teasing the soft skin of your thighs.

You gasped, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your soaked panties, the pressure just enough to make you ache for more. “I need you so bad.”

He groaned into your mouth, his hand still between your legs, fingers pushing your panties to the side as he teased your entrance with the tip of his finger. The slickness made him moan, the sound loan and guttural. “You’re so wet already, baby,” he grunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his fingers slid inside you, two at once, stretching you just right.

Your head fell back against the wall as he began to pump his finger in and out, the rhythm slow and torturous. The sound of your wetness filled the air between you, that soft, obscene squelch that had you clenching around his fingers, wanting more.

”Sid—fuck, baby,” you moaned, your hips moving against his hand, chasing that friction as your body heated under his touch. “I need you.”

He chuckled softly, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you cry out. “Not yet.”

Your breath came out in shaky gasps as his thumb pressed against your clit, circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers. You could feel the orgasm building inside you, hot and coiled tight, but Sidney wasn’t letting you go that easily. Every time you got close, he slowed, pulling you back from the edge, leaving you panting and trembling in his arms.

“God, I love watching you like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he pulled his hand away, leaving you on the verge of begging for more. “So desperate for me. So needy, hm?”

Without another word,he grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the couch. He was unbuttoning his shirt as you went, his chain catching the light as it dangled from his neck. You were too far gone to care about where he was dropping his clothes, your eyes focused solely on the way his abs flexed with each movement, how the thin line of his chain glistened with the dim light, practically taunting you.

By the time he pulled you into his lap, both of you had shed your clothes, the fabric discarded carelessly on the floor. He sat back, his legs spread wide as he looked at you, eyes dark with lust, his lips still swollen and red from your kiss, his dick, hard and ready, pressed against your stomach, the tip already glistening with precum as you straddled him.

Your hands moved on their own, sliding down your body as you ground against him, the friction of his cock against your wetness sending shivers of pleasure through you. You moaned softly, your fingers trailing over your breasts, fondling them as Sidney watched you through half-lidded eyes.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Sidney groaned, his hands moving to your hips as he guided you over him, his length sliding between your folds, teasing you entrance. “I want to feel you, baby. I want to fuck you so hard, you wont be able to walk tomorrow.”

”Wait,” he whispered, his voice rough and teasing. “You know what we should do?”

You paused, your breathing heavy as you looked down at him, your heart racing. “What?” You whispered breathlessly.

His grin widened, his hand sliding up your side, his thumb brushing against the curve of your breast. He leaned in, his lips barely grazing your ear, “We should record this. I want to remember this.”

His words sent a shockwave of heat straight through your core, your breath catching as the idea took hold. The thought of being recorded, of watching yourself ride him, was so dirty, so intoxicating, you couldn't help but bite your lip in excitement. Your heart pounded, the pulse between your legs growing even stronger as you leaned back to look at him.

”You really want to record this?” You asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and arousal. The idea was thrilling, dangerous, and it made your entire body buzz with need.

His eyes locked on yours, his expression serious but filled with desire. “Yeah,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to your hips again. “I want to watch it over and over again. I want to see how good you look on top of me.”

Your body responded to his words before you could even think. “Fuck yes,” you reached for his phone on the coffee table, your fingers trembling. Sidney was already trailing his lips down your neck, his breath sending goosebumps over your skin. He had that hungry look in his eyes again—the kind that told you he wasn’t going to make this easy. You fumbled with the phone, trying to unlock it as his mouth moved lower, kissing the sensitive spot just above your collarbone. His hands never left your hips, kneading and gripping as you stayed sat on top, trying to balance the need to move against him with the task of setting up the camera.

”Sid,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you finally got the camera app open. But the moment the phone was in your hand, he was pulling you closer, his lips pressing wet open-mouthed kisses up the curve of your neck and jaw. The way he groaned against your skin made it almost impossible to focus. “Fuck,” you whispered, your head tilting back as his teeth grazed your skin. Teasing you as he began to slowly rock your hips again.

”C’mon, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick and low. His lips found yours again, and you melted into the kiss, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth and the way his tongue slid against yours. You managed to pull away just enough to set the phone down on the arm of the sofa, trying to angle it to capture you both. But Sidney was relentless. His hands roamed over your body, tugging you back down to him, your legs spreading wider over his lap as he continued to kiss you, his lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, and back to your mouth again. The phone slipped from your grasp and teetered for a moment before falling back onto the cushion.

”Sid, baby, I’m trying to set this up,” you gasped, your breath ragged as you reached for the phone again, but his hands were quick, pulling you back to him with a teasing smirk.

“Oh yeah?” He breathed against your lips. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

Just as you positioned the phone, he caught your lips again, his kiss more urgent now, demanding. You groaned into his mouth, almost dropping the phone as you lost yourself in the feeling of him. “Sidney,” you gasped, pulling back just enough to place the phone back in position. You quickly hit record, your breathing coming in quick, shallow-bursts as you looked down at him, eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

”There,” you whispered, barely able to focus. “It’s recording.”

His eyes flashed with darkness as his hands gripped your waist, picking up right where you left off. “Fucking finally,” he growled, his voice dripping with need. “You ready for this, baby? I’m going to ruin you.”

You moaned at his words, your nails digging into his shoulder as you lifted your hips, positioning him at your entrance. Your eyes locked on his as the head of his cock nudged inside, stretching you open as you slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch. He leaned forward slightly, his lips barely bushing against the exposed skin of your chest, your chest heaving in anticipation. “I could stare at you all night.”

The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch burning in the best way as Sidney filled you completely. You felt every ridge, every vain of his dick as he buried himself inside you, the delicious fullness making you gasp. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned his hands gripping your hips so hard you were sure there would be bruises tomorrow. “You feel so fucking good.” Your walls clenched tightly around him, unwilling to let go.

You could only whimper in response, your head falling forward as you began to move, rolling your hips slowly, savoring the feel of him deep inside you. The rhythm was slow at first, your bodies moving together in a hypnotic dance, the tension building with each thrust.

Sid groaned beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips, as he thrust up to meet your movements, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your breath catch. His chain, cool against your heated skin, swayed with every movement, brushing against your chest as you leaned in to kiss him.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered,his voice low and rough as he buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged against your skin. The vibration of his voice sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips, your hands fisting in his hair as you rocked against him.

Your body responded to every movement, every shift of his hips, the slow drag of his length as he pulled out, and the deep, satisfying thrust as he slid back in. Each time he filled you, the fullness made you gasp, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you. You could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, his breath coming in short gasps as he watched you, the intensity of his gaze giving you goosebumps.

”Look at you,” he mumbled, his voice thick with desire as he shifted, focusing on the way your body moved over him. “So beautiful. I could watch you all night.” His words sent a rush of heat through you, and you couldn't help the way your body responded, clenching tighter as you rode him, slow and steady, savoring every second.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—the wet, squelch of your pussy, the systemic slap of skin against skin as Sidney thrust up into you, and the soft breathless moans that escaped your lips as you both neared the edge of release. The knowledge that there was a camera filming every moment, capturing the raw heat between you for him to watch later, was intoxicating.

Just as your body began to tremble on the edge, Sid sensed it—he always knew when you were close. But he wasn’t ready to let you go over the edge just yet. He could feel the way your body was tightening around him, so close to release, but instead of giving in, he closed his movements. His movements became relaxed, deep, his pace deliberately drawn out as he shifted.

You whine in protest, your hands scrambling to hold onto him, but he chuckled softly, lips brushing against your ear, “Not yet, baby.”

Without pulling out of you, Sidney shifted, gently guiding you backward,lowering you onto the couch, with a firm but tender grip. His hands cradled your back as you melted into the cushions, your legs wrapped around him, keeping him buried inside. The change in position was seamless, so smooth that it left your breath catching in your throat. And even though he hadn’t left your body for a second, the feeling of being underneath him now, with his full weight hovering over you, reignited the fire that had been simmering between your hips.

”You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes roaming over your body, dark and hungry as he took you in.

He paused for a moment, not moving, just watching you. He leaned on one forearm beside your head, using the other hand to gently caress the curve of your waist, his touch feather-light as he traced the contours of your body. His eyes followed his fingers, lingering on every part of you—the swell of your breasts, rising and falling with each shaky breath; the smooth expanse of your stomach, slick with a sheen of sweat; the way your thighs pressed against his hips, trembling slightly with anticipation.

You could feel him inside you, still hard and thick, but he wasn’t moving, not yet. He was teasing you with the stillness, making you crave it even more. The tension was unbearable, the ache between your legs almost too much to handle, and you squirm underneath him, desperate for him to move, to give you more.

”Sid-“ you whimpered, your voice shaky as you gazed up at him. Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers brushing over the hard ridges of his abs before settling on his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you tried to pull him closer. But he didn’t budge. He stayed still, his gaze locked on yours as he dipped his head down, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His chain brushed against your skin as he kissed you, cool metal contrasting with the heat of his body, the soft clink of it against your collarbone was hypnotizing.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin, “I’m gonna take my time with you.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, the promise of what was left to come making your core clench around him involuntarily. Sidney felt it, and a soft groan escaped his lips, his control slipping for just a moment as his hips instinctively bucked forward. He caught himself though, steadying his breath, and with a smirk, he began to move again—slowly this time, each thrust deliberate and controlled.

Your heart pounded in your chest, every nerve in your body on fire as he held you there, immobile beneath him, your legs trembling as he spread them wide. Out of the corner of his eye, Sid caught sight of his phone, still propped on the arm of the sofa, the camera lens aimed directly at the two of you. He had almost forgotten about it in the heat of the moment, but now, the thought sent a wave of heat through him. His breathing hitched slightly, as the realization sank in—every moment of this really was being recorded.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at you, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “You remember the camera?” He murmured, his voice low. “It’s still recording us.”

Your eyes flickered open, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the realization hit you, and you looked toward the phone with a breathless smile. “Oh my god,” you whispered, biting your lip as your body trembled beneath him. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Sid chuckled, his hand trailing up your thigh as he reached for the phone. Pushing deeper, he shifted his weight onto one arm and grabbed the phone from its perch, his abs flexing as he moved. He repositioned it on the coffee table, angling it so that it captured the entire scene from the the side—his body hovering above yours, your legs spread around his waist, every inch of your connection visible.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting them higher, adjusting the angle so he could thrust deeper, his movements now quicker and more intense. The change in position made you gasp, the sensation of him filling you completely almost overwhelming as he hit that perfect spot inside you again.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his lips grazing your neck as he buried his face in your hair, his lips brushing your ear. “That feel good?”

”So good,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips meeting in a messy, desperate kiss. The taste of him—of whiskey and need—was a thrill, and you could feel your body trembling with the intensity of it all, your muscles tightening as the pleasure built again.

Sidney’s hips rocked against yours, the rhythm deliberate, his cock dragging along every nerve inside you with a precision that made your toes curl. The wet sounds of him moving inside you filled the air, the slap of his thighs against yours punctuated by the soft moans escaping both of you.

”Look at me,” he breathed, pulling back slightly so he could see your face. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip as he stared down at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “I want to see your face when you finish.”

Your breath caught at his words, your body shaking as you looked up at him, your fingers gripping his biceps, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself above you. His arms were strong, veins bulging under the skin, the sight of him—sweat-slicked, muscles rippling with every movement, his eyes dark with lust—had you swinging on the edge of release.

You could feel him getting closer. It was the way his thrust had lost its steadiness, becoming more erratic, how his breaths were starting to come out heavier, rougher against your skin. His hips, though still driving deep and slow, were grinding harder into you, as if he were trying to get even deeper, to claim more of you. The muscles in his arms tensed, his grip on your waist tightening as his finger dug into the soft skin of your hips, holding you down as he fucked you deeper into the cushions.

Sidney groaned, the sound low and guttural, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he pumped into you with an unrelenting force. His chest pressed against yours, the heat of his skin mixing with yours, slick with sweat. Every thrust made your breasts bounce against him, your nipples brushing against his firm chest, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. The friction between you was almost overwhelming, the sensation of his hard body pinning you down, his abs tensing and flexing against you with every movement, making you feel every ridge of muscle against your sensitive skin.

“Fuck, baby,” his voice tight, strained with effort of holding back. His mouth was at your ear, breath hot as his teeth grazed your earlobe. “You’re taking me so well—so tight. I’m not gonna last.”

Your body responded instinctively to his words, your hips rising to meet his thrusts, grinding against him in desperate need. You could feel the way his cock twitched inside you, how his movements were becoming more urgent, each thrust harder and more deliberate. Every motion made your legs tremble, your back arching off the couch as your nails dragged down his back, leaving pink trails in their wake.

His chain swung between you, catching the light with every thrust, the metal brushing against your skin and occasionally grazing your lips. The cool sensation of it against your heated skin makes you shiver, your breath barely leaving your throat as it dragged across your bottom lip, slipping into your mouth for the briefest moment before sliding away again.

Without warning, one of his hands slid up from your hip, rough fingers skimming your side until they wrapped gently, around your throat. His thumb brushed over the side of your neck, feeling the quickened pulse beneath your skin, gasping, your body tightening involuntarily around him as the pressure of his hand sent shockwaves of pleasure straight to your core,

”So fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, his eyes dark as they locked onto yours. “You’re mine.” His other hand grabbed at your ass, squeezing hard as he slammed into you, the sound of skin meeting skin was even louder. Your body shook with every impact. You were overwhelmed, consumed by the feel of him—his cock stretching you open, the weight of his body pressing you down, the rough grip of his hands grounding you to the moment.

His breath grew more erratic, chest heaving as he thrust into you, his cock twitching inside you with every stroke. His grip on your ass tightening, pulling you against him with an urgency that told you he was close. His mouth hovered just above yours, the cool weight of his chain slipping between your lips, your tongue brushing against it as you tried to catch your breath. The way his eyes locked on yours, how his gaze flicked between the chain and your flushed face, made your pulse race, your body aching for release.

”I’m so close, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hips bucked hard against yours.

You were too far gone to respond properly, lost in the waves of pleasure that kept building with each thrust. All you could do was curse, your nails digging into his back, your thighs trembling against his hips. You tried to speak, but it came out as breathless gasp.

”Fuck—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking come.” You panted, your voice shaky, barely able to get the words out between gasps for air. Your entire body was tensing, the pressure inside you folding tight with every deep stroke, his name falling from your lips in broken whispers.

”Sid—fuck—I’m gonna come. I’m—fuck!”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he thrust harder, deeper, pushing you closer to the edge. “Come for me, baby,” he rasped, his voice strained as he held himself back, waiting for you to unravel beneath him. “Come for me—let me feel it.”

The intensity of his words, the way his chain clinked against your teeth, and the sheer force of his thrusts pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that had you crying out, your body trembling beneath him, Your muscles clenched around his cock, milking him with each pulse, your legs locked around his waist as you rode out every last wave of pleasure.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every second as you came undone beneath him. His chain slipped between your lips again, the cool metal catching between your lips as your body shook with each spasm. The sight of it—the way you took it in your mouth, how your lips parted around it as you moaned his name—had him losing his mind. His grip on your throat tightened enough to make your heart pound even harder.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, The sight of you, the feel of you squeezing him so tightly as you came, was too much. His hips stuttered, his chest pressing flush against yours, his abs flexed, sweat slicking his skin as he dove into you one last time, his cock buried deep inside as he let go.

“Shit—I’m gonna come,” he spat, his voice thick and desperate. His hips jerked hard against yours, and he slammed himself into you, his forehead pressed against yours as he came, hot and deep inside you. His cock pulsed, spilling a thick load into you as his body trembled, the pleasure rolling through him in heavy waves.

His eyes never left yours, his gaze locked onto you as he watched you ride out your orgasm, his release spilling further into you with every rough thrust. The weight of him above you, the way his body shuddered with each spam, only heightened your pleasure, making you tremble beneath him as you milked him dry.

He groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his grip on your throat loosening as he collapsed against you, his body spent but still connected to you in every way, his cock still throbbing inside you. His face nuzzled against your neck, placing soft kisses on your damp skin savoring the moment as your hands played with the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

Then it hit him—the camera.

“Jesus,” he muttered, the low sound of his voice pulling you out of your daze. His chest rumbled against yours, his hand sliding down to grip your hip as he slowly shifted his weight, sitting back just enough to reach for the phone perched on the coffee table.

His other hand still gripped your thigh, holding you open, connected, as he grabbed the phone with a smirk. “Gotta finish this off,” he whispered, the phone now in his hand as he leaned back, keeping the camera trained on where you were still joined. Your body trembled under him, still sensitive, still buzzing from the orgasm that had wrecked you just moments ago. You felt the slow grab of his cock as he began to pull out, teasing you with the movement, making you gasp softly. The sensation gives you goosebumps, the emptiness leaving you aching even though you were completely spent.

Sid focused the camera on his cock, still half-hard as he slowly pulled it free, glistening from both your releases. The tip of him was coated in a mixture of his cum and your wetness, his hand gently wrapping around his base as he drew out the moment, making sure the camera captured every inch of him sliding out of you.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his cock slipped free, the wet sound echoing between your bodies. As soon as he was out, you felt it—the slow, messy seep of both of your releases spilling from you. It was slow at first, a thick trail of white slipping from your swollen pussy, mixing with your slick as it dripped down your thighs, pooling on the couch beneath you.

Sidney kept the camera trained there, watching as more of his cum leaked from you, his voice a low murmur of appreciation as he recorded the sight. “Fuck, look at that.” His thumb brushing against the slick skin of your inner thigh, “Look how messy you are—you look so good like this.”

The heat in his voice, that possessive edge, made you pulse again, even though you were completely spent. He zoomed in slightly, focusing on the slow drip of his release slipping out of you, spreading over your thighs. His free hand moved down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, as if to emphasize the ownership behind his words. You reached down, fingers brushing lightly against your entrance, feeling the warmth of both of your releases still coating your skin.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, shifting the camera again to catch your face, your lips still parted, your eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion and pleasure. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful, so full of me.”

Sidney shifted closer again, his hand slipping up to your stomach as he leaned over, the weight of him pressing against you in a familiar, grounding way. The camera lingered for a few more seconds, capturing every last second of that raw, intimate aftermath before he set it aside.

His body collapsed onto yours, both of you still slick with sweat and desire, but this time the moment felt softer, more tender. His lips brushed against your forehead, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart calming as he pressed against you.

“That was fucking insane,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp, filled with both exhaustion and satisfaction. His fingers threaded through your hair as his lips ghosted over your skin, the weight of the moment sinking in between you both.

You gave a soft laugh, your body relaxing beneath him, the feel of his warmth settling into you. “We really made a mess, huh?” you teased, your voice barely more than a breath.

Sidney chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours. “Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours, “but we made a fucking masterpiece. Guess we’ll have to watch this again later,” he suggests, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Maybe even make a sequel.”

[ineffable-doll]

Tips on adding tags to fics

I wrote a guide last year about writing fanfic summaries (check it out here) and thought it might be useful to do a follow-up on tags! (Please note that this is AO3-specific and focuses entirely on the Additional Tags section. And also that all of this is just my opinion.)

I see folks often lament that they don’t know what tags to add to their fics; I think the biggest struggle comes from folks not knowing what purposes tags serve. So, let’s discuss that!

Convey Tone

The first thing tags are used for is to tell the audience what tone to expect from the fic. Is it a lighthearted comedy with some sweet moments? Tag it with Fluff, Humor, and Comedy. Is it a dark, slow, depressing tale that ends poorly? Try Heavy Angst, Sad, Bad Ending.

When looking for a fic to read, people want to know what the vibe is so they can find the fic that matches what they’re in the mood for. The summary is useful for this, too, but the tags are where you can really confirm: Yes, this is a fic with Light Angst, Humor, and Happy Ending.

In short: use tags as tone indicators. Not all fics cleanly fit one tone or the other, so overlap tags accordingly. It’s normal to have some contradiction; that’s the nature of storytelling.

Some common tone indicator tags:

Fluff

Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Domestic Fluff

Romantic Fluff

Light-Hearted

Crack

Crack Taken Seriously

Hurt/Comfort

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Comfort No Hurt

Hurt No Comfort

Humor

Some Humor

No Plot/Plotless

Light Angst

Angst

Heavy Angst

Angst With a Happy Ending

Eventual Happy Ending

Sad Ending

Bad Ending

Happy Ending

Hopeful Ending

Ambiguous/Open Ending

…and more!

2. Content Warnings

Next, tags are a great place to add content warnings for your fic. Notes can go into more detail or be used for chapter-level warnings, but putting the broad categories of your content warnings in the tags is a good idea so those who wish to avoid certain types of content can do so, and those specifically seeking out heavy content can find what they’re looking for.

AO3 has the Archive Warnings function to help with this, but tags can elaborate on or specify warnings that don’t fit the Archive Warning categories.

Not everyone likes content warnings or sees the point of adding them, or they feel that they ruin the surprise element of storytelling. I won’t make a detailed argument here, but consider content warnings a sign of respect for your audience and their wellbeing. Triggers are very real things rooted in trauma and the least you can do is give someone a heads up that what you wrote could negatively affect them. Plus, as mentioned, sometimes darker content is exactly the thing someone wants, and a warning can actually be another way to attract a reader.

A very very short list of content warning tags to consider (and here’s your own heads up for mentions of upsetting topics in this list):

Death

Grief/Mourning

Violence

Canon-Typical Violence

Torture

Blood

Abuse

Alcohol

Drugs

Rape/Non-con Elements

Mentions of Rape/Non-con

Consent Issues

Mental Health Issues (there are lots of more specific tags for this category)

Panic Attacks

Ableist Language

…and more!

(There is definitely more that could be said regarding content warnings for Explicit fics, but I don’t read or write those, so you’ll need to look elsewhere for that.)

3. Searchable/Fandom-Specific

One of the most useful aspects of tags is being able to search the entire Archive via tags and/or filter content by tags (both to include and exclude – familiarize yourself with AO3’s Filter system if you haven’t already). So, you’ll want to include tags that folks are searching by. Tone indicator tags are used this way, but so are fandom-specific, character-specific, and relationship-specific tags.

If you have no idea where to start, look up the fandom/character/relationship you are writing for and filter AO3 by that. Then, spend some time looking at tags and filtering by different ones. See what comes up. Reading fic is always the best way to learn how to tag them, and that’s especially the case here. Maybe you’ll end up creating a new fandom tag!

While fandom-specific tags are not necessary, they can help make your fic easier to find, especially in large fandoms. Note that fandom-specific tags will usually have the fandom listed in parentheses at the end.

It’s difficult to make a list of tags for this sort of thing, but here’s some common structures I’ve seen over the years:

[Character Name] Needs a Hug

Asexual/Aromantic/Demisexual (etc.) [Character Name]

Oblivious [Character Name]

Dramatic [Character Name]

Sweet [Character Name]

Angry [Character Name]

Disabled [Character Name]

Autistic [Character Name]

Agender/Nonbinary/Trans [Character Name]

[Character Name] Has Anxiety/ADHD/Tourette’s etc.

Ambiguous [Character Name] and [Character Name] Relationship

Queerplatonic [Character Name] / [Character Name]

They/Them Pronouns for [Character Name]

Teacher/Superhero/Artist/other profession [Character Name]

[Character Name]-centric

Touch-Starved [Character Name]

[Character Name] is Bad at Feelings

[Character Name] Has Self-Esteem Issues

…and more!

Another category is tags for specific scenes, missing scenes, story arcs, episodes/chapters/parts, and so on, such as:

The Night at Crowley’s Flat (Good Omens)

Cloud Recesses Study Arc (Modao Zushi)

Post-Mogami Arc (Mob Psycho 100)

And there are plenty more that are so fandom-specific that they don’t fit an exact category:

Alternate Universe – No System (Scum Villain)

Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens)

Xianle Trio (Tian Guan Ci Fu)

4. BONUS Topic – Canon Divergence and Alternate Universes

One of the most fun parts of fanfic is toying with canon, so here’s a list of tags that can convey your fic’s relationship to the canon story. These are for fics that maintain a strong relationship with or resemblance to canon.

Pre-Canon

During Canon

Post-Canon

Canon Compliant

Not Canon Compliant

Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence

Alternate Canon

Fix-It

Not a Fix-It

Fix-It of Sorts

Some fandoms have specific tags regarding canon compliance with only parts of the given media – usually the case for franchises or works with big gaps between installments.

Not Canon Compliant With [Media Name] [Season/Episode Number]

Next are Alternate Universes (AUs), which are so divergent from canon to the point of not even being in the same world. There are more types of AU than I could dare list here, and several are also fandom-specific, but here’s some generic sorts that come to mind:

Modern Setting

Human

High School

College/University

Roommates/Housemates

Soulmates

Superheroes/Superpowers

Fairy Tale

Urban Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy

Meet-Cute (can also be Alternative Universe – Different First Meeting)

Meet-Ugly

…and more!

5. BONUS BONUS Topic – Romance

Lots of fics on AO3 are written for romantic ships, and there are a LOT of tags to categorize different types and stages of these ships. These tags are useful to establish reader expectations (and again, for filtering). Some common examples:

Pre-Slash

Pre-Relationship

Developing Relationship

Established Relationship

Love Confessions

Love Realization

Drunken Confessions

Mutual Pining

Not Actually Unrequited Love

Getting Together

Getting Back Together

Moving In Together

Falling in Love

Marriage

[Friends/Enemies/Strangers/Rivals/etc.] to Lovers (can also have three stages, such as Strangers to Friends to Lovers or Lovers to Enemies to Friends)

Flirting

Slow Burn

Denial of Feelings

…and more!

There are also tags to specify what physical affection the characters engage in:

Holding Hands

Cuddling & Snuggling

Hugs

Kissing

Making Out

Almost Kiss

First Kiss

Second Kiss

Literal Sleeping Together

Non-Sexual Intimacy

No Smut

Explicit Sexual Content

Implied/Referenced Sex

…and more!

Aaaand a few non-romantic ones to toss around, for fun:

Best Friends

Platonic Relationships

Friendship

No Romantic Relationships (goes under the Relationships section, not Additional Tags)

Found Family

Friendship/Love

Ambiguous Relationships

Queerplatonic Relationships

Family

Parenthood

Love

Siblings

Developing Friendships

Parent/Child Relationship

…and more!

This guide got out of hand, and I still didn’t cover everything I could have, but I hope this was a helpful overview and makes tagging a little easier for you going forward! Here’s AO3’s tagging page for more info. Feel free to drop your own tips in a reblog/comment or ask questions if there’s something you want me to elaborate on. <3

[mickandmusings]

sunday kind of love

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: for six days a week, the miller household is nothing but hustle and bustle from the crack of dawn each morning until midnight each night. life is fast-paced and hectic between work and school, full of responsibilities and deadlines. but, for one day each week, all of it is forgotten for a day of pure relaxation.

or

why sunday is the best day of the week, according to joel miller.

warnings: pure fluff very little plot; reader is a housewife (not like 50's housewife don't worry, only mentioned); unmentioned but envisioned slight age gap; first piece with no y/n; I wanted it to feel like a cozy autumn morning; author is desperately in love with joel miller and wants to be his little wife; this was a random thought from my brain, so it's purely self-indulgent, enjoy :)

*this is probably the smallest and most plotless thing I've ever written, sorry friends.*

-

The air is still.

It lacks the usual chaos of a normal morning in the Miller household. Joel's alarm isn't blaring loudly enough to be heard in the hallway. Sarah's pitter-patter of footsteps down the stairs do not sound. The sound of Tommy's truck engine roaring in the driveway, and, eventually, his rattling for food in the kitchen, never reached the sound barrier. There's no bustle of Millers chattering aimlessly in the kitchen, or the clashing of various pans and plates for breakfast. The radio in the kitchen doesn't play the morning news after a Top 40 hit, and the TV hasn't been turned on since earlier the night before. The house is entirely silent, safe for the hum of the running central heating system, and the quiet clicking of the analog clock in the kitchen.

Up the stairs and through the door on the left lies one Joel Miller, weary brown eyes still closed in sleep, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. Beside him, or, more aptly, curled into his side and resting against his frame, is his wife. She's been awake for nearly fifteen minutes, simply watching her husband sleep next to her, watching his eyes twitch as he dreams, his lips parting with soft snores. She smiles, her heart warm with the thought of him finally getting the rest he deserves. She was grateful for her husband's hard-working nature. Joel's contracting business allowed her to stay at home, and she and Sarah always had everything they needed and most of what they wanted-Joel was hopelessly in love with his wife, and could easily be persuaded into almost anything by one look from his daughter. His wife did realize the toll it took on him, as much as he tried to hide all of his fatigued movements as he stumbled through the door each night. She'd pleaded and argued with him about contributing in her own way, but he'd shut her down with a sweet kiss and a stubborn refusal each time. Now, she watched him rest, the kind of deep sleep he needed.

For once in the history of possibly the entirety of its existence, the Miller house was quiet, mostly asleep, because there was nothing on the agenda. No work, no school, no after-school soccer practices or late night projects, there was simply rest, a whole day to do absolutely nothing.

She gives Joel's sleeping form one last smile before giving his bare bicep a light kiss. She slides out from under his arm as silently and stealthily as possible, not wanting to disturb his earned peace. She does so successfully, sliding the duvet back over her now empty side to keep the spot next to him warm even in her absence. She pads across the carpet, tossing one of Joel's well-worn sweatshirts over her frame to combat the chill. Autumn had finally fallen over Austin, and its bite was evident in the morning, but she welcomed it into their home like an old friend-autumn was perhaps her favorite part of the year.

Her sock-clad feet pad down the carpeted stairs with practiced ease, her arms stretching above her head, hoping to shake out the sleep still encasing her bones. She lets out a yawn, bringing her arms into her chest as she scrunches, finally releasing her sigh as she shuffles over to the kitchen. She makes quick work of starting up the coffee pot, watching as it drips for a moment before shuffling over to the living room. She greets their feline friend perched cozily in an old armchair by the window, scratching behind her ears as the furry friend nuzzles against her hand. Her hands move to push open the blinds of the windows, letting in the early morning light, which her aforementioned friend seems to enjoy, plopping into a spot where the sun shines on the carpet. She chuckles at the cat, moving over to light the fall scented candle sitting atop the tall entertainment system, she clicks the lighter and the flames flicker in a wave, as if to greet her.

The sudden quiet of the coffee pot alerts her that her morning caffeine fix is finished, and she hastily pads back into the kitchen and pours a hearty amount into an oversized mug. With the first sip, she feels her entire body sigh in content, the perfect start to her perfect day.

She finds herself gravitating back towards the dining room, plopping into one of the well-loved chairs and curling her legs up to her chest, enjoying the view out the glass of the back door. The trees had already begun to shed, the grass covered in shades of red and yellow. Joel would grumble about the mess, but she would speak highly enough of the changing scenery that he'd forget all about his complaints. She's watching a neighborhood dog make his rounds around the houses, sniffing mailboxes and greeting the morning runners, when footsteps on the stairs alert her of someone else's presence now up and awake. Judging by the heavier footfalls, she assumes it's her husband and she internally groans, she'd hoped he would get more sleep, he deserved it.

Sure enough, when she turns, she meets his big brown eyes peering back at her lovingly. He's clad in an inside-out shirt he'd likely pulled from the basket of clean clothes inside their bedroom-she hadn't got around to folding them just yet-and his gray boxers, hair sticking out in every direction, still messy from sleep. He yawns and rubs his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes as his steps draw closer and closer to her. He leans down to kiss her good morning, his mustache tickling against her skin. It's a sweet front for his real goal-quickly sliding the mug of coffee out of her hand for his own taking. She says nothing, letting him think she's fallen for his charms blindly, as if it was something he'd never pulled on her. He gives a sly grin as he brings the mug to his lips, taking a gulp before pulling a face and drawing the mug back to his wife's waiting hands.

"Should've given me a warnin', baby, that was...awful."

Joel did not much care for his wife's seasonal flavored coffee, and he particularly hated the pumpkin-infused brew he'd stolen a sip of.

"Oh boo hoo, Miller, you're the one who stole my coffee."

Joel rolls his eyes, shuffling to their kitchen to brew his own pot of coffee. He shuffles back over, quickly picking his wife up into his arms and slides into her chair before plopping her back into his lap. His wife rolls her eyes, leaning into his chest as silence falls over them. His left hand rests on her hip, his thumb rubbing small circles onto the spot, the morning sun bouncing off the gold band on his hand. The only sound between them was the dripping and soft rumbling of the coffee pot and the morning birds singing through the windows. Without a word, both halves of the couple enjoy their lazy morning, happy to have momentary bliss. Soon, Sarah would be trampling down the stairs in search of breakfast and coercing her father into taking her to the movies, but, for now, Joel sits half-awake with his wife in his arms, staring out at the beauty of an early Sunday morning in Austin. In a feeling he's only just grown accustomed to, Joel feels content, peaceful. Well, until he notes the heaps of leaves covering his front lawn.

"Damn leaves already fallin', have'ta to go buy a new rake."

His wife sighs as he plops her back into the chair, running his hands through his hair with a grumble as he fixes a steaming mug of his own coffee. So much for her lazy Sunday.

-

[animasola86]

Sebastian Sallow's Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Smut // Words: 2.7k // [READ ON AO3]

Notes: I woke up thinking about Sebastian's hands, so... I wrote this, whatever this is. Drabble? Headcanon? Plotless porn? I don't know. It's about hands, I think. Maybe? (It escalated a little...)

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content!

Sebastian Sallow is a handsy guy.

You've noticed it when he would grab your hand and pull you along or out of dangerous situations, or when he sits next to you and just talks, usually with his hands if they are not resting on your arm or back or thigh... and the more you get to know him, and the closer you get, the more he would touch you, bolder and more confident, but usually still appropriate enough for the public space you are in.

But as soon as the two of you would be alone somewhere, truly alone, his hands would be all over you. Tangled in your hair, stroking your back, exploring all of your curves, cupping your face to pull you towards him for a heated kiss. And whenever you'd end up lying on a couch or a bed together, he'd have his hands wrapped around your stomach or your hips or firmly holding your breasts.

Perhaps he is also a boob guy.

That is certainly his favourite body part of yours. His large hands would be holding your soft mounds like something fragile, fingers carefully encircling the shape, weighing them gently, applying just enough pressure that you'd know what he is doing, and sometimes he would just hold them when he'd be lying behind you, bodies pressed together, relaxing, his hands supporting your breasts like a bra made out of warm skin and muscles.

And you like it, of course you do, him just cupping them with his beautiful hands, calloused but also soft, with those veins and tendons protruding under thin freckled skin, those long fingers bending just the right way, reminding you of other places his hands have been...

He is a handsy guy, but you are a hand appreciater. A hand lover. Or lover of his hands. Match made in heaven.

You don't know if he knows how you sometimes stare at his hands, how you take in every detail of them, but he indulges you, moves them over your body, touches you everywhere, playfully slides his fingers over your skin, under your clothes, into your hair, traces the lines of your body with gentle movements.

And you either melt into the soft touches, or you come undone by them. It's one or the other. Or the same.

And as much as you love watching his hands, you appreciate them even more when you can feel them, really feel them. Gripping your hair with a strength that always surprises you, or closing around your throat hard enough to make you gasp. Or when he grabs you by the waist and manhandles you into any position he likes best at the moment, and you usually let him. How could you ever resist him and his hands?

And when they are back around your breasts, kneading them, teasing them, long fingers pressing into soft flesh before they focus on your sensitive nipples, rolling them between fingertips, pinching them, pulling them, all you can do is mewl under the sensations.

Yet as rough as he can sometimes be with his hands, he uses the rest of his body to soothe you afterwards. Mainly his mouth. And what a mouth he has, a dirty one, you know that, spilling things nobody should say out loud, but then there are also his lips, those kissable lips, eagerly moving against yours or down your jaw and onto your neck, pressing soft kisses into your skin until he gets his teeth and tongue involved too.

And oh that tongue...

(You realize the more you think about Sebastian, the less you can decide what part of him you like the most. Perhaps it's the entire package...)

He is so good with his tongue. Be it during a kiss or when he explores your body, licking and nibbling and sucking on your lips or earlobes or breasts or any patch of skin he can reach, sometimes leaving those marks on you that you can barely hide the next day that he always soothes with a lap of that eager tongue, warm and wet and enticing.

And while his big hands hold your waist (or you in place as you can't stop squirming), he moves his tongue around your nipples until they're hard and almost aching, then sucks on them like a man parched, always teasing and easing them with the tip of this very versatile, wet muscle.

Then he moves lower, laving your stomach, dipping into your belly button, kissing your hipbones, his palms always running along your sides, exploring ahead until they grip your thighs and pull them apart when he plants eager pecks on your mound.

The things he does between your legs should be classified as unspeakable. At least they render you completely speechless, or breathless, or brainless, as all you can do is whimper and moan and gasp and cry out in nothing but pleasure when he presses his mouth to your folds, lapping between your lower lips, licking up any wetness he creates with those expert motions.

He usually focuses on any inch of sensitive skin – except your clit. That he lets to its own devices until it's throbbing and you're so needy you buck your hips against his face. Then his hands are back, holding you firmly, fingers digging into your skin, sometimes bruising it with how hard he grips you, while he continues his journey along your weeping pussy, kissing and licking and sucking, pulling your folds between his teeth, teasing them. He even dips his tongue into your entrance, moving that muscle in ways you don't think possible.

And while you dissolve beneath him, body twitching but no longer protesting, he moves his hands around your rear and grabs your bum cheeks, kneading them with nimble fingers as he presses you closer to his face, diving deeper. And only then does he move towards your clit. It's usually one or two licks and you spasm against him, crying out louder, and a few more licks until you come against his face hard.

His hands will find yours then, fingers slipping between your own, holding you, squeezing you, supporting you through the spasm of your body.

He may lap up your wetness, but he also never stops until he pulls at least one more orgasm out of you as he enjoys seeing you come undone, let go, forget everything that has ever bothered you. And oh, how light-headed and carefree you are once he is done with you.

Or, once his mouth is done with you. Because then he starts using his fingers, and you never come down from that high when he rubs that sensitive bundle of nerves with one hand while the other moves over your folds, parting those lips, stroking along that wet sensitive skin until he pushes one fingertip into you, teasing you, feeling your walls clench around it.

And slowly he pushes it deeper, one knuckle at a time, pressing into your tightness, massaging and exploring your soft flesh, while his other hand lies flat on your lower stomach, feeling those contractions, and his thumb is placed firmly on your clit, rubbing it in circles.

You're probably a mewling mess by now, barely able to appreciate those beautiful hands and fingers anymore, but he keeps going, pulling his finger out and replaces it with two, easily slipping in, deeper, stretching your walls when he scissors them inside you, and when he bends them just right, and presses against that one spot, and he does, at the same time as he pushes hard on your clit, you erupt in pleasure at the motion, your noises unintelligible.

He fingerfucks you through your orgasm, pushing those long digits in and out, fast and hard, savouring these squelching noises that you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't floating near the ceiling right now. He gets even bolder and adds a third finger, stretching you further, preparing you for yet another adventure.

In and out they go, while his thumb still circles your clit, and he may even bend down and give your inner thighs some soft kisses or rough nibbles, probably both, marking you up even more. And you buck and convulse and twitch against him, lost in ecstasy, but when he pulls those fingers out and stops assaulting your clit, you watch him out of hooded eyes, only to melt even more into whatever surface you're lying on as you witness him putting his glistening fingers to his lips and licking them clean with that sensual hum that drives you crazy.

And then he is crawling on top of you, pressing his wet mouth to yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he shoves it between your lips, swallowing your mewls and moans, while his fingers dig into your hair, tugging it slightly, holding you in place as he kisses you even more senseless.

You barely notice when his hands move, one down between your bodies, one to close around your throat, gently choking you while he grabs his hard cock and lines it up with your eager entrance. And when he pushes the tip in, you gasp, and he presses against your throat, silencing that gasp, and his hips move against yours, gentle stabs to ease his length into your tight cunt, while he keeps kissing you deeply, muffling more of your noises.

Once he's sheathed completely inside you, filling you out perfectly, he eases his grip on your throat and massages your neck with those long fingers, his thumb pressed against your chin, guiding you into the kiss. He gives you a tiny bit of reprieve, letting you adjust to his intrusion, and even though you feel full and barely able to move or breathe, you mould against him, your legs falling open until they hook around the back of his thighs, pulling him even deeper.

He leans back slightly, watching you with a dark gaze, brown eyes barely recognizable with how dilated his pupils are, how hungry he is for you. His freckled face is hard, concentrated, jaw clenched with that muscle moving so deliciously beneath his skin.

His hand is still holding your throat, then you feel his other hand moving back up, gliding over your curves until a warm palm presses to your breast, cupping it gently before he starts kneading it, rubbing it against your nipple until it hardens. He is so enthralled by the feel of your soft flesh that he lets go of your throat and leans back, hips still pressed against yours, deeply connected, while he grabs your other breast as well, holding them firmly in his large hands, warm and safe.

He keeps groping them, alternating between rough squeezes and gentle presses, your hard buds scraping over his calloused skin, and watches your face closely as he does so. You're so relaxed now, you've almost forgotten his hard cock resting inside your tight cunt, but only until he suddenly starts moving.

Pulling out to slam back in, repeatedly, over and over again, and each time he thrusts deep, you yelp and rock over the surface you're on, up and down, but his hands on your breasts hold you in place. He uses them to guide you, gripping them with his arms outstretched as he slams his hips against you. Your legs fall open again, too boneless to hold onto him, and your entire body moves with his powerful thrusts.

You'd watch his muscles ripple under his skin, those tendons moving with every motion, but you thrash your head back and dissolve into a puddle of bliss as he keeps driving his length and girth into you, stretching your walls while they clench around him, his rapid rhythm rendering you unable to do anything but lie in front of him, issuing those noises that make him move even faster.

The tension in your stomach tightens, and while he pinches your nipples, he thrusts deep, always hitting the farthest spot, until you cry out and arch your back, stars dancing behind your eyelids, limbs twitching uncontrollably as you come hard on his cock.

He pulls you up then, arms wrapped around your body as he presses you to his chest, his mouth finding your shoulder for some breathy kisses before he bites down slightly, and you can barely move your own arms, but you try to snake them around him, holding onto him, fingernails digging into his back as he quickens his pace even more.

Your combined moans and groans echo through the room while you lean your cheek against his collarbone and he holds you with strong hands, one between your shoulder blades, one on your lower back, as he pounds into you hard and fast, until a grunt leaves his throat and he gives you one final thrust, hitting your cervix with precision, which makes you come undone all over again.

He stills inside you as you convulse, and you feel him twitching between your fluttering walls. His embrace tightens as he comes inside you, painting your womb with his hot seed. Rough breaths hit your ear as he slowly relaxes with you in his arms, and for a moment neither of you move, as the warmth you both created spreads through your body like a wildfire.

You feel exhausted and close your eyes, even though you want to watch how he gently pries your arms away from him and places you on your back again, his hands roaming your sweaty body, caressing your tender breasts until they move to your thighs, holding onto them as he steps back and slips out of you. You can feel the globs of warm cum dripping from your hole, and you couldn't care less where they go and what they soil, but then you feel his fingers on your sensitive skin and your eyes flutter open.

He watches you with a tired smirk as he circles your clit with one finger before he dips the same one into your pussy, shoving his seed back in. A small gasp escapes you as he keeps fingering you until he's satisfied his essence remains inside you. When he withdraws that finger, it is coated in your combined juices, glistening, dripping, and you see him raising it towards his mouth, but somehow you manage to lean up and close your shaking hands around his wrist and pull his hand towards your own mouth.

His eyes sparkle in admiration when he watches you lick his finger clean, a little growl escaping his throat. You hold his gaze as you give his other fingers the same treatment, your tongue lapping around those beautiful digits and between them and along the back of his hand, and when he bends his fingers, you feel those tendons and veins move against your tongue, and a deep shudder rushes through your body.

You cradle his big hand between your smaller ones, admiring every single detail of it, noticing the little freckles on it, the sharp edges of his wrist, the hair moving up his arm, the veins snaking around it and the muscles tensing beneath his skin. And he watches you closely, mesmerized by how much attention you pay to his hand.

And you're not done. You give every knuckle a gentle peck, licking over every crease, nibble on his fingertips, and when you reach his pinkie you turn his hand palm up, lapping at the lines on it, moving towards his pulse, before you focus back on his thick thumb.

His eyes widen slightly when you pull it between your lips and start sucking on it playfully, your eyes gleaming in mischief and delight. His own amusement quickly turns into arousal as you continue working on his thumb, pushing it as deep as it can go into your mouth, and he groans slightly when you graze your teeth over it while your tongue swirls around it eagerly.

And that's when he questions if his favourite part of you really are your breasts. He loves them, he even moves his free hand to knead at one as he watches you, but he can't deny that you have a very talented mouth as well.

So the cycle repeats itself, and at the end of the day, you both realize you are just crazy about each other, every body part included. Though you still always adore his hands a tiny bit more.

[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

Sebastian Sallow headcanons

NSFW Sebastian Sallow headcanons

NSFW Hogwarts in the 1890s headcanons

Screenshots of Sebastian's Hands Masterlist

[eatingherundercity]

Ellie x reader

My first time ever writing anything and for some reason I jumped to basically plotless smut. pls lower ur expectations 😭

Fem afab reader, fuff-ish, smut, modern AU, established relationship, oral (r+e receiving), fingering (r receiving), praise, making love rather than just fucking yk

UNFINISHED so some tags are uh bs lowkey sorry for edging u dearest reader

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

You're sat with your back to Ellie with your phone situated on your bedside table while (re)watching the office. Repositioning yourself starts to prove unnecessarily provocative to a very filthy minded and you-obsessed Ellie.

~~~~~~~

The cold open of whatever episode you're on starts playing as you're snacking on some very yummy chips. You absentmindedly move your hips a little more to the back to get more comfortable as the episode starts. As you do so, Ellie clears her throat but you barely even register it, too focused on Jim pranking Dwight for the millionth time.

Your giggles and the shows audio fill the otherwise silent room as you're watching the scenes play out in front of you and Ellie can physically feel her heart get warmer at the sound of your laugh, and that warmth travels down between her legs as she rolls her eyes at the realisation that she is so deeply in love with you, that hearing your laugh gets her just as frustrated as watching you grind on her with the skimpiest, tightest dress on. Her focus has now entirely shifted from the show and audio playing from your phone, to the now overwhelming scent and perfect view of you. The smell of your perfume and hair products filling the room, only feeding her need for you. Nevermind the look of you as you're layed on your side with your ass in comfy sage green pj shorts pressed against her front, and your boobs practically spilling out your top thank fuck for gravity ellie thought. She can't help but admire the way the light from your phone luminates your face and compliments your side profile so unbelievably well. Fuck she needs you.

She truly believes her hands have a mind of their own as they make their way onto your waist and down to your front, resting on your inner hip. She shifts closer to you trying to get a better whiff of you, what she's already smelling not being nearly enough for her anymore. "You're so beautiful, baby" she mumbles as she kisses your shoulder. You giggle in response "what?? You okay hun?" you say, very slightly lifting your head with your eyes no longer glued to the screen, looking back and up at her instead. She nudges your head back onto your pillow with her cold nose and nuzzles under your ear "mmhm just love you so much" Ellies thumb starts to trace circles on your hip. You're back to watching your show now however your focus is very short lived as it's interrupted by Ellie kissing under your ear, down your neck and shoulder. "Baby.." "Mhm?" Her response muffled with her lips still pressed against your increasingly sensitive skin. "You sure you're feeling okay?" You choke out "Never better" her grip on your hip tightening so very little that it almost goes unnoticed by you. Almost. Ellie's antics now having gotten to you, making you hyper aware of every little thing touching your skin in that moment, especially your pretty girl. You tilt your head back in order to give her better access and she smirks against you in response to you giving in. She continues peppering kisses all over your neck all while whispering sweet 'I love you's so soft, meant only for you to hear. Your hand finds its way to rest in Ellie's hair, and you allow your fingers to settle between her soft pretty auburn hair. "You have it down" you whisper, remembering how you told her how much you love when she has it untied so that you could grab and play with it better. Ellie smiles at you in response as she lifts her head, her eyes low with both tiredness and lust. You both lay there staring into eachothers eyes and your stare begins to falter and shifts down to her lips. She takes the hint and next thing you know her lips are pressed softly but also solidly against yours. The kiss speaks words that no language ever could, your love for eachother so clear through that one shared moment. After a little while she lifts her head to look at you again and your cheeks flush as you suddenly feel very exposed. She smiles as she takes in every aspect and feature of your face as you do the same. Once she's done, something in her eyes shifts and her hand trails down to the edge of your waistband. Your raised eyebrows and smirk contrast with her (attempted) innocent smile as she asks for permission to "please let me take care of you?" You laugh and nod and she takes that as her sign to slide her hand into your pants.

Her fingers barely gliding over your underwear only makes you even more impatient, but still, you wait. Once she's had enough of slightly torturing you in order to just get you a bit more worked up, which she can easily tell you were since both your breathing and heartbeat got noticeably louder and a bit more ragged, she slides your panties to the side and gently spreads your folds with her ring and index finger, making way for her middle finger to feel your heat. The contrast between the warmth of your body and her freezing cold fingers sends shivers down your spine in the most pleasuring way. Her fingers immediately start feelin the slippery substance coating your pussy and she cant help but say something "So wet already baby? I havent even done anything yet" She chuckles slightly mocking you but you both know that it turns her the fuck on when she can physically feel the effect she has on you. "Shut upp" you say grabbing the nearest throw pillow near you and covering your face with it. Even after over 2 and a half years of you two waking up to eachother, she still manages to make you melt in nervousness. "Nuh uh uh no you're gonna look at me or I'm not touching you" Ellie says as she brings her hand out your shorts and forces the pillow away from your face. You look back at her defeated and red then proceed to roll your eyes "fine.. I hate you y'know that?" Ellie smirks "suree you do" she says as she immediately dives back into your neck, peppering slow deep kisses as she goes lower, and lower..

Ellies now kissing down your chest and in between your breasts down to your stomach, stopping right above your waistband. "Can I take these off baby?" Shes looking up at you from basically right between your legs now, HOW could you possibly say no to that pretty face.

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

A/N

Hey okay so see my last post for clarification as to why this is unfinished pls thank u I'm sorry guys also I feel like this was lowkey ass like I said this is my first fanfic thing ever so be kind 😭

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: Queer science fiction, part 1

There is a lot of queer sf out there, and I read a lot of sf. When I started working on this list, I quickly realized it was impossible to include all that I've read and enjoyed in one single rec post. Thus, this is the first of so far three queer sci-fi book rec posts.

A note: queer here does not necessarily mean "guarantee of an f/f or m/m ship with a happy ending", but rather simply a significant presence of queerness. Some of the books feature no romance but has a same gender attracted/trans/a-spectrum lead, or features an m/f relationship with bisexual, trans or aro/ace characters, or simply features a world-building which is heavily queer inclusive in ways that don't always compare to our own ideas of sexuality and gender. I have however disqualified works where the only queer presence is along the lines of "gay best friend" or a blink and you'll miss it confirmation that never comes up again.

Previous book rec posts:

Really cool fantasy worldbuilding, really cool sci-fi worldbuilding, dark sapphic romances, mermaid books, vampire books, many worlds: portal fantasies, many worlds: alternate timelines, robots and artificial intelligences, post- and transhumanism, alien intelligences

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley*

Dietz is a soldier in the war between Earth and Mars - to travel to the battle front, she and her fellow soldiers are broken down into light to be able to quickly travel across space. But something keeps going wrong with Dietz's travels; her memories don't match up with the mission briefs, as she experiences time itself turning in on itself. Is she going mad? Or are the things she's learning skipping through time the truth - and the war that's stealing her life the lie? A mindfuck of a book that's scathing in its critique of fascism and war. Features a sapphic lead but no romance.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built (Monk and Robot duology) by Becky Chambers

Novella. Long ago, robots, upon gaining sentience, simply laid down their work and walked into the wilderness. Long after, a tea monk looking for purpose follows after them into the wilds, where they come across one of the robots seeking its own sort of answers. While not plotless, this story focuses more on character and vibes over plot. Also has a nonbinary main character and features conversations on gender between human and robot.

Meet Me In Another Life by Catriona Silvey*

Thora and Santi are strangers, brought together by a coincidence and torn apart just as abruptly when tragedy strikes. But this is neither the first nor the last time they meet - again and again they encounter each other, as friends, lovers, enemies, family, every time recognizing in each other a familiarity no one else carries. But with every new life, a mysterious danger grows ever closer, forcing them to find out the truth of their connection. This is a puzzle-box of a story that goes some entirely unexpected places in a very wild ride, featuring a bisexual co-lead.

The Archive Undying (The Downworld Sequence) by Emma Mieko Candon

In a world where AI gods sometimes lose their minds and take entire populations down with them, Sunai was the only survivor when his god went down. In the 17 years since, he has wandered on his own, unable to either die or age, drowning his sorrows in drink and men. But his attempts to flee his past comes to a stop as he is forced back into the struggle between man and machine. Featuring some pretty wild world building and narrative techniques, this book will definitely confuse you, but it is worth the experience.

The Paradox Hotel by Rob Hart

January Cole works security at the Paradox Hotel, last stop for tourists heading for the timeport, which allows them to travel to and witness any moment in time. But years of proximity to the timeport has left its damage on January, making her unstuck in time, letting her relive memories of her dead lover even as her sanity slips away bit by bit. As she starts witnessing proof of a horrible crime in the hotel that no one else can see, January must race against her own mind, a killer, and time itself to solve it before it's too late.

A Fractured Infinity by Nathan Tavares

Hayes Figueiredo is a struggling film-maker who wants to finish his documentary, whose life gets turned upside down when handsome physicist Yusuf Hassan enters his life, claiming an alternate version of him is a great inventor who’s sent a mysterious device to their universe. As Hayes gets drawn deeper into the conspiracy - and his feelings for Yusuf intensify - he has to decide just how far he’s prepared to go to win the life and the love he wants. Featuring a very gay and very morally dubious lead, this is a creative and strange read.

Bridge by Lauren Beukes

When she was little, Bridge and her mother Jo used to play a game - one where they traveled to other worlds, inhabiting the bodies of their other selves. Now Jo is dead, and as Bridge is cleaning out her apartment she finds a strange device: a dreamworm, the very thing that supposedly makes inter-dimensional travel possible. Suddenly faced with the possibility that multiverse travel is real, Bridge is struck by a different question: could her mother still be alive? Scifi spiced with a healthy dose of body horror and some absolutely wild twists, Bridge also features a bisexual lead (however this is a blink and you’ll miss it moment) and a nonbinary co-narrator.

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (Wayfarers series) by Becky Chambers

Rosemary Harper just got a job on the motley crew of the Wayfarer, a spaceship that works with tunneling new wormholes through space. With a past she wants to leave behind, Rosemary is happy to travel the far reaches of the universe with the chaotic crew, but when they land the job of a life time, things suddenly get a lot more dangerous. A bit of a tumblr classic in its day, this is a cozy space opera with an episodic feel and vividly realized characters and cultures. While pretty light on romance and focusing found family, there is a main f/f relationship.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship's leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship's sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Ninefox Gambit (The Machineries of Empire trilogy) by Yoon Ha Lee*

Military space opera where belief and culture shape the laws of reality, causing all kinds of atrocities as empires do everything in their power to force as many people as possible to conform to their way of life to strengthen their technology and weapons. It’s also very queer, with gay, lesbian and trans major characters, albeit little to no romance.

The Left Hand of Darkness (Hainish Cycle) by Ursula K. Le Guin

1969 classic. Genly Ai is an emissary sent to the planet of Winter, meant to help facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But he's unprepared for Winter's citizens, who spend much of their time genderless or switching between genders, making for a culture wildly different from that Genly is used to.

Too Like the Lightning (Terra Ignota series) by Ada Palmer*

Centuries in the future, humanity has deliberatly engineered society to be as utopian as possible, politically, socially, sexually, religiously. Written in an enlightenment style and featuring questions of human nature and whether it’s possible to change it, and what price we’re prepared to pay for peace, this book is simultaneously very heavy and very funny, and written in a very unique style. While still human, the society presented often feels starkly alien.

The Stars Are Legion by Kameron Hurley

This book fucked me up when I read it. It’s weird, it’s gross, there’s So Much Viscera, there are literally no men, it has living spaceships and biotech but in the most horrific way imaginable. Had I to categorize it I would call it grimdark military sf. It’s an experience but not necessarily a pleasant one.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling*

Possibly one of the most unsettling books I’ve ever read, and definitely the most claustrophobic. Gyre, a caver on an alien planet, ventures into the dark and dangerous underground, guided only by a woman who has no compunctions on using and manipulating Gyre as she sees fit to obtain her secretive goals down in the caves.

Escaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus series) by Nicky Drayden

While my feelings on Escaping Exodus were mixed, it cannot be denied that the dynamic between the two leads and the way they go from childhood best friends to enemies on different sides of a class and power struggle is very delicious. It also features some really cool worldbuilding of living, alien generation spaceships and the human culture that has developed inside them.

The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

The Doors of Eden is something of an experiment in speculative biology, featuring versions of Earth in which various different species were the one to rise to sentience, from dinosaurs to neanderthals. Now, something is threatening the existence of all timelines, dragging multiple different people and species into the struggle, among those a pair of cryptid hunting girlfriends and a transgender scientist.

Ascension by Jacqueline Koyanagi

Ascension follows Alana Quick, an expert Sky Surgeon who stows away on a spaceship in hopes of landing herself a job. But the ship and its crew are in deeper waters than she expected, facing threats emerging from a whole other universe, all of them searching for the same person: Alana’s spiritually enlightened sister. Undeniably a bit of an odd read, Ascension is also very creative and features polyamorous lesbian relationship.

Contagion (Contagion duology) by Erin Bowman*

Young adult. After receiving an SOS, a small crew is sent on a standard search-and-rescue mission. But what they find are not survivors awaiting help, but an abandoned site, full of dead bodies and crawling with something... monstrous. No romance, but features one sapphic co-lead and one who can easily be read as demisexual (however this doesn't show up until book two, which has more romance).

A Memory Called Empire (Texicalaan duology) by Arkady Martine

Mahit Dzmare is an ambassador sent to the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire, where she discovers that her predecessor has died. Trying to protect her home, an independent mining station, from being taken over by the empire, Mahit struggles to find out the truth of her predecessor's death while carrying the voice of his ghost in her head, guiding her as best he can. Light on the romance but does feature a sapphic relationship.

The Outside (The Outside trilogy) by Ada Hoffman*

AKA the book the put me in an existenial crisis. Souls are real, and they are used to feed AI gods in this lovecraftian inspired scifi where reality is warped and artifical gods stand against real, unfathomable ones. Autistic scientist Yasira is accused of heresy and, to save her eternal soul, is recruited by post-human cybernetic ‘angels’ to help hunt down her own former mentor, who is threatening to tear reality itself apart. Sapphic main character.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Queer in the sense that the Oankali doesn't follow human ideas of gender and relationships, which is mirrored in their romantic relationships with humans. It is, however, pretty dark, with examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Remnant by Kate Genet

One day, Cass wakes up and finds everyone else is gone. Not dead, just gone, leaving her in a world which nature starts taking back with a dangerous, unnatural speed. But as she tries to survive this new normal, Cass realizes she may not be alone after all - but who else is out there, and are they a threat?

The Scorpion Rules (Prisoners of Peace duology) by Erin Bow*

Young Adult. Featuring a dystopian future in which an AI forcibly keeps world peace by holding the children of world leaders hostage. If anyone attempts to start a war, their child will be executed. Greta is one of these children, kept in a school with others like her. But things start to change one day when a new, less obedient hostage arrives. A unique, slowburn take on the YA dystopian craze, also featuring a bisexual love triangle.

Iron Widow (Iron Widow series) by Xiran Jay Zhao

Young adult. Zetian is a citizen of Huaxia, where mecha aliens are constantly trying to breach the Great Wall. To keep them at bay, couples of men and women pilot so called Chrysalises, giant transforming robots. But the pilots are not equal - the women almost always die, sucked dry by their co-pilots. When Zetian sets herself up to become a concubine-pilot, she does so with the plan to assassinate the male pilot who caused her sister's death. Features a polyamorous main relationship.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool:

Survival Instincts by May Dawney

Lynn Tanner has been surviving the post-apocalypse alone with only her dog for a long time, trusting no one. But when she's forced to travel the dangerous remains of New York City alongside another woman, her priorities are challenged. Is staying alone really the best way to stay alive?

These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs

When con-artist Jun Ironway gets her hands on possible proof of the powerful Nightfoot family, controllers of interplanetary travel, committing genocide, she has in her hands a chance of taking them and their monopoly down. But the family and their allies won't go down easily, and sends two brutal clerics to stop her.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.