#except mine has buttons instead of the zipper

[caesarinsalata]

Why does no one talk about Sweater Library Ed???? This was my FAVORITE outfit for him when I read the manga (second to his Briggs outfit of course)

He's just too cute in his little reading sweater!!! 😖💦

Reaction Image by @marycrispies [Instagram]

[avintagekiss24]

day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki​ not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping  down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.

[noritoshiikamo]

driver’s license 

cause you said forever, now I drive alone passed your street [au where suna is a doctor specialized in memory removal and his last patient of the day is his ex]

pairing: suna rintarou + fem!reader genre: pain, angst, doctor!suna + patient!reader tags//warning: medical procedure of mind erasing, slight suicide ideation, alcohol abuse note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. the songs made me brawled i had to write something about it and i just so happened to finish haikyuu

“it’s odd,” he looked up from the computer screen, osamu approached him pointing to the screen, the last name listed in the appointment schedule under dr suna rintarou. please don’t say it please don’t say anything, he begged silently in his head. “she kinda has her name. haven’t heard her name in ages,” osamu shrugged, grabbing his next patient’s files, “want to get lunch later?” the doctor popped in another stick of gum, leaving before suna could even said a word.

funny that osamu said that. that is his girlfriend. he moved the cursor and clicked at the name. the birthplace, the date, her eye colour, the address and her number; it matches everything he ever memorized of her. except they are no longer together. it has been a month since their breakup.

 she’s an architect. not by choice but she likes art. she’s talented and had once held an art show during school’s open day where they met. she didn’t draw him until they started dating, but she had known some of his close friends who was the subject of her drawings. her parents disproved of her ambitious and to compromise, she agreed to take architectural instead. she stopped drawing completely and suna was the only person in japan that has the largest collection of her paintings stuffed in boxes and behind shelves.

 suna rintarou has been a doctor in inarizaki institute for 5 years now. inarizaki institute was different from others. it was the only medical institution that had successfully developed a procedure to remove unwanted memories. he’s one of the qualified doctors for said procedure. he had done the procedure multiple times now, even on his former high school friends and families but never his own girlfriend.

 is it him she’s removing from her memories?

 he didn’t remember how they broke up. maybe it’s because he was too busy. maybe it’s because she had fallen out of love with him. maybe they just couldn’t stand being in each other’s spaces, but it happened so quickly. she moved out from their apartment, returned when he left to clear out her stuff and he just threw himself back to work.

 he did remember how they met. she was the miya brothers’ neighbor. one night when he came to visit them during semester break years ago, they were in their parents’ car with a girl. suna felt like he had recognized but couldn’t think of where or when. “oi, suna,” the window rolled down and asamu called him over, “come in!” despite being weirded out, he entered the back door of the car. “we are teaching our friend how to drive; can you believe it? she’s in our university and can’t drive to save a life.”

 “shut the fuck up, atsumu or i’ll run you over,” she muttered angrily as she moved the driving gear.

 suna saw the stick going down to reverse instead down further and he immediately reached for her hand. the girl startled at the stranger’s sudden touch. “what the fuck are you d-doing?” she choked up.

 “you’re going to reverse into the wall,” he muttered bluntly, pouting his mouth to the gear. grabbing the stick through her hand, he pulled the gear into drive before letting her hand go. the light from the post shined in and he could see red flush on her face as she nodded, “oh okay, yeah d,” she muttered to herself. she started driving. she wasn’t exactly bad; she just needed a lot of practice.

 so he came over every day of his semester break and accompanied them as she practiced her driving.

 “i can drive you home?” she offered on the last night of his break before he returned to school.

 “you don’t have too.”

 “i insisted,” to which suna agreed and she glanced back at the miya brothers, “get the fuck out.” despite their disgruntlement and the it’s my mum’s car argument, she managed to kick them out. it was just two of them together. “so, i know we went to same high school and university. how come we have never crossed path before?” she questioned as she took her first turn. she memorized the roads to his home. suna shrugged as he fidgeted with the corner of the jacket’s zipper, “i played volleyball in high school.”

 she chuckled, “i’ve never watched any sport matches in high school, sorry. anyway, i’m a last year architectural student by the way. are you taking the same course as osamu?” she glanced at him with a smile. his heart skipped a beat. “y-yeah. i’m in my 5th year of medical.”

 “why not volleyball player?”

 “i got bored.”

 she let a soft exhale and shrugged, “fair enough. i took architectural to please my mother so i’m in no position to give any advice.” she slowed down in front of his house before pulling into a full stop. she pulled into parking and pulled the hand brake. she smiled and fist pumped herself, “did you see that? perfect stop!” suna didn’t expect what was going to happen next. he watched out of control as his arm reached out for her face and pulling her close. what he remembered being in control was asking her boldly whether he could kiss her.

her eyes sparkled and she smiled so widely, “yes.”

so, he did.

she moved into his apartment at the end of his graduation. she didn’t get any job for the first few months while he entered inarizaki institute as medical officer. she took commissions online and waited tables while going to a couple of interviews. he saw a decline in her motivation. when suna returned one night, he found her behind the sofa, drunk out of her mind. what spooked him wasn’t the bottles of whiskey on the floor but the stainless-steel paint scrapper she stabbed the canvas with. she could’ve hurt herself. but, putting her into therapy and pulling strings with some of her friends, she recovered, and he got her an interview. suna watched as she dreadfully shoved her portfolios and files into her bag. 

“you’ll be alright,” he reassured, bringing her a cup of coffee. she sighed and pushed her bangs back, “i don’t know, rin. i just don’t feel like getting another rejection after another and then i’ll just spiral into a-” he stopped her rambling with a kiss. he tasted like coffee; she tasted like their toothpaste. every time she tried to pull away, he pulled her back into the kiss and she could feel him laughing against her lips. “this is going to turn into something else,” she whispered between the kiss and he nodded. he was half aroused. she drank the coffee and kissed him one last time. he felt her fingers slipped from his grip. she stood by the door and waved back.

 “see you?” she beamed.

 “always.”

 suna snapped out of his own memory when an alarm blared out. he looked up past the nurses’ counter and saw a patient being pushed out of room B by a couple of nurses. he knew what goes on in that room; he helped in perfecting the procedure. osamu followed soon. he tugged the blue gloves off and shoved them into the yellow bin. “you would not believe who I met in the waiting room?” by the look of his face, osamu already got the feeling that suna already knew. osamu flipped his file and pulled out a pen. he signed the bottom of the pages and dumping it in the completed pile. “did she tell you?” suna asked.

 “about?” the other doctor asked.

 “the memories she’s erasing. did she tell you?”

 osamu shook his head and pocketed his hand in the white coat. “she asked about you. whether you’re around. i said yeah, he’s on call and she just smiled.” suna stood up and grabbed the file. he felt conflicted. osamu stopped the man before he could enter the room. “look man, I’m sorry about whatever happen between you guys and I’m in no position to judge at all.”

 suna shrugged and smiled, “it’s fine. we were just ruining each other.” the other man nodded understandingly before excusing himself. suna wanted to move but his feet felt heavy. he was glued down. room B was just a few feet away, but he couldn’t move. this is it. the end of them.

 he forced himself into the room. standing in front of the panels and monitor, separating him and her was a one-way mirror. she sat on the seat, talking to the nurses in charge. his heart hurts. she had bangs now framing her face. she’s slight thinner and no longer wore the charm bracelet he gave during their first anniversary. the nurse placed a heart-beat monitor on her thumb and attached a couple more of sensors to her brain, forehead, and neck. his monitor lightened up and spitted out the information. this is it. “doctor, she’s requesting of removal of memory from 2009 up to last month,” the nurse’s words went in his ears and out. it’s of him.

 all his own memories flashed through his mind.

 the memories of every kisses, hugs, the late nights and the earliest of days, the coffees, the spilled paints. memories of every tear he ever wiped and for ever meals she had ever cooked. memories of all the paints of him that she had gifted to him and every night she drove down his streets. for every missed calls and unread texts. the way she touched him and the way she made him felt. he felt suffocated.

 how could he ever love someone else?

 “everything is accordingly. you may press the start, doctor.”

 he looked at the flashing button and back to her. she was looking right at him. she might not see him, but she is looking straight at him and she looked so beautiful. a small smile appeared on her lips as her fingers fidgeted nervously. he felt tears prickling his eyes. his fingers brushed against the button and he slowly pressed it. 

 it took them 7 years to build this much of memories together and it took him 3 minutes to erase it clean from her mind.

 she was drowsy and she had tears running down her face. the nurses rushed in after the red light disappeared and green light beamed. the alarm rang. another memory successfully. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” he heard her from the opened door. shutting off the machine, he immediately rushed out for the door, feared that he might bumped into her and lost it. he hid his shaking hands in his pocket and gritted his teeth.

 “doctor?”

 he stopped. the world stopped spinning and he felt lightheaded. the way she called for him didn’t change, the tone and the pronunciation were the same. it was always melodious yet painful. he turned around to see her being wheelchaired out of the room by the nurse. her eyes were slightly red, and her nose were puffy. the nurse passed her a cup of water. she smiled politely, thanking her and took the cup in her hand. she took a sip, coughing at the coldness of the water down her dried throat. it’s the side effect of the procedure.

 “have we met before?” she asked, innocently.

 suna shook his head and smiled weakly, “no, we haven’t.” he turned to the nurse and nodded. before the nurse could ushered her away, she called him out again. 

 with a smile on her face, she waved goodbye, “see you, doctor?”

 “always.”

[perriewinklenerdie]

Yours. Mine. (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 4 k

Summary: Chapter 20 rewrite. Ethan and Claire share a night of passion, then define their relationship.

Warnings: NSFW

A/N: My two idiots are now officially dating. PB could never. 

He’s never felt this kind of hunger before. He couldn’t quite explain it, but the notion of even an inch of distance between them drove him mad.

His lips found hers in an instant after the decision to move to the bedroom was made. They were going to have endless occasions to make good use of every surface possible in his apartment, visible to the public way below them or not. But not tonight. Tonight, was about them.

Claire’s body fit against his like two pieces that were designed to be together. Layers of fabric between them interfered with the transmission of the warmth of their skin, but the way their lips moved against each other created enough heat between them to make up for any losses.

Her fingers lost themselves in the strands of his hair, brushing them back and pulling on them with slightly increasing strength. All the while, Ethan searched in blind desperation for the doorknob to his bedroom. Sighing in relief when he finally found it, he threw the door open, neglecting to close them after they entered the room.

His hands, now that they were free again, grabbed her hips to grant himself the leverage he needed to turn them both around, then push her onto his mattress. He stared at her for a little while, a feeling of pride and warmth spreading through his entire body as he watched her look up at him, spread on his bed with an inviting smile. Lowering himself on his arms, he leaned close enough to make their noses touch, teasing her with the promise of a kiss.

“Now you’ve got me all to yourself.” He muttered, grinning widely at how her eyes lit up because of his words. Claire hasn’t made a single move to change their current situation, observing him, amused.

“Just the way I like you. Though, there’s one small problem…” trailing off, she ran the back of her finger along the lapel of his jacket, sighing thoughtfully. “You’re still wearing clothes.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to help each other out. Don’t you think?”

Smugly, he smiled down at her, nodding his head before diving in to kiss her, every move of his lips against hers sending a spark of fire through her. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, making her even more responsive to his attention than usual.

With a steady hand, Claire reached for the button of his jacket, pushing the material out of the way as soon as it was made possible. Delicately, she brushed her palms over his arms, covered by the sleeves of his shirt, feeling the warmth and the strength of his muscles that were holding him up above her. Once she reached the buttons of his shirt, she didn’t waste even a second, working them hastily, searching hungrily for any patch of his skin she could touch.

As soon as that piece of clothing fell to the ground and Ethan’s arms weren’t constricted by it, he let his hands wander her body, all the lines and curves he had committed to his memory by now. Once he reached the hem of her dress, there was no hesitation in the way he quickly dragged it up her body and over her head, discarding it somewhere over his shoulder. The underlying feeling of voraciousness followed them everywhere they went that night and was present in every, even the smallest move they made. It was new for both of them; felt like something between them has changed, for better.

Claire’s hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it hastily and discarding it onto the growing pile of their clothes. His pants followed soon after; a choked gasp slipped past his lips when she brushed the growing bulge between his legs as she dragged the zipper down.

Their underwear came next, both of them rushing to expose each other’s bodies, staring shamelessly at every newly uncovered part. His fingers itched to touch her everywhere, but he knew that if he got started on that even a second early, he’d be a goner and it would all be over too soon.

Ethan leaned over her once again, his breath brushing against her neck as he spoke. “Claire, I need you.” he slowly moved himself up her body, kissing her cheek softly, then whispering against her skin. “Now.”

Reversing his previous movement, he descended towards her neck, sucking on her flesh there, then soothing it with his tongue. His lips skimmed over the rise and fall of her breasts, moving lower to focus on the soft line between her hipbones.

At the same time, his hand found its way to the apex of her thighs, brushing against the soft skin there before finding her clit and applying a steady rhythm of pushing and pulling away, increasing the pressure slightly every time. Her breaths were getting shorter, a clear indication that the bursts of energy rocked through her core, induced purely and singlehandedly by Ethan. It was at that moment that her mind threw an idea at her, making her sit up slowly, causing him to stop.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, concern coloring his words. Claire nodded her head, grinning as she stood up. He followed suit, running his hand up and down her arm as she explained what caused her to request a pause.

“More than okay.” A suggestive smirk on her lips was all the convincing he needed to silence his worried thoughts. She squeezed his arm, then took a few steps back towards the door. “I just thought this occasion deserved a little something extra. More specifically…” winking at him, she ran to the kitchen, fetching a can of whipped cream, shaking it as she came back into the bedroom. Swaying her hips to tease him, which worked like a charm every time.

“Whipped cream? What are you going to do with that, make us sundaes?” Ethan’s confusion gave its manifest when he eyed the can suspiciously, then melted away to make space for the affectionate banter they participated in more and more these days. “I already have a sugar high; you’re sweet.”

“Aren’t you adorable, too.” Claire laughed, pecking his chin softly, then danced her way around his body, Ethan turning towards her like the sunflower towards the sun.

Instead of telling him what the cream was for, she decided to just show him. With a mischievous grin, she sprayed a line down the middle of his chest, stopping it just below his belly button.

Watching him catch onto her line of thoughts was delightful. His face lit up in recognition, his lips curling into a smirk and eyes darkening at the vision of what his immediate future might hold.

“I think I get your meaning now.”

Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, giving him a gentle push to drive him up against the wall. Without saying a word, she kissed his neck, slowly making her way down towards the line of cream, following it thoroughly and painfully slowly. Almost like she was making him wait for it on purpose, which, for the record, she absolutely was.

When she, eventually, reached the end of the line, the anticipation was almost enough to make him come undone. Their eyes met, the dim light of the room making their irises appear even darker. With one final playful look, she pressed her lips to the tip of his length, the touch featherlight, but enough to evoke a surprised gasp from Ethan. Her tongue ran along the underside of it, teasing him with a series of sensations that made him gasp, but weren’t enough.

Ethan muttered her name like a prayer, watching her with intense eyes. The sound made her finally wrap her lips around him, moving down slowly. Inch by inch, she took him in, retreating and then going back, guided by the way his breathing faltered with every move of her tongue and every squeeze of her lips.

Her pace picked up, mirroring the way his hips started to move along with her mouth, his moans being carried through the entire apartment. Ethan’s fingers stroked her hair, a soft contrast of the two very different but connected emotions: desire and affection.

Feeling himself getting too close to the edge, he guided her away from him and onto her feet, picking up the can himself. Their eyes locked in a giddy stare, the lightness of being able to be together without a single worry adding another layer to the moment.

“My turn.”

Claire’s eyebrow shot up in surprise and she was about to say something, but she never got the chance. Ethan sprayed a bit of whipped cream onto his index finger, then pressed the tip of it to her lips, nodding for her to open her mouth. She defied him playfully, pressing her lips together tightly and shaking her head.

Seeing as he was going to use a different mean of persuasion, he leaned towards her ear, whispering hotly. “Open your mouth, Claire.” He bit her earlobe, then kissed her right below her jaw. That seemed to do the trick; she flashed him a wide grin, then loosened up the muscles of her face, allowing him to push his finger into her mouth gently. “Ah-ah.” He shook his head when she bit his finger teasingly, a wide grin displayed on both of their faces. “No arguments.”

Nodding, she wrapped her lips around his digit, sucking on it gently before letting it go, all without breaking eye contact with him. The act had a bigger impact on him that she could have expected, causing him to spin them around, pressing her against the wall with his entire body, his lips hanging over hers.

She stole one kiss from him after the other, getting drunk on the taste of him, utilizing every moment she had while he strategically planned where to put the whipped cream on her body. He pressed his finger to her lips when he made up his mind, taking half a step backwards to give himself enough space to make his idea come to life.

The first contact with the cream caused her to gasp, the cool sensation sending an unexpected spark down her spine. The line didn’t follow any specific path, except for the parts in which it bordered with her nipples, giving her a hint regarding his plan.

It seemed like a payback of some sort. Ethan followed the trace he left at an even slower pace than she did when the roles were reversed, paying attention to every part of her skin he stumbled upon. When he reached her nipple, he licked the cream right off, then took the sensitive flesh into his mouth, sucking and biting softly, giving it all the attention he didn’t give when he first kissed her body that night. Moving towards the other breast, he repeated the action, rolling the neglected one between his fingers to stimulate her further.

The sensory overload wiped her mind clear, leaving nothing else than what she was feeling and experiencing right in that moment. She waited just until he licked the last drop off her body, then gripped his head and pulled him all the way up to make their lips meet in a deep kiss. Ethan hummed deeply, falling into her arms and kissing her back with just as much fervor.

Claire’s hand trailed down between their bodies, gripping his length with her fingers and moving them slowly. “I need you.” she paused, squeezing him a bit tighter, echoing his own words from just minutes ago. “Now.”

She could feel his smile more than she could see it, with both of them occupied in a longing kiss. He guided her back to the bed gently, maneuvering them both while holding onto her hips. Delicately, he helped her lie down on the mattress, climbing in right after her. He threw one leg over her hips, straddling her to keep them both in place. With light touches, he traced the lines of her waist, looking down at her and waiting for her to say what she wanted.

Sitting up as much as she could, she stroked his broad shoulders, then continued up towards his face, gripping it between her hands and pulling him closer. “Don’t hold back.” She spoke clearly to get her message across, then leaned back against the bed again, sliding her palms down his chest, smirking suggestively. “Get rough.”

His breath caught in his throat; if he were standing up, he was positive his knees would give out from underneath him. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to control myself this long.” he muttered, already leaning down to grant himself access to her upper body.

Ethan brushed his teeth against her collarbone, testing the waters, before nipping at the soft flesh of her neck, pulling a surprised breath out of her. Her hands wandered towards his hips, trailing off towards his sides from time to time.

“Now that I can finally let go…” he continued, breaking the sentence off in the middle again. He bit down, sinking his teeth into her harder, with force that wasn’t enough to cause any harm, but was just right, making her gasp for air at the delicious sensation. Creating such a stark contrast, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. The sound she made caused him to halt and lean back slightly to look into her eyes. “Too much?”

“Not enough.”

Smiling down at her, he went back to his previously occupied spot, continuing his path along the side of her neck. His teeth bit and pulled on her skin, sending short sparks of pain through her, only for the pleasure of his kisses to follow, soothing the skin with his tongue.

“Yes…” her moans were like a road map for him, telling him just how much strength to use and just how much pressure to apply to make her say his name again. She pressed her hand to the base of his neck, pulling him closer to her, and bent her legs, her lower body rising off the bed, brushing against his. The gasp that left Ethan’s mouth was like music to her ears.

That’s how they found their balance. His every bite made her hips snap up to meet his, making them both moan, much louder than they usually did. Everything felt magnified, as though they both felt like a significant change was coming, and every touch, every kiss, felt groundbreaking.

“Ethan.” Claire muttered, squeezing his neck slightly. He leaned back, his eyes taking her in hungrily. Her nod was all she needed to do, kicking them both into the higher gear.

He caught the wrist of her unoccupied hand, pressing it against the bed and holding it there. His other hand disappeared between them, guiding himself to her. Eyes locked with hers, he entered her in a swift motion, catching her gasp with a heated kiss.

Wasting no time, he stared moving, searching for the rhythm they both desired. His thrusts were precise and gaining strength, his hand holding onto hers tightly. The buildup made them impatient, neither of them willing to wait for things to escalate on their own.

“Fuck…” he growled when she sank her nails into the skin of his neck, pushing him down against her, the kiss getting rougher. Pleasure and pain were mixing into an intoxicating concoction, blinding them both with its intensity.

Their pace picked up significantly, pushing them both further towards the point of no return. The more he gave, the more she took, digging her nails even further into his skin and dragging them down to his shoulder blades, leaving scratches that would without a doubt take days to heal. A satisfied groan the sensation elicited from him told her he wouldn’t mind wearing her marks.

Ethan’s thrusts gained speed, their bodies overtaken by shivers that each spark of ecstasy initiated. Claire writhed beneath him, biting her lip softly at the heavenly feel of him against her. Each move they made sent waves of heat through her, the intensity making her feel lightheaded.

“Claire…” Ethan panted, dropping his head to hide his face in her neck. “Yes…” a long moan of his rang in the room when she wrapped her leg around him, pushing him into her even further. Determined to hear him cry out, she waited for the right moment, then squeezed her inner muscles, making him stumble and fall into her arms momentarily. “Yes!”

Any remaining thoughts either of them had, had vanished. The intensity had them both in its vice-like grip, like never before, their nerve endings receiving so much stimulation that the sparks might as well have been literal.

“Ethan, I… I’m…” Claire gasped, grinning as she looked up at him, waiting for him to look down at her again. The indication in her voice was clear; Ethan got the message without missing a beat, going back up to face her fully.

Chasing release with wild abandonment and needing to hold onto something, he grabbed her other hand, pinning it to the bed, their hands now locked on either side of her head.

“Give it to me, Claire.” His thrusts pressed her deeper into the mattress, the speed and strength of them being the final push she needed to reach her high, crying out his name and letting the air carry it through the empty space of the apartment. Like a tidal wave, it washed over her, never receding, but pushing her further, each lick of flame magnifying the last one.

Desperate to release the built-up tension, Ethan continuously snapped his hips against hers, panting heavily at the feeling of her giving him one squeeze after the other. Claire pressed her lips to his, moaning breathlessly in between kisses, while maintaining the rhythm of her thrusts to push him over the edge.

“Make that sound again.”

“Feel it.”

“Come for me, Ethan.”

Choking on air, he finally reached the peak, moaning her name and shaking in her arms as the climax rocked his body. Holding onto her hands, he rode out the last bits of the mind-blowing ecstasy, then he fell onto her, releasing his hold on her wrists and wrapping his arms around her middle to pull her closer.

It took them solid few minutes to catch their breath, their bodies still sensitive from the overload of stimulation. They somehow managed to get themselves under the covers, his hold on her still as secure as ever. Claire’s head was resting on his pillow, eyes focused on the ceiling as the details of what they just did replayed in her mind.

“That was incredible.” Ethan laughed, turning to look at her. He heard her giggle, his eyes founding hers when she twisted in his embrace and touched her forehead to his.

“You’re incredible.” Leaning down just a fraction, she brushed her lips against his before retreating to look at him again. Her face was gently illuminated by the faint lights of his bedroom, but he still could make out the expression of utter happiness and a bit of disbelief that was displayed on it. “I can’t believe I get to do what we just did whenever I want.”

Ethan hummed, tightening his hold on her waist. He had trouble believing it himself if he was being honest. Long gone were the days in which he had to restrain his need for her; he could be with her openly now, for as long as they’d like, doing whatever they’d like. The idea used to be just a mere fantasy of his that he often revisited in his dreams but was almost certain he’d never get to experience in real life. Now that it was his reality, he couldn’t start living it soon enough.

“It takes a little while for it to sink in, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think it has, yet.” Grinning, she climbed up his body to press a lingering kiss upon his lips that gained intensity faster than either of them expected. “And on that note, I think it’s time for round two.”

“Mad with power, are we?” he teased her, biting down a low moan that almost slipped out of his lips when she pressed her hips to his in a suggestive manner.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want more of what we just had.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile, kissing her again and pushing her onto her back for the third time that evening. Before her hand could travel anywhere, he muttered against her lips.

“I always want more of you.”

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

Four hours and a few more rounds later, they were sitting on the edge of the bed in a dark room. Lights were turned off, the only source of it being the moon that kept on disappearing and reappearing from behind the clouds.

Her frame was covered by his shirt, hanging loosely off her shoulders, leaving not much to his imagination. Well, he didn’t need his imagination to know just what the fabric he owned was covering, but the view was to die for.

Ethan extended his hand to her, pulling them both up and towards the window, overlooking the bay. He guided her to stand in front of him, his arms wrapping around her waist, hugging her from behind.

“So many people live here.” He muttered, his words muffled by her hair. Claire hummed, leaning back against him. “And yet you’re here with me.”

“What are the odds, huh?” she teased, turning around to face him. Fully expecting to see the smile on his face, she was surprised to see the serious expression instead. The moon reflected in his eyes, giving them a softer tone.

“I want you all to myself.” Ethan whispered, his hands stroking her back softly. Claire felt another witty remark at the front of her mind, but judging from the look he was giving her, she knew that’s not what he meant. With a nod, she responded, the corners of her mouth rising slightly.

“I’d like that too.”

Some tension left Ethan’s body, but he was far from considering himself relaxed. It was the moment of truth for him; something he’s been wanting to say for weeks now but could never find a proper occasion to do so. Leaning his head a bit further down, he looked deeply into her eyes.

“I want to be your partner.” He held his breath, giving her time for any sort of reaction. She didn’t push him back, didn’t reject him, just looked up at him with shining eyes, full of trust. “For me to be only yours. And for you to be only mine.”

Claire’s eyes stung with unshed tears that wouldn’t remain unshed much longer. The warmth that spread in her chest was enough to provide heat for the whole city; that’s how much she adored him. Her mind felt fuzzy with emotions, throwing a million of thoughts at her.

Ethan held his breath as he waited for her to say something, focusing on the way the bright light of the moon brought out the contours of her face. He wanted it; for everyone to know, officially and without a shadow of a doubt, that they were each other’s. He’s never seen a smile more beautiful than the one she was giving him in that moment.

“There’s nothing I want more.” She nodded, throwing her arms around him, and pulling him into a tight hug, hiding her face in his neck. From this day forward, they were officially together. They were going to be okay.

Notes

In my mind, that’s how OH2 ends. That’s the only ‘we’re going to be alright’ I accept. It’s been a ride, let’s hope OH3 is a roller coaster that will snatch our collective wig.

Denise, think the balance is still in place? :D

Tag list (I):  @paleweasels | @kittykatchoices | @valiantlychaoticbarbarian | @usuallyamazinglyaverage | @awhmilkywey | @cordoniaqueensworld | @princess-geek | @faithhasnowords | @mightyfangirlofthefandoms | @drakewalkerfantasy | @jamespotterthefirst | @timmagicktoad | @laceandlula | @greywitchyshots​ | @llamasgrl​ |  @gingerjane15​ | @marywrites-things​ | @ethanplaysfavorites​ | @mfackenthal​ | @betelgeusebee​ | @simsvetements​ | @owleyes374​ | @aworldoffandoms​ | @l822​ | @cream-ray​ | @silverlitskies​ | @justendlesssummerfeels​ | @togetherwearerapture​ | @desmaranj​ | @edgiestwinter​ | @friedherringclodthing | @waytooattuned​ | @choicesgremlin​ | @lapisreviewsstuff​ | @writerapprentice​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @x-kyne-x​ | @thisperfectmemory​ | @drakewalker04​ | @rookie-ramsey​ | @jlynn12273​ | @thepinknymph​ |  @dr-brianna-casey-valentine​ | @a-i-n-a-a-s-h | @justanotherrookie​ |  @mvalentine​ | @starrystarrytrouble​ | @akshara16​ |  @maurine07​ | @natzz-blog1​

[hisunshiine]

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜? |𝕛.𝕛𝕜|

♡ 𝘣𝘰𝘹𝘦𝘳!𝘫𝘫𝘬 𝘹 𝘧𝘢𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

♡ 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦

You stood at the edge of the black matted square, hands framing your mouth as you screamed at your favorite fighter. 

“You got it, JK!”

The sound of the end of the round bell signaled, but not before your favorite competitor was able to land a blow on his opponent and shuffle backwards out of the way and over to his corner. Your eyes followed him, pupils dilating as you took in his state. 

Round 5 of the 12 had left Jeon Jungkook covered in sweat, a small bruise forming on his cheek, and the tiniest trickle of blood spilling from a cut above his eye. A blink later and the blood is gone, wiped away by his trainer, Min Yoongi. You are barely able to make out the words that he’s saying to him, and Jungkook’s eyes are staring daggers at the other guy, a new competitor to the scene hailing from Seoul. 

“Take this one home for Busan, baby!” A gaggle of women dressed in scantily clad dresses were seated behind you, cheering loudly as the boxers made their way back into the center of the ring. Illegal fights like this always drew in the most random of spectators, who are usually dragged along by their wealthy, crime-inclined dates. You yourself first got into the scene from an ex-boyfriend who brought you to a fight one night, and though the ex is long gone, you kept coming. 

It was the thrill of seeing Jeon Jungkook fight that brought you back each time. You can’t forget the first time you saw him, walking into the ring with the body of a greek god and a face that you could take home to mom. 

He smiled a scrunched nose smile at something the trainer said, but once it was time for him to put in his mouth guard and face his opponent, his face transformed and the fierce competitor you were now watching step back into the center of the ring appeared. 

He scanned the crowd briefly as the other boxer finished up getting cleaned up and his eyes made contact with yours briefly. It was but the slightest moment, but you felt your body light up just from that glance. 

As the next round began, Jungkook began to move, his footwork exceptional as he maintained distance between himself and the other guy, who you realized was Park SeoJoon, from Seoul’s underground scene. 

He had a reputation for not fighting fair, but you knew your fighter; Jungkook could take him.

As an out-fighter, Jungkook relied on his reflexes and quick footwork to wear down his adversary, utilizing jabs to earn his points. From your time watching him, you knew he had exceptional finesse as he moved across the matted floor, and tonight was no different. Seojoon appeared tired, as Jungkook had landed some really good jabs on him in moments of weakness, and you could feel it in the air; this round would be the last.

You watched as Seojoon stepped in to throw a punch, which Jungkook dodged at the last second, feinting right before coming in to the left with a swinging arm that met Seojoon’s unblocked face. His head snapped back, the force of his own misthrown punch sending him meeting Jungkook’s gloved fist and knocking him out swiftly before he even hit the mat.

Jungkook’s still bouncing on his toes, adrenaline racing as the ref steps forward to declare him the winner. Again his eyes meet yours as he spits out his mouth guard and his smile lights up the entire room. 

You decide then and there you want to congratulate him. Afterall he is the Boxing Prince of Busan.

-

You walk into the locker room, no one stopping you as you roam down the hallway towards the back. You can see there are multiple doors, one of them propped open by a gym bag. A pink haired, shirtless guy walks out of the room, sucking down a gatorade, but at the sight of you he pauses, eyes roaming your body. A blue haired guy joined the first. 

“Looking for someone sweetheart?”

The endearment was teasing and his voice a deep baritone. You were shocked by how handsome all the men in the gym seemed to be.

“Um, yea… where can I find Jeon.. um, Jeon Jungkook?”

The two exchanged a glance, smirking as they both turned to look back at the door they had just walked out of.

“He’s in there. Came to congratulate that rascal?” The pink haired one asks you, his tenor a soft musical lilt with a Busan satoori accent. 

You nod, unsure of where the confidence had come from when you had first walked into the dim locker room, and wondering where it had scampered off too when you were approached by the two colorful haired men.

“We’ll leave you to it then..” The pink haired one saluted you as he walked to a nearby bench you hadn’t noticed, reaching into the bag atop of it and pulling out a shirt. You walked towards the door, heart racing as you knocked to get the attention of the half dressed winner of tonight’s fight.

“I’ll be there in a minute--” Jungkook’s voice fades as he turns to the door, expecting to see his manager, but instead sees you.

“Hey.. You’re the girl at every fight..”

“Congratulations, Jeon Jungkook.”

He smiles at you, eyes darkening slightly at the tone as you step into the room. You slide the bag from propping the door, shutting it quietly before leaning your back onto it. Eyeing him, you take in the freshly showered look of his hair, the shorts that go a little past his knees and the crewneck he has thrown over his head. It’s resting against his shoulders, showcasing his chest and torso to you. 

“Thank you...?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He repeats, and you feel the rush of heat straight to your core. His voice is in between the other two men you talked to, a tenor like the pink one but a deeper tone to it like the blue one, a melodious mixture that showcased the satoori of his Busan background.

“So what brings you back here?” he asks, abandoning his duffel bag and approaching you. From this close, you can see the slight bruising of his face and the tape holding together his split head. 

“Oh, you know, wanted to finally congratulate you in person.”

“Mmm, and what kind of congratulations did you have in mind?”

He’s close, arms leaning against the door and caging you in as you look up at him.

“Something similar to last time?” 

A glint flashes in his eye, and your boyfriend giggles before capturing your lips with his. Oh he enjoyed this little game of yours, sneaking into the locker room after matches and pretending like you were a groupie so thirsty for him that you had to have him right then. It reminds him of the first time he had you, when you had arrived at one of his first fights with some other guy on your arm and left with Jungkook instead. 

He pushes you firmly against the door, hips grinding into you as your hands grip at his shoulder blades, clutching him closer to you.

“Mmf… feel you...” You lift one leg, allowing him to slot himself between your thighs and his hardening length is flush against your mound. His hand reaches underneath the raised leg to provide you with balance, and gives him leverage to roll his hips with precision. You’re whining; you want more, you want him to fuck you hard before he takes you home and fucks you again.

“Such a needy baby, aren't you?” he asks, not expecting an answer. You nod anyways as his lips move to your neck, his hand moving to your shorts and expertly undoing the button and zipper on them. You drop your leg, and inwardly you pout at the loss of direct contact and friction, but he’s quick to drop your shorts to the floor, his hand seeking the warmth of his favorite place between your thighs. 

“Ahh, right there... ” his fingers rub in circles around your clit, slathering your own slick around until he takes 2 fingers and dips them inside of you. You mewl, adjusting to the intrusion but soon you’re rolling your hips, riding his fingers as his palm brushes your clit with each thrust. 

“Koo...” you moan his name, and he bites down on your neck, a slight sting of pain before he plants open mouthed, wet kisses down along your shoulder. It’s not long before you're falling apart in his hands, the first of many orgasms he lays claim to. 

Removing his fingers, he sucks them into his mouth, a lewd slurping sound before he removes them with a pop.His hands then grip your hips as he spins you, putting your face first into the door. You can hear the rustling of his shorts and then he’s pulling your hips out slightly as his feet nudge your legs further apart.  

“Please,” you beg him, and it’s not long before he complies, his bent knees allowing him to position himself and swiftly enter you as he stands to his full height. His cock is throbbing; he had been waiting for this moment of ecstasy when he would be able to enter you. Your walls grip him tightly despite him already having prepared you for his well-endowed length, and he fights the urge to jack rabbit into you, allowing you feel every inch of him as he slides himself out of you before he pistons back inside. The door rattles underneath your body as he thrusts up into you, barely hiding the breathy moans that escape your parted lips. Jungkook has worked up a sweat again, his bare chest flush to your back as he pushes deep into you and stays still, lips kissing along the back of your neck.

You roll your hips in circles, allowing him to feel the way you whine your hips so he can feel every inch of your pulsing cunt. He moans, and the dulcet tone of his voice has you clamping down onto him hard.You reach back, your hand in his hair as he breathes quiet sounds into your ear, whispering naughty words of encouragement as he begins to move again, despite your best efforts to hold him still inside of you. 

“This pussy’s mine, yeah?”

“Mmhhhmm.”

“Say it.”

“It’s, fuck, it’s yours baby, it’s all yours.”

His hips slam into your perked up ass, and his hands grip your hips now as he speeds up, leaning off of your back as he angles himself so that he can go faster. Again, your senses are overwhelmed as he sends you to climax, the sporadic throb of your walls as they gush around him has him following you. 

At the onset of his release, he spanks you, enjoying the way you squeeze around him, helping to milk his thick arousal as it spills in spurts to fill you. He pulls out, turning you gently to lean against the door once more, where he can sink his teeth into you bottom lip before kissing you tenderly. He cradles your cheeks in his large hands, enjoying the whimpering sigh you let out from his caress. 

“Let’s get you home, baby.” His voice is near a whisper, and you nod, spent.

“When we get home, I’m gonna take care of you again, okay baby?”

“I don’t know if I can go anymore… this might be the second knockout you got for the night.”

He chuckles at your joke.

“C’mon baby, I only got to do half of my rounds tonight.. I need at least 4 more out of you.”

[eleanorbloom]

Skeptical (w/ Tobias Carrick)

Book: OH: TY. Characters: Eleanor Bloom (MC), Tobias Carrick, Aurora Emery, and Bryce Lahela (briefly). Summary: Eleanor confronts Tobias about Aurora. Rewrite of Book 3, Ch. 9.

Word Count: 2.1k Rate/Warnings: Teen, few curse words.

A/N: Hello! I'm bringing something different than usual. PB has been doing like Tobias never used Aurora, like he never hurt my friend (and LI too) and personally, I can't stand it. So here's my take about it. I wrote it with Eleanor instead of Rosalía because in Rosalía's universe Aurora never tranfers to Mass Kenmore.

Hope you like it!

Taglist: @romereadingshop @starrystarrytrouble @penda-bear @queenelianar @julia-highstorms @mercury84choices @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations I'm using my Aurora x Rosalía taglist because I thought you might be interested in reading this. Feel free to ignore it if only want to read romance lol

_________

Eleanor furrowed her lips as she was listening to Tobias telling his side of the story with Ethan.

When Tobias joined the Diagnostic Team, she was very dubious about everything that involved him. She didn't know him enough but the few things she knew about weren't good.

His blatant competitive attitude, the feud with Ethan, the fact that he was hired by Leland without consulting Ethan. All those signs telling her she shouldn’t trust Tobias.

But once she got to know him better, her image of him started to change. He wasn't the insufferable he was the first day, he was actually charismatic and rather funny. Easy going once she knew him past his competitive attitude, and she had learned a lot with him even if Tobias wasn't the type of Doctor she would normally admire. His values were totally opposed to hers, as she learned with Francis' case.

But still, something was stopping her from actually trusting him.

She did believe he was sorry for the stupid, childish attitude he had with Ethan, and seemed to be acting according to that, trying to make up for his mistakes.

He deserved a second chance.

But her skepticism had nothing to do with the Diagnostics Team or Ethan.

It was about Aurora.

“What is it? You don't believe me?” Tobias asked when Eleanor hadn't said a word since he finished his story. Trying to hide his concern, he gave her a mischievous smirk.

Eleanor didn’t know what to say.

It was hard to believe he wasn’t the same person who sabotaged his own friend when last year he used a person to get what he wanted. He hired Aurora to entice Harper to work in Mass Kenmore.

He hurt her friend, even unknowingly. And Eleanor couldn’t forget that or just get past that.

“Why do you say that?” Eleanor asked, trying to conceal her skepticism, but there was no use. She had always been too transparent with her emotions, and this time wouldn't be the exception.

“Well, you don’t look too convinced with what I told you.”

He was right. She wasn’t.

Eleanor sighed. Should she tell him? It wasn't her problem to tell, it was Aurora's, and knowing her, she would never confront Tobias about it. She barely had confronted her Aunt because they were family, but in no way she would face the umpteenth person that used her to get to Harper Emery.

“Come on, we're among friends here. I confided in you really top secret stuff, Elle.”

Eleanor grimaced at the sound of that name on his lips.

"I prefer Ellie if you don't mind. The only person that calls me Elle is my partner."

Tobias' hazel eyes widened in surprise for a brief second, “Sure, sure, my bad. Ellie it is.”

Eleanor nodded.

“So? Come on, be honest. I won’t get mad at you because you can’t believe I wanna mend up things with Ethan.”

“It’s not that. This is not about Ethan.”

“Then what is this about?”

Eleanor pondered her words. What was the best way to approach this?

“I believe you regret what you did to Ethan, but it's hard to tell you have changed since that.”

His brows knitted in curiosity, but for a brief second, embarrassment flashed features, “Okay, that's fair. Can I ask what makes you believe that?”

Eleanor wasn't particularly a confrontational person. Only when a person pressed her buttons she would actually confront that said person. And Tobias hadn't pressed any buttons, but the chance that they would have this kind of conversation in the future was extremely low. And she really needed to tell him that, in order to have a more amicable relationship with him.

“The fact that you used a person to get what you want.”

Tobias frowned, “Eleanor, what are you talking about?”

He was incredulous. And oblivious. Apparently, he had no idea where she was going with that accusation.

“You used Aurora to get Harper to work in Mass Kenmore,” Eleanor said, and Tobias' face disfigured instantly, “You didn't hire Aurora because she was a good doctor, but because she was Harper Emery's niece.”

“How did you know?”

“When you went to pick up some stuff after the Solomon Kenmore partnership, Aurora and I heard the discussion you had with Harper.”

Tobias winced in earnest regret.

"You seem like a decent person now that I know you, but even if your mistake with Ethan was years ago, what you did with Aurora is as much condemnable as what you did to him, and this happened just last year."

As Tobias remained silent, she continued.

“That's why I can't believe you. I just… can't stand people who use other people. And it's worse if you used my friend.”

“You're right,” it was the only thing he could say.

“Do you have any idea what is like living under the shadow of Harper Emery?” Now that she had opened her mouth, she couldn't stop. “Aurora has struggled her whole life with that, and transfer to Mass Kenmore was the opportunity to escape that. She deserves the spotlight, that people value her for her work, for her brilliance, and not for her family name. But it turned out, it wasn't because you believed she was good. You actually didn't give a fuck about her as long as you get what you wanted.”

Tobias gave her a pained look, “Aurora is a brilliant doctor, an outstanding resident. It didn't take her long to become the best resident in Mass Ken, and I know she'll achieve great things after finishing her residency.”

“But you found out that after. You only saw her as your mean to get Harper. And that's wrong. I'm sorry, but I can't act like this never happened. You used my friend, you made her doubt about her worth. I can't forget that.”

“You're right, Eleanor. But she should've never found out...”

“That's not the point! Or it is, actually. You did it knowing it was wrong. It doesn't matter if she finds out or not. You used a person and that was wrong. And if you're really trying to grow up from that 'blatant competitive' attitude, the first thing you should stop doing is using people.”

Tobias averted her eyes for a few moments, processing her words, concealing the shame.

He never thought their conversation would turn out like this.

“Well, what can I say? You're right in feeling that way about me, Eleanor, so I won't try to change your mind when it's clear that the wrong is on me. ”

“I've been very tempted to like you, but I can't like the person who hurt my friend. Hypocrisy doesn't work for me.”

Tobias shook his head, amazed, “You're something else, Eleanor. I wish I was lucky enough to have a friend like you, firm in your values and loyal.”

"You were lucky enough to have it, Tobias, but you betrayed him. Ethan is a loyal friend, and true to his values to a fault. And probably you know that better than me."

Tobias gave her a sad smile. Eleanor could swear there was melancholy in his eyes.

“Thank you for your honesty, Eleanor. I really appreciate that. I'm gonna learn a lot with you.”

Eleanor blushed, incredulous. He was being sincere or he was just schmoozing?

Only time would tell.

*

The cafeteria was quiet at that time of the night. Perfect place to study. Bryce had been interrogating Eleanor for the past thirty minutes in his interest to help her study for the boards, making knowledge questions as well as practical cases he had found on the web.

"Okay, we have this 2-year-old boy, his mother found him unconscious…" He started reading on Eleanor's tablet, but suddenly stopped as he saw Aurora approaching their table, "Hey Aurora! Coming to join the midnight study session?"

“No, thanks, Bryce,” Aurora replied, giving him a tiny smile, “Would you mind…? I need to speak to Eleanor. ”

Bryce looked from Eleanor to Aurora for a second and then nodded, “Oh, sure! She's all yours. Well, to speak to her she's all yours, we all know she's mine.”

“Oh my god, Goldie, just go!” Eleanor giggled, tilting her head as Bryce was leaning to kiss her.

“Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will, thank you, love.”

Once Bryce was out of sight, Eleanor turned to face Aurora, who was sitting across her with a serious expression on her face, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes.”

Aurora sighed, and after several seconds of silence, she finally spoke, “Tobias talked to me yesterday.”

Oh fuck.

Eleanor never thought Tobias would speak to Aurora about what happened in Grace's apartment, several days ago now.

“Okay…”

“He apologized for what happened with Aunt Harper. For hiring me knowing I was her niece. He was also sorry I had found out.”

Eleanor nodded, feeling a pang of fear inside her.

“At first, I was so mad at you, Eleanor. So mad. Because you had no right to tell Tobias how I felt. That I knew the truth. It was something deeply personal.”

“I know, I know, and I'm… ”

“Let me finish, Eleanor.”

Eleanor, completely pale, shut her mouth and made a gesture with her hand as if she was fastening her mouth like a zipper.

“I was mad because I would never recognize in front of him how bad it hurt me his… scheme. That's why I never confronted in the first place.”

Aurora looked down at her hands, as if she was focusing on reliving those feelings.

Eleanor was rigid and terrified. She had betrayed her trust and who knew how much time it would take her to be forgiven for that, considering the story they had.

"But after a while I realized … I never knew how much I needed an apology until it happened."

Eleanor looked at Aurora, agape.

"Tobias told me he would've never realized how wrong was that if you hadn't told him. And when he thought about the pain he might have caused, he regretted doing it. He was sorry he made me believe I was just Harper Emery's niece when I'm much more than that."

Eleanor shook her head, regret washing over her features.

“Aurora I'm truly sorry for what I did. I knew at that moment it wasn't my business to tell him what had happened, but I couldn't act like everything was fine with him. He needed to face what was wrong, but it wasn't my call, it was yours.”

“Yeah, but I would've never taken it, and you knew it. I would've never done it because I thought the only thing I needed was to get over it, and forgive myself for stupidly falling for his lie.”

Aurora bit her lip before giving Eleanor a humorless smile, “But it turns out I shouldn't be blaming myself for something I didn't do. He was the one who used me, it was his fault, not mine. So when he apologized, I realized that. And that would've happened if you hadn't intervened.”

“Aurora…”

“I've spent my whole life blaming myself for trusting people who used me, but I've never been the problem. They are. People have never cared. Never cared to sincerely befriend me and never cared to apologize when they used me. So when Tobias apologized… it felt so good, because it let me stop blaming myself for that. It's not my fault.”

“Of course not, Aurora. It's their fault. It's their fault not being able to see the amazing person you are, the brilliant doctor you are, and all the incredible things you can do and give. So fuck them. ”

Aurora chuckled, "Fuck them. Except for Tobias. He looked really sorry for what he did so maybe there's a chance for him in the end."

“Yeah. He's not that bad. But I couldn't let myself like him when he had been an ass with you. ”

“Thank you for calling him out, and for defending me. Though I beg you to please don't this again. At least talk to me before going in the whole protective mode, okay?”

Eleanor took Aurora's hands in hers, and gave her the first genuine smile of the night, bright and wide, “I promise.”

“Good, now let's call Bryce to resume your study session with a little friendly competition.”

“Oh? Competing against Aurora Emery again? You're on!”

_____

Thank you so much for reading!!!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Changbin Lyric Drabble #2

F/M Pairing: Changbin x Y/N

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: It’s mostly smut and they don’t use a condom (a big no). There’s also a language warning.

Lyric Prompt: “Your touch is magnetic ‘cause I can’t forget it”- Magnetic (Monsta X and Sebastian Yatra)

He was always the star, wherever he decided to go. A bright flame with shining embers. Beautiful, but dangerous. Impossible to catch because everyone wanted him, which meant nobody could have him.

I guess I was the rare exception. Unintentionally, of course. It happened when I wasn't expecting to be noticed at a party that declared me an outsider. But he didn’t seem to think so, dark eyes full of lethal seduction. 

It was his apartment and he had an impossible conviction. Afterwards, I left him alone and walked to my dormitory, still high from the effects of his touch and company. It became something of a habit, returning each Friday night to see him. We developed an intimate routine, and I was perfectly comfortable with him despite his popularity and gorgeous smile. 

Until things started to change, in subtle ways, and I decided that I didn’t want to see him anymore. But I never anticipated that he would passionately fight back, despite our reputations. He was never truly alone, attracting too much attention when he approached me one afternoon outside of my lecture. “Y/N,” he said. “You weren’t at the party.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, even as too many voices continued to surround the school’s athletic prodigy. “I was busy.”

“This Friday,” Changbin insisted. “I want you to come.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Why?”

My tone was eerily calm. “I can’t be there.”

“Well, let’s meet somewhere else,” Changbin said, oblivious to my indifference. “What are you doing now?”

“Homework.”

“Later,” he said, grabbing my wrist and carefully pulling me into one of the empty classrooms. His back was turned away from me, and I watched him lock the door. “You’re doing it on purpose,” he finally whispered. 

“No,” I lied again, but he had already started pushing me against the corner of the large, executive desk. 

“It means more to me,” he said. “I like you.”

I shivered, holding onto his shoulders for support. “The way it started-”

“That has nothing to do with what I feel,” Changbin interrupted. “Are you trying to hide from me?”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“Don’t touch me, then.”

Despite his command, my hands tightened into the sleeves of his t-shirt. “I can’t help it.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

I shook my head, dragging my nose against the skin of his collarbones. “Why can’t you stop?”

“I won’t leave you alone.”

He reached for my hands, forcing them down next to my sides. “What do you want?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he said, focusing the intensity of his gaze on my person. Oh, I think I understood. He was only interested in me, even while his fingers made quick work of the buttons on his expensive shirt. 

Underneath the silky fabric, he was muscle everywhere, even in the places where I would expect to see him soft. Thick, gorgeous tendons connecting beneath smooth, dark skin. He let it fall into the floor before skimming his fingers down his sculpted chest, teasing the pebbled peaks of his nipples and the distinct outline of abdominal lines forming small arches along his stomach. 

“Changbin,” I managed, saving myself from breaking down in front of him by grabbing onto the desk behind me.

“I like this,” he said, teasing the hem of my skirt. “But we don’t need it,” he continued, pulling the waistband of my skirt down to my ankles. “Y/N, don’t you think this is prettier?” he growled, snapping the delicate lace of my panties before holding my throbbing sex in his hand.

“Tell me what to do,” I nearly cried, losing every remaining shred of sanity to the dark sin of his eyes. 

“Turn around for me,” he said and I obeyed instantly, negating everything I said before, every action I took to avoid him between lectures. Instead, I let him position me to his satisfaction, bent over the desk with my panties collecting into a sad pile on top of my skirt on the floor. It was an unconscious decision to adjust my legs apart, spreading them wide to accommodate Changbin who stood in the open space where he could access everything. “Do you want my fingers first?” he asked and I whimpered pathetically in response.

One hand settled against my waist while the other brought his thumb in contact with my clitoris, rubbing generous circles before pushing down hard in response to the unexpected breaks in my breathing. Choked moans when it felt particularly exceptional, timid whines when he tried something different to test the full extent of my reactions. It was after he penetrated inside when my entire body started shaking, tears collecting at the corners of my eyes.

I knew he was testing me, fingers creating the most vulgar sound as they mimicked his cock moving at a desperate pace like he wanted me to cum in the middle of this empty classroom from foreplay alone. It was too fast...and he was looking at me...and the surface of the desk was cold against my heated skin. The sensations were paradoxical, but they came together beautifully to alleviate the rapidly building heat, a tight coil of burning desperation seeking a perfect release.

“What would feel better, sweetheart?” he asked.

The sound of his zipper was audible over the orchestra of noises he was conducting. “Your cock, Changbin. Please.”

I turned my head to the side, looking back to appraise the unforgettable image of his erection straining the fabric of his boxer shorts. I tried not to cry when he pulled himself from the uncomfortable confines of his underwear, stroking rapidly to bring himself to full arousal, teasing the tip where a delicate bead of pre-cum was gathering.

His cock was thick, fully erect as his hand pressed down against my lower back. My attention was returned to the classroom, and I looked at the geography map from across the room, following the complicated lines and points. It proved to be a necessary distraction when I felt him direct the tip of his cock around the place where I desired him the most. “I don’t have lube,” he warned me. “But I think you’re wet enough.”

I gripped the edges of the desk harshly between my hands. “Changbin,” I whispered because I could feel the slick that he was describing, everything sliding together so that I could feel him in an intimate position.

It was rugged when he pushed inside, and I fought to breathe around the heavy pressure at the back of my throat. “I missed you,” he said, fingers bruising the side of my hips as he started to advance faster, like it was a race and we were ahead of everyone else which meant he could also control the pace. He could make it gentle, coaxing the tip of his cock inside just to feel the way I instinctively tightened around him in response. Changbin might also make it rough, furiously heating my insides because of the friction as his cock dragged the delicate walls swallowing him over and over again. His movements were a contradiction of sensations, but they all contributed to the familiar pressure which I could feel at my core. A desperate build-up of pleasure and desire, begging for some kind of release.

At this point, he controlled everything, forcing me back onto his cock with an eagerness that I was graciously willing to entertain. My body was nothing more than his personal cock-warmer, and I squeezed my aching muscles around him whenever he held himself inside to feel everything deeper. Grinding in place because he sometimes liked to tease and I whined and cried for him in the way he liked to hear.

Everything was overwhelmingly scorching, stifling to the point where I couldn’t concentrate on anything else other than the feeling of his cock and the presence of his fingers on my skin. “Changbin,” I moaned when his hips slammed continuously against mine. My fingers ran over the place where we were completely connected because there was no space left between our bodies.

“Are you still hiding from me, Y/N?” he growled.

“I-I’m not,” I slurred, intoxicated by the power I felt in his bruising intensity. 

“Are you gonna cum?”

I nodded my head because he was fucking the words into an audible series of moans and heavy exhales. Meanwhile, one of his hands handled my thigh with a rough direction, forcing my leg higher just to nail his hips thunderously with an unrelenting series of sharp and punctual thrusts. I cried his name, feeling my eyes roll into the back of my skull when I finally came, rolling my swollen heat against the desk for more delicious friction.

My body melted against his ministrations, moving like a doll when he never stopped chasing his own orgasm. When it was finally over, I could feel him leaking down my trembling thighs. It was incredibly messy, but I can’t recall ever wanting anything more.

[pahsmina]

Wardrobe post 2021 part 1 - dresses (image and text heavy)

For years I have wanted to tag along the trend in the EGL community to make a wardrobe post. But I just never took the time and effort to go through with it. Perhaps it’s because I’m so used to writing about merchandise that I sometimes feel a little lost what to write when it comes to clothes? 

So let’s go 2021, let’s do this! 

In this post I will focus on dresses, so get ready for a lot of pictures, along with my endless ramblings. 🙏

Rabbit Circus by Zhijinyuan - Release unknown

Now this dress is a walking mystery for me, which most offbrand dresses often becomes for me. I first saw this on google image search while checking out different circus cords, and I fell in love with it instantly. 

However every site I managed to find it on seemed to be a bit shady, so I was a little bit cautious if I would end up with something similar to the stock photos of it, or a nightmare of cheap fabric. 

At the end I stumbled across it on a Japanese lolita store called Alice Doll, which seemed to be a reseller of some taobao dresses. The price was around 4000 yen, which made me think “at least it’s not a too good to be true deal” and placed an order. 

And I’m so glad I ended up ordering it! 

Yes the skirt part of the dress does feel a bit cheaper in the fabric than my other brand ones, but there is such a lovely attention to details in it! Plus I’m a big fan of the jacquard texture in the fabric. 

Jewelry Print Chiffon JSK by Alice and the Pirates - 2007

Being an adult means I can purchase old dream dresses I used to have as a teenager. And this is one of them!

Funny story, I used to own this print in another model and colour. But sold it because I mostly bought it as a compromise for not finding this specific model. 

So here I am, years later and owning that exact dream. It fits wonderfully, and the asymmetrical cut is even more beautiful in person. 

Sadly mine is missing the pearl chain in the front, so I replaced it with a navy coloured bow instead. 

Twinkle School Tartan JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2007

This feels like a piece of Swedish lolita history. 

Over the years I have seen several people in the community all over Sweden own this dress, and also bought it secondhand from a Swedish lolita. 

I wonder if this is the same dress that all those people have owned before, or if there are more Twinkle School Tartan jsks floating around here? 

Titel unknown by Mary Lolita -  Release unknown

I’m a really big fan of balloons, especially hot air ones. It’s just something about them that always makes me smile. 

So when I found this dress I immediately had to get it, despite not knowing too much about the brand. 

It’s easily one of my most comfortable dresses, and works perfect for more casual, yet colourful outfits. 

Miracle Rabbit by 由纪的八音盒 - 2020

My absolute favorite theme for lolita dresses are circus and rabbit prints, so I was overjoyed when I found out the existance about this dress. 

And not only that, I was quite lucky since it was sold out in almost every model, except my most desired cut, colour and size. A match made in heaven 🐰

Holy Night Story Switch JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2010

Another old dream dress of mine!

I bought this after my last breakup to cheer myself up a lil bit, but despite being purchased during such a sad time I never feel sadness whenever I look at it. 

Except for circus themes, I’m a huge sucker for anything reminding me of marching band outfits. And also rats, rats are very important too. (Yes they are probably mice but let a girl dream) 

My favorite detail on this one is that it’s missing one of the original buttons, and the owner before me replaced it with this crown button instead. I don’t know why, but I just find it super cute haha. 

Dot Jacquard Circus JSK by Innocent World - 2008

More circus dresses! 

I ended up loving this dress so much that I am actually on the hunt for the black one as well. 

Bertille OP by Mary Magdalena - 2009

Despite often dressing in OTT sweet lolita prints, this dress often makes me feel a little bit too overdressed sometimes? It’s just so elegant that I feel a little bit out of place sometimes haha. 

But I don’t have the heart in me to sell it, because when I do end up wearing it I just love the silhouette way too much to even consider parting with it. 

(I do have the bow for the front, I just forgot to dig it up from my accessory boxes) 

Dressing Up Bunny-Chan Corduroy JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2006

Time really has taken it’s toll on this dress. 

I love it to death, but it makes me a little sad to see how much the blue has faded to more of a grey colour. The zipper is also broken and have to be replaced.

Sadly it’s not a hyped enough old school dress to ever see a re-release. So I will continue to care for it till the day it finally gives up. 

...and then buy a new one , because boy oh boy, I love it so much. 

Sugary Carnival OP by Angelic Pretty - 2009 or 2011

I was SUPER lucky when I purchased this dress last year, even if it arrived to me in a condition that is unacceptable in my eyes. 

Always imagined myself buying the JSK version of this colourway, but I ended up liking the OP more than I thought. 

The fabric is quite faded over the years, and I’m a little bit worried it might not match too well with the 2020 re-release of the headbow, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. 

Tiara Rose Tiered JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2009

My very first Angelic Pretty dress, and it’s still with me. 

Originally purchased to wear to a wedding I was gonna attend, and kept ever since. 

Dreamy Dollhouse Switching JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2009

Another dress from my breakup phase. 

Purchased this while I was hospitalized as a “Bitch you’re gonna get though this”-gift to myself.

I was quite lucky with this find, since I managed to get the JSK and headbow in a set for 5000 yen. 

Frederick Party Picot Lace JSK by Innocent world - 2007

I used to own this skirt in pink many many years ago, but sold it when I was getting into figure collecting and desired money for that instead. Big regrets on my part, since I ever since then desperately wanted it back. 

Since then I have not managed to decide on which cut I desire for the pink one, but I was 100% about the blue one. And luckily that exact cut and colour is hanging safe and sound in my closet 💖

Milky-Chan the Fawn Ribbon JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2009

It’s kind of funny that for SC my plan was to get the JSK, but ended up with the OP instead. And it’s the complete opposite with my Milky-Chan. 

This is another dress that I might not use too much, but it’s mostly because I’m a big slob and terrified of spilling something on it. Plus it’s a nightmare to iron with the ribbons on the straps and the pearl details haha. 

Lyrical Party Going-out JSK by Angelic Pretty -  2011

My love for bunnies of course includes loving Lyrical Bunny. The design of this lil bun is just so cute and I can’t get enough of seeing it. I want to get more items such as accessories and novelties, but there’s always something that stops me from getting them. Like when they do pop up i’m out of cash for the moment, or sell out super fast. 

So I feel lucky to at least own the Lyrical Party JSK. At first I planned on getting this in lavender, but I’m quite happy I ended up with the pink one instead. 

Melty Chocolate High Waist JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2010

My pride and joy, my absolute dreamdress. 

I was on the hunt for this colourway for so long that it drove me crazy. It popped up secondhand on sites not quite perfect for my timezone, so it often sold out while I had been asleep. 

But a few days after Christmas in 2019 it finally showed up while I was still awake, and I purchased it with no hesitation. 

Sugary Carnival JSK by Angelic Pretty - 2021

Not yet in my wardrobe, but I want to mention it anyway. I can’t wait till October😭😭 

[pangtasias-atelier]

A Fat Winter Robin who can’t keep up with his faster teammates

It’s always really fun having semi FEH mechanics in kink stories so this was a blast to do. And a fat Robin is always a good Robin. 

Feel like I got a good mix of fat stuff and non fat stuff, so I hope you enjoy!!

______________

“I’m  *huff* almost there,” Taking large deep breaths, Robin lags far behind the rest of his teammates. 

This Robin summoned during the winter festivities, he had been a valuable asset to The Order Of Heroes immediately upon his summoning. But the strange effects of Askr and its summoner quickly left Robin with a larger waistline that seemed to grow with every passing day. Red winter coat replacing his usual one made him reminiscent of  the jolly old man, Robin’s white mop of hair had further accentuated the similar appearance. Losing his trim figure and gaining a hefty one, all Robin seemed to lack was a beard. 

Askr’s food positively delicious, Robin’s voracious appetite for it had only enabled in his growing width. The perfect holiday size with his red coat and pants, his bulging gut and thighs seemed perfectly matched with Santa’s. Requiring a larger wardrobe to emulate the holiday cheer, it had been granted to him, Robin’s hanging heft contained behind thick layers of clothes.

But Robin’s own desire for food left him pushing past Santa size and even further than that. Large clothes growing tight once more, soon even the tent like clothing wasn’t even enough to cover his entire expanse of fat. Yet despite his size, or perhaps because of it, Robin’s deployment in battle is an often occurrence. Swapped around constantly, every new team the vast and large Robin got paired with only garnered attention. And while his size was an impediment on his ability, it also greatly helped on the battlefield. And with each victory, Robin was happy to celebrate said victory, his gluttonous figure growing and showing his hedonistic tendencies as he gobbled and devoured whatever delicious meats and drinks Askr had to offer. 

Which leads to his current predicament, a predicament not exclusive of today and instead is indicative of his daily performance on the battlefield. 

A Tempest appearing and strengthening, Robin had been sent to help quell it. Alongside him had been the Eliwood wielding a lance, Lucina with her bow, and Ares with his sword. All three 

been beside him. Except unaffected at all by Askr, all three simply moved far faster than him. 

Nearing the end of the tempest, the room had been mostly composed of axe users. Ares taking the lead, he had simply charged through his trusty steed swiftly carrying him to each opponent before they could strike. The enemies fading away, Lucina and Eliwood simply followed behind, both ensuring no enemy would ambush them. The room cleared in record time, leaving the room is anything but.

Robin taking one unconfident meticulous slow step after the other, by the time the room was cleared, he had taken no more than ten steps. Face flushed, sweat drips down his round face, trails of it pouring past and around his engorged cheeks. Robin desperately sucks in whatever air he can get.  Wheezing, his state desperately shows his obvious lack of mobility. Arms forced at an angle from the bundle of fat occupied between his arm and chest, Robin even forgoes a spear entirely, his body too slow and bulky to make use of a weapon. Reverting back to magic, even said task is difficult, Robin’s heavy cheeks making him struggle to chant a spell with several pauses for air and wheezes in every line. Instead Robin is mostly there to take hits that the others cannot. Robin’s magic so innately potent, his ridiculous width accentuates it, Robin resistant to any magical attack without fear of damage. His swinging gut appears like that of a pendulum, the bottom half of it uncovered despite the circus tent for a shirt. His usual gray shirt vastly upsized, they reach past the sagging splayed piles of flesh for his breasts, and even cover his cavernous navel. Unable to lift his knees properly with so much fat limiting nearly all of his mobility, they scrape against each other in a desperate bid to keep moving, an exceedingly difficult task when all Robin begins to crave is to lie down and eat, his body and mind yearning to do so. His pants seem painted onto his figure, the broken button and zipper unnoticeable with his large overhang covering it. Seams showing as they rip and tear, sizeable portions of his flab seep out, Robin’s purple boxers underneath also visible. The leather of his boots so warped and stretched out, cracks form on them, Robin’s legs and cankles deforming them. His coat so overwhelmingly massive, the sheer amount of fabric needed for it alone had been staggering once others in the Order found out. If removed from Robin’s obese figure, the coat could be used as a massive carper for Askr’s Hall in the Order. And yet despite its obscene width, it seems to strangle and fight with Robin, the coat still too small for him. Fabric caught in every roll imaginable, the folds of it clearly envelop show off Robin’s size to everyone. Tire size love handles press against the soft red fabric. Four partitions of his stomach press against  the sides. Doughy fat saddled wings for arms sag the sleeves as all his fat bunches the fabric. The coat rests and dangles off of his ass, Robin’s massive personal two seater for an ass sagging down far behind him.

Forced to keep moving ,the ripples in his fat increase with each step, Robin’s body forever jiggling as he huffs and puffs to catch up. “So.... close,” Robin murmurs to himself, eyes downcast as he focuses on keeping his body moving. Only half way there, his own preoccupation with himself makes him not near his teammates.

“If we have to wait for the last room, I am-” Ares seethes under his breath, staring at Dark Mystletainn and then Robin. His horse whinnying, it flicks its tail as if mimicking its rider’s impatience. 

“Perhaps we should lend a hand?” Eliwood offers, concerningly staring at the way Robin seems ready to keel over, his wheezing sounding somehow more desperate than before. Without waiting for an answer, Eliwood steps off of his horse.

“I agree,” Lucina absentmindedly adds, already going to Robin’s side before Eliwood had even asked. 

Robin glancing up, his neck prohibits him from looking to the side as a pair of arms dig into his plush side. Eliwood on the right, he grabs Robin and slowly eases him with each step. Lucina on the left, she instead reaches lower, her hand grabbing a fatful of his ass. 

Speeding up the process, Robin’s breathing picks up, his wheezing stronger and harsher as Eliwood and Lucina force him at a faster pace. 

“Fast..” Robin wheezes out, not able to utter another word. Ares stares with a frown from the end of the room, annoyed at feeling like his team has a handicap.

The two making quick work, they both grab Robin by the arms as the reach the door. Both going through, their mouths open as Robin ends up jammed in the door, his frame far too wide for the frame. Robin struggling and groaning, all he accomplishes is shaking the numerous folds of his body, Robin wedging himself tighter. 

Ares stuck on the other side, he grits his teeth as he dismounts his horse. Counting, Robin’s titanic ass seemingly stares back at him. Getting a sprinting start, Ares slams into Robin. Sinking into him, Ares groans as he ends up pushed back, nearly falling to the floor. The doorway gaining a single creak, Ares blows his hair out of his face. Lucina and Eliwood grabbing Robin’s  hands, Ares goes once more. Crashing into him, Lucina’s and Eliwood’s help gets him unstuck, Robin almost coming crashing down. 

Ares picks himself off of the floor, and mounts his horse. Entering the next room, he glares at both of them “Never speak of this to anyone,” 

Both nod their head, Eliwood also grabbing his horse and mounting it.

Now finally reaching the last room of the tempest, a lone mage stands as their final enemy. Lewyn. The rest of the team groaning as Robin still attempts to catch his breath, they all stand behind Robin. Pushing him forward, his wide body provides the perfect shield to cover all three of them combined. 

Forseti no match, the effects of it cause no damage to Robin, though he’s too tired to even be appreciative of said fact. Instead Lewyn’s wind magic only cause Robin’s body to wobble and shake, his clothes fluttering in the wind.

All three struggling to move a resistant and tired Robin, the rushing winds crashing against the side of Robin alert them to their proximity. Eliwood the fastest of the bunch, he rushes forward, piercing the fake Lewyn who soon begins to fade away.

“At least he was useful for something,” Ares mutters, glancing at the still ever wheezing Robin. Lucina bites her tongue at the insult.

“Well, the tempest should disappear soon. I must admit, this is my first time in one,” 

“It’s Ares’ and mine first time as well,” 

“Not mine,” Robin frowns, or would if his fat saddles face didn’t prohibit him from frowning. Eliwood and Ares merely widen their eyes upon realizing Robin has done this before.

Smoke rising up from the building, all minus Robin are shocked as the area begins to disappear. Before they all know it,all four of them end up back outside the tempest, the stormy weather replaced with a calm sunny day.

“Now…” Robin sighs, glancing down. His neck rolls squish together. “to walk... back,” The tempest far away from the Order’s  home base, they only ended up outside the tempest.

“We have to walk all the way back to the Order!?” Ares ready to fight, Eliwood and Lucina go to placate him. 

A massive earthquake occurring, the trees shake and leaves fall, birds fly off in the distance as other animals scurry about. All three nearly panic before realizing it was merely their teammate falling to the floor on their ass, his body giving up and needing a break. A hole forming in the dirt where Robin sat, Lucina has Eliwood and Ares go to get the summoner, the magic of the contract able to easily move Robin.

Lucina waits patiently as the two of them storm off on their horses. Both out of sight, she smiles as she sinks into Robin’s stomach, finally glad for some alone time, already rubbing Robin’s stomach.

[fallingin-like]

november 21

push to talk by @alexjosten​ [requested by @nikothespoonklepto]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

this is a delightfully engaging fic based on the game firewatch that follows neil as he spends a summer as a fire lookout, isolated except for radio communication with andrew, a fire lookout in the adjacent sector of the park. this is such an intense, fun, beautiful, and humorous fic.

i remember enjoying this so much as it came out, eagerly awaiting each new chapter. you drew me in so easily and deeply that i watched a whole playthrough of this game. i can fully appreciate how well you were able to translate the plot, gameplay, interactions between characters, and the stunning visuals so so seamlessly and have it aftg so well.

some parts that stood out to me:

”dusk settles on the trees like clay powder, dusting the evergreens with a red tint” woah this is such a gorgeous way of starting off this fic.

”the moon extends her helping hand to guide him out into a clearing. here, neil can see. but also, he can be seen” i love these descriptions, and our introduction to neil. 

”he ignores his sleeping bag and the strict instructions to camp at nightfall and continue during the day” ah yes, Neil I Do What I Want Josten strikes again, with little regard for what people tell him to do

”if he’s not careful, the black dirt beneath his feet could bleed crimson. the exact combination of colours he came out here to avoid” this is stunning. i am immediately drawn into this fic, wanting to know what or who exactly neil is running from, and where he’s going

”buttermilk rays whisk the shadows of leaves into a dance on the forest floor beneath his feet” !! buttermilk?? somehow that works so so well

”the irony of calling it that in his head isn’t lost on him, and he vows to avoid that comparison again” what a subtle detail, but so telling! i am pretty bad with reading tags a lot of the time, so this was a great introduction to raven!neil

”it’s as exposing as it is freeing. he can’t feel trapped when he can see for miles every way he turns” wow it’s still so early in the fic, but you’ve already done an exceptional job at justifying neil choosing to come here, to escape.

foxtrot tower is such a cute name! i love that it’s not something directly taken from the books, this name seems to fit this au so well. i know that you likely had the game as reference for the tower, but i really liked the way you describe it, you were able to establish the same tone that exists in the game, but you did it through words instead of visuals and audio, something that really impresses me

”glad to hear you’re literate enough to have read the dossier” ohmygoodness ANDREW

”andrew’s tone is playful. neil thinks it might even be flirtatious, but he doesn’t care enough right now to find out” as much as i enjoy oblivious!neil, i appreciate that this version of neil is more aware, he seems more in tune with things around him. it fits better with this story, with the isolation and only communication being through the radio

”the sky slips into a more comfortable pink, the sun laying down to rest amongst the mountains” am i ever going to get over your descriptions of the environment? i don’t think so

of course neil goes for a run, basically right after doing a super intense two day hike in one day

”andrew sounds agitated” I LOVE THIS

oh dang, neil’s panic is so sudden, i’m so immersed that i immediately felt nervous too

”it’s our job to watch the horizon, neil. it’s not my fault you’re on mine” oh this is so good

”neil doesn’t believe in coincidences. he believes in traps and ill intentions, because that’s all his life has been until now”  it’s honestly amazing how quickly the atmosphere of this fic has turned to something a little bit darker, kind of scary. we know neil as a runner, but the idea of someone finding him so soon and trying to lure him out? gives me chills

“he doesn’t realise his hands are shaking until he struggles to press the push-to-talk button” PUSH TO TALK I AM SO FOND OF FICS THAT INCLUDE THE TITLE OF THE FIC IN THEIR FIC. also shaky hands are my kryptonite

”he also takes the cleaver from the kitchen counter” NEIL I- I AM SPEECHLESS

”a small sensible part of his brain tries to convince him that there are much easier ways to kill him than leading him out in the middle of nowhere, in a forest that he told nobody from his past life that he would be living in, where he uses a new name that nobody knows” !! good to hear that neil has a sensible part of his brain LOL

”but underestimating his enemies and their taste for dramatics would be a mistake” neil of all people does have a good reason for being paranoid. i love that you have this separated as a different paragraph, i read it differently because of it and i think that it adds more gravity to the sentence

”there, he finds a lipstick-red tent, zipper teeth yawning open to reveal two pink sleeping bag tongues” the imagery!!! incredible

”he feels like a walking timebomb” yeah i am definitely nervous for neil

”’girls don’t do it for you?’ andrew’s curiosity has a hopeful slant” OHMYGOODNESS ANDREW

”andrew’s voice is a firm, solid reassurance” bless andrew

”neil never thought he’d be relieved to meet someone who didn’t like exy” i also never thought that. neil you are a changed man

ooh the backstory to the fireworks is so good! i was also thinking it was a little out of character, but this is the perfect reason that renee would let it slide!

”the stars are withering in the purpling sky” i could cry because i love your writing so much

A MAN I AM FREAKING OUT. WHO IS HE

the easygoing banter between andrew and neil is so great, their conversation is interesting and flows really well

”he’s almost home” it amazes me and really shows something about this version of neil that he’s so quick to call this tower his home

”i know i needed to do this, but i am not sure i am ready to be so alone” woah break my heart why don’t you? this hits really close to home,, how dare you make me feel emotions

”i usually take a more straightforward approach” andrew never lies, but this is the truest thing he has ever said

”they’ll probably never meet, because neil intends on spending the rest of his summer without meeting another soul, andrew included” hmmm why do i have the sneaking suspicion that this will not be the case?

”neil’s not sure what grindr is but his face heats up all the same” this sentence is a MOOD (except i do know what grindr is)

”andrew’s response is sharp like a blade. ‘why? because one of the girls called you scarface?’ neil feels himself flinch” hhh i am secretly a very big fan of scenes that include neil’s scars, so you got me here

”andrew keeps neil company on the hour hike up to the north of his sector, but his usual commentary seems a bit strained today” uhH what’s going on, i’m getting scared

DID ANDREW BRING NEIL OVER JUST SO HE CAN SEE WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE? 

ohmygoodness, neil leaving andrew pictures and a sweatshirt? so so so cute

”he imagines the fear they felt when they saw him holding it wasn’t too unlike the fear that used to paralyse him when his father, or lola, would threaten him back home” woah this is good

i would bet that allison was the one to write that letter haha i can imagine that renee is likely kind of shaken by the incident, otherwise she might not have let allison leave it behind

andrew is such a good companion for neil, calming him both by his presence and by logically explaining what could have happened to the tent. he’s an anchor

”he feels like the cleaver he had attempted to defend himself with on his first day now carries a foreboding aura” YEAH I’M GETTING PRETTY NERVOUS TOO

WAIT NATHAN IS DEAD? THANK GOODNESS

woah so interesting to learn about neil’s backstory and his reason for not going pro “his offers to join pro teams curled up like dead leaves in a fire” dang, referencing both his burns and his new job? so good

ANDREW MINYARD IMITATING A VALLEY GIRL I NEED THIS IN MY LIFE PLEASE

oo that subtle way of mentioning andrew’s memory

i am so emotional, andrew is just so so good. makes me feel all the feelings ;-;

”andrew sounds like a bristled up cat tail” CUTE!!

i am dying to know what is going on in andrew’s head, during this conversation, when he left his tower to see neil, and really, just throughout this whole fic

woah i really like the way that you had neil describe his asexuality. it’s something that i recognize in myself and i like the way that you handled it.

 >:C 

them drawing each other?? peak cute. i want that to happen to me (have someone who doesn’t know what i look like try and draw me)

”neil waits for him to say more. he doesn’t. oh. that’s why. ‘heh’” LOLOL

you know what, i actually,,, only recognized the name draco malfoy LOL

ANDREW PRETENDING THAT HE DOESN’T ACTUALLY KNOW AARON OH MY GOODNESS. I CANNOT BELIEVE HE PRETENDED TO GET HIS NAME WRONG. “i look like him. but hotter and better dressed” ANDREW HOW GOOD TO YOU DRESS YOU LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FOREST. this whole section is hilarious and really helps lighten the tone and keep things playful

”’why would i wear that?’ andrew’s response is too quick and defensive” *unintelligible screaming*

ANDREW DRAWING NEIL IN TINY RUNNING SHORTS. THIS! MAN! I CAN’T HANDLE HIM

”neil gets into the routine of falling asleep next to his radio, talking to andrew deep into the night, far past his ability to keep his eyes open. they take turns drifting off mid conversation…” this is the softest thing ever

”considering neil’s job is to prevent forest fires, there’s a certain irony in how beautiful the park is when painted the colours of flames” oh (like a good oh)

ANDREW REJECTING NEIL REALLY JUST BROKE MY HEART WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME

”his heart tumbles from his chest and falls to the bottom of the ravine. he doesn’t understand why it was so close to the railings of his ribcage in the first place” this is so so beautiful even though it’s describing something so sad. makes me feel achy

drunk andrew. how is it that you, alexjosten, seem to know everything that i love in a fic?

”neil’s cabin floods with light. how real is neil josten without nathaniel wesninski filling his shell? with a snap, it’s gone.” uh this is so incredible, i love how you split everything up into its own paragraph, their conversation so similar to the storm. ugh i can’t get enough

”still, neil feels the change: the undeniable part of him where his branches have been torn asunder and his bark has been scorched away to expose his core” every time i think that this sentence is the best, and every time you blow me away again. i can’t describe how this sentence makes me feel

the scene of neil rescuing allison and renee fills me with adrenaline, it’s so intense

having the girls recognize neil was like being trapped in a nightmare, there was nothing i could do but read on and see how it ends. dajsflks. but also i really hope that neil got back his jacket and sweater lol

WHAT IN THE WORLD NEIL HAVING TO PLAY A GAME ON CODEINE, RIKO TRYING TO KILL NEIL ON TV, THIS IS SO INTENSE. also, i love what you’ve done with this

dang, how does andrew know kevin?

andrew’s gifts for neil are so cute. i am here just freaking out!!!!

A PUFFBALL DANDELION 

“you sweet, sheltered city child” oh my goodness adorable

”you’re going to go nuts when i tell you what a caterpillar turns into” ANDREW

THE BEAR. THE JUMP

honestly, i’m a little surprised that neil wasn’t supplied with bear spray

”’andrew, i don’t think they’re coming for me.’ ‘of course they’re not.’ neil’s heart sinks. ‘they’re not?’ ‘i am’” KFAJSDFJPOJAFD THIS GLORIOUS INTERACTION WILL FOREVER BE WITH ME

THEM TRAVELLING AND EVERYTHING WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE BECAUSE OF THE DARK. ALSO ANDREW BEING SUPER BUFF AND PICKING NEIL UP NO BIG DEAL

”we had your face on a dart board in the break room” AHHHH

”the only consolation is it smells of the andrew who just walked two hours to rescue him from the side of a cliff, and then spent another two hours carrying him here” i don’t even know what to say

wait andrew knew who neil was the whole time oh my goodness

THE GAME IS ANIMAL CROSSING. this is now and forevermore considered canon! 

ANDREW DROPPING THE GAME HE’S SO TIRED. ANDREW MY BABY

ANDREW’S DRAWING OF NEIL

”half of andrew’s sandwich is in his mouth, and he kind of looks like a hamster” adorable!

okay okay jean and jeremy being the two trading letters? so so good.

THE ENDING WITH ANDREW TELLING STORIES ABOUT NEIL BEING DEAD

the last chapter was amazing, i loved the way that you wrote the interactions between andrew and neil, they fit so well together. i also appreciate that you deviated from the game and had them meet! it is infinitely more satisfying. this was such an easy fic to read, everything felt right. i love your characterization of both of them. to have andrew treat neil the way that he did, knowing who neil was? amazing

also, can i just say that the moodboards that you include at the beginning of each chapter are amazing? they really helped with establishing the tone of the fic.

this fic is so intense, i was constantly amazed by how i was so fully immersed in it. everything that neil felt, i felt. your descriptions were gorgeous and i could not get enough of them. there were so many small details, sentences that were pure gems, that rereading this was just as, if not more, enjoyable than the first time. i really cannot put to words how much i loved reading this. thank you so so much for writing it!

[hazzabeeforlou]

3/3/3 writing meme

I adore you both @pattern-pals and @alienfuckeronmain so I’m answering both your questions, sorry this took me so long to get to! 

3 lines from The Garden pt 2: 

“Your feet were muddy,” Harry answered, making no move to rise from his knees; instead he reached up, undid the button of Louis’ jeans, and slowly pulled down the zipper as he tugged them off Louis’ hips. 

“W-what--” 

“Let me, Lou... you don’t need to drink yourself into some girl’s bed.” 

3 questions from Nina: 

1. What part of your wip are you struggling with? 

WELL tmi, I started some new meds which make me very much calmer than my usual Aries self, so I’m struggling to gain back a little of the rage needed to write this the way I want to. Could also be due to life circumstances being a bit insane recently... I’m more than sure once I start paying attention to the news cycle again my rage will return lol. 

2. Any songs that fit your wip’s vibes? 

Hallelujah has always been a fave of mine, and it fits so well and not even just because Part 1 is literally about David lol... secret chord... sigh

3. What’s the worst thing that could happen to a protagonist and how would you deal with it?

I’m kindof planning on making Harry into my worst nightmare, actually, and then having a huge character arc come out of it. Not sure how fun that will be to write, as I’ll be drawing on my own faults for it, but ya, peace loving hippie Harry/Jesus is going to have a rude awakening. 

3 questions from Phoenix: 

1. Fave trope to read/write?

Mmmm, that’s hard... I actually don’t have a fave to read, it totally depends on my mood. To write though, well, I always end up doing some magic or religion themed gay metaphor redemption arc angst. Oops. 

2. Do you make playlists for fic/pairs and if so do you write to them? 

Actually I have never done this... I have to write to silence, believe it or not, even jazz or elevator music distracts me. And classical is a TOTAL no go because it stressed me out, and pop with words just completely derails me! I DID have a lovely person made a plays for PITS though and it was like, so amazing and I loved the idea of choosing songs to stories!!! 

3. Do you prefer writing AUs or canon? 

AU’s 100%. Canon is too restrictive except in drabbles for me. 

3 questions: 

1. With the onset of cozy fall weather (in some areas) I’m wondering what your ideal writing scene is! Couch and blankets? Park with fall leaves?

2. What’s the most meaningful thing/event/trauma you’ve been able to process through fic (that you feel comfortable sharing) and how did writing about it help you?

3. If you could live in a story you wrote, which would it be and why? Want to hang with a fave character or topography? 

I’ll tag @halosboat @homosociallyyours @13way-s @larrymaybe22 @rougeandtonic @alienfuckeronmain @newleafover @pattern-pals @haztobegood @lesbianiconharrystyles @always-aqua @disgruntledkittenface @lululawrence and I would just keep going and tag everyone but my brain is dead today so if you wanna play PLEASE DO!

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Drawing Straws

Based off this post

Summary: The losers have to decide who is going to follow Bill into Neibolt House. Eddie can see that the possibility of Stanley having to go in could break his friend.

“Wait! Um...Shouldn’t we have some people keep watch? You know, just in case something bad happens?”

“Wh-who wants to stay out here?”

Eddie immediately raised his hand and so did all the guys. Only Beverly kept her hand down. She looked around at everyone in frustration that they were not being more supportive. Honestly, the last thing Eddie wanted to do was step into Neibolt House. He thought he was going to die the last time he was near the house. Which was only outside. Now, Bill was asking them all to go inside the hellhole. At the end of the day, Eddie would follow Bill to the death. However, if he could avoid death at all costs then he would certainly try.

Eddie heard a sighing, “Fuck” out of Richie that he wanted to second.

“Well, I will go.” Beverly started to walk forward.

Richie put up his arm to stop her. “You can’t go, chica.”

She crossed her arms defiantly, “And why is that?”

“You know…”

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” Richie shifted awkwardly then averted his gaze toward Eddie. Beverly followed his eyes waiting on Eddie to provide the explanation none of them wanted to say. They knew Beverly well enough that admitting the concern they all had would end in tears. Probably tears by Eddie.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t want to go in at all.” Eddie fidgeted with the zipper on his fanny pack, ready to pull out his inhaler.

“Go on, boys.” Beverly looked each of them in the eye accusingly. “Why can’t I go into the house?”

Richie took a big breath, then let it out. “Because you are a girl, Bevvie.” Richie said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fuck you, Richie,” Beverly said laughing. Except she was the only one laughing. Eddie saw her face fall and her eyes turn into fire instantly. “You’re serious?”

“B-bev, it’s j-j-just…” Bill tried to get out.

She pointed at Bill in a menacing manner. “No. Fuck you guys.” Then she pointed to herself and stomped her foot for extra emphasis. “I am just as brave as any of you and can go into that house.” Eddie’s breathing picked up. He hated being yelled at by his friends. It made him feel really small and he was already the tiniest person in the group. “Look at Eddie! He’s about ready to have an asthma attack.”

“Hey, cool it. Don’t speak to Eddie like that.” Richie was face to face with Beverly. They both looked ready to start a screaming match.

Before that happened Ben raised his hand and suggested, “Why don’t we draw straws!”

“That sounds like a great idea, Ben. Let’s do that.” Mike added quickly.

“We don’t have straws.” Stanley pointed out lamely.

Mike looked around for something to use instead. He kneeled down and plucked a handful of grass out of the ground. “Everyone pick a blade of grass, whoever picks the shortest blades has to go inside with Bill.”

“I think th-thats fair.” Bill agreed still standing on the porch determinedly.

“How many of us will have to go in?” Stanley asked.

“How about two?” Ben said quietly.

“Um...ok.” Stanley agreed.

Eddie looked over at him with concern. Something about the way Stanley asked the question and said ‘ok’ did not sound right. He seemed not anxious or nervous like the rest of them. This was much worse. His voice and stance were filled with pure terror.

Eddie tried to figure out if anyone else could see it too but they were all picking blades of grass already. He picked his last and measured it up against everyone. The blade he had was pretty big so he let out a shaky breath of relief.

“Fuck me!” Richie yelled as he measured against Eddie’s. “Mine is definitely one of the shortest. What bullshit. Eddie, let the world know how sexy I was if I die.”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Eddie knew Richie was joking but the thought of his best friend dying left a horrible churning sensation in his stomach. “You’ll be fine.”

Eddie went around to everyone else measuring his blade and the last person he got to was Stanley. Stanley’s was shorter. He let out a whimper that Eddie had never heard out of him before. His eyes darted to Stanley’s, he was beginning to tear up then his breathing was coming in short gasps. Eddie unzipped his fanny pack, pulled out his inhaler and shoved it in Stanley's mouth pressing down on the button.

“Ok! Mine is shorter than Stan’s. I’m going inside.” Eddie lied quickly. Stanley’s eyes widened in complete shock. Eddie pulled the inhaler out and Stanley made a face at the aftertaste. When their eyes met again, Stanley still looked ready to cry but he was grateful.

“Well, come on Eds.” Richie grabbed his arm and pulled him up the steps. “Let’s fucking die together. Not a bad way to go. Although, your mother will probably miss me more than you.”

Eddie let himself be dragged forward but glanced back at the other four. “You better help if you hear screaming.” Mike, Ben, and Beverly nodded. Stanley stayed completely still not even daring to look Eddie in the eyes, even though it was possibly for the last time.

I wrote this real quick at 3:00am because who needs sleep? Also, I took lots of inspiration from Stephen King’s novel and how I would imagine it going down in the movie. 

Permanent tag: @sam-i-am2468 @ohheydatsme

[octannibal-blake]

“ Bite me. ”

betcha thought i forgot about you.  surpise! here i am! sorry it took so long! this prompt was under the NSFW tag so this little fic is NSFW. There’s not really a plot, just some good ol’ debatin’ and fuckin’ and yes, those two things happen together. 

p.s this was written at like 4am so all mistakes are mine and i’m sorry in advance. enjoy!

(i never hated you) like i do right nowrated: Mature

“I did not ask you to come over just to have a debate with me, Princess.”

“All I said was that Greek mythology is just another example of patriarchal history,” Clarke says in between gasps as a pair of lips travels the length of her jawline leaving soft kisses long the sharp angles. She hadn’t intended to start an argument. She just so happened to see a copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology laying on his coffee table and couldn’t help herself. Any normal person would have just blown it off, especially when considering they’re about to get laid. However, Bellamy Blake is not a normal person. He gets personally offended any time you fudge up history – dates, people, you name it. He’s a know-it-all and he doesn’t care to admit. So she should have known her statement would pick a fight.

But fighting with him his half the fun. It’s what started this whole thing in the first place. They first met last year during a required sociology class when he tried to argue with her about the bystander effect. Now, she’s learned that debates are just who he is, but then she was fired up and ready to serve him good. She did, by the way, though he refuses to acknowledge she won that argument. Their relationship, or, whatever the hell you want to call it has been a clusterfuck ever since. They hate each other. Really, they do. But as her best friend, Raven, so eloquently puts it, there is nothing better than a good hate fuck.

She’s absolutely going to hell.

The first time is an accident. They’re fighting, per usual, at his house during their friends annual game night (yes, as fate would have it, they share a lot of mutual friends so Bellamy Blake became a staple in her life whether she wanted him to or not). It’s about something obscure, at this point she doesn’t remember. What she does remember is somehow ending up almost nose to nose with him, chests heaving after their typical exchange of insults, and his eyes flicking down to her lips. The rest, well, it just sort of happened. She had left his house that night adamant that it would never happen again. She hadn’t intended it to, at least, because she hates him and she got it out of her system.

Except she didn’t. Things spiral fairly quickly from there. So her current predicament is nothing new. In fact, this has been a common occurrence for the last six months. They fight. They fuck. It’s a fun arrangement. Enemies with benefits, if you will.

He places a kiss behind her ear before answering, “And what exactly is patriarchal about it?”

She slides her hand up his bicep, briefly admiring the sculpted muscle of his tanned skin before giving a roll of her eyes, “Half the stories are about Zeus sticking his dick where it doesn’t belong.”

His hand, which had been tracing soft patterns into her hip freeze and she feels him sigh into her neck, “No, that’s just the only stories people seem to know how to tell.”

She curls her hand around his neck, scraping at the hair sitting at the nape and he closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of it. It’s one of his many weaknesses, she’s discovered in their time getting to know each other, or, getting to know each other’s bodies, rather. She knows what makes him tick just as he does her – he can find the right places to touch at the drop of a hat, making her go weak at the knees. It’s definitely problematic, for many, reasons. All of which she chooses to ignore. She could let the argument fade there, kiss him until he finally takes her to his bedroom to fuck her good and well. But honestly, she’s having a bit of fun.

Instead, she pulls away from him and offers a sly smile, “IF it’s not about Zeus fucking his way through society, then it’s about Hercules or some other Hercules-eque hero trying to prove his masculinity.”

This seems to strike a chord with him. She giggles as he leans back with an audible huff, placing himself on the other end of the couch from her. He picks up the topic of discussion from the coffee table and flips through it. He folds the worn paper book back and shows her a highlighted page. She recognizes the title and rolls her eyes. At a glance, yes, it seems to be the kind of title to make one rethink their stance on women in Greek Mythology. But she’s read it and it does quite the opposite. At least, in her interpretation.

She crawls over to him and climbs in his lap easily, placing each of her legs on either side of his thighs. She can feel his dick twitch underneath her and she grinds down in response. He tips his head back to rest on the couch, the book falling loosely to the side. He’s so easily distracted. She takes the opportunity to leave a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his exposed neck and she feels his hands slide onto her hips, gripping them tightly. She ghosts her lips up, tracing his jaw and gently nibbling his ear. She’s got him right where she wants him, eyes unfocused and unprepared for what she says next.

“But the Trojan Women is a tragedy where the women are left to be tortured because men aren’t around to save them,” she whispers and grinds down once more for further effect.

He lets out a low growl before sliding his hands underneath her ass and standing them both up in one smooth motion. The way he sounds in that moment as well as the ease in which picks her up has her attaching her lips back to his neck, sucking at his pulse point as he carries her to the bedroom. He hears his door shut with an audible slam before he tosses her on the bed, eliciting a weirdly high pitched giggle from her (Clarke Griffin doesn’t giggle, except, apparently now she does).

He stands at the foot of the bed, reaching behind him to grab the collar of his shirt before pulling it over his head. She’s seen him naked a fair amount of times, by now, but looking at him is still such an unparalleled experience. The way muscles stretch across his tan skin, across his torso, and into his shoulders. She has a weird attraction to his shoulders, the dips and curves that continue into his back. He has a very nice back.

She thinks she’s won this argument at this point, having nearly forgotten what they were even talking about as he crawls onto the bed to join her. All she can think about is getting him out of his pants and having him fuck her into next week. She can feel the anticipation of it soaking her panties. As if sensing her thoughts, he gives her a smug grin before sliding his hands underneath her t-shirt, stroking at the soft curves of her hips. He pushes her shirt up, kissing from her stomach to her sternum. His hands find the underside of her bra and he slides them underneath it, barely passing along her breasts. She lets out a soft moan as he does it.

He pushes his mouth over her already hardened nipple, his breath hot through the thin fabric of her bra. She grabs his forearm tightly as he does it, reveling in the feel of his mouth on her. This is what he can do – drive her mad by touching her through her clothes. He’s got an amazing mouth, something she had heard about him before she even knew for herself. She was happy to know that he far exceeded the reputation that precedes him. He’s really fucking talented.

He finally moves up to kiss her and she leans in to meet his lips, but he dodges her, pushing his lips to her ears just like she had to him, “The Trojan Women is a story that gave women, who had little to no say in society, a voice.”

He’s toying with her, she realizes, trying to distract her so that she doesn’t win the argument. Leave it to him to still care about proving he’s right when in the middle of serious foreplay. Actually, she’s pretty sure that the debate is adding something to the foreplay. It’s strangely sexy to hear him talking about greek history while in the middle of turning her on. Two can play that game.

She reaches down and grips the hem of her shirt before pulling it over her head. Her breasts are practically spilling out of her bra, her nipple peeking through the fabric from his earlier attention. Deciding to really step up her game, she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, leaving her completely naked on top.

His hands are on her instantly as he leans forward to kiss her. The kiss is soft while his hands palm at her roughly, the perfect contrast. He tries to deepen the kiss, tongue tracing at her bottom lip for entrance. Instead she takes his in between her teeth before pulling back and looking him square in the eye, “All it did was make women sound helpless because men weren’t there to save them.”

He kisses her hungrily and this time she doesn’t pull back, letting their tongues mingle as his hand travels down her sides into the waistband of her jeans. She shivers when his thumb runs along her hip bones and threads her hand into his messy curls so she can gently tug at them. Something about pulling his hair really gets him going. He reacts instantly, popping the button of her pants and sliding down her zipper in one smooth motion. He touches her over panties first, smiling against her lips as he feels how wet she is for him. As if to ensure that she loses all potential comebacks for the argument, he wastes no time pushing her underwear to the side so he can slide a finger in between her folds. She moans a bit louder this time as he begins to circle her clit. She pulls at his hair a little more to encourage him.

He slides a finger, then two, into her before he pulls back and presses a kiss to her nose, “It was a representation of all the shit Greek women were going through in real life.”

He crooks his fingers at just the right angle, then, and though it feels fucking amazing, she’s tired of not having the upper hand. She slides her own hand in between them and feels for the erection currently pressed against her thigh. He adjusts slightly, allowing her to be able to slide comfortably underneath his shorts and boxers to grab him completely. He practically thrusts into her hand and she kisses his shoulder as he tenses at the contact.

“It was written by a man,” she finally responds, though it’s a bit lame after all is said and done. At this point, she’s had plenty of foreplay. She lifts her hips from the bed and he doesn’t hesitate to pull grip each side of her jeans and pull them down, underwear included. He tosses them over the edge of the bed before beginning to push her legs over his shoulder. She doesn’t think she can physically take anymore.

“You know I love it when you fuck me with your mouth but if you do not get inside me within the next thirty seconds, I’m going to lose it.”

He laughs then, full and rich, and he backs off the bed with his hands raised in defense, “Your wish is my command, Princess.”

He kicks off his shorts and boxers before crawling on top of her. She spreads her legs, ready to feel all of him but he isn’t quite finished with her yet. He slides his cock over her entrance teasingly, running it up and down her sex but not pushing in. She wraps her legs around his waist to pull him closer but he seems to determined to make her suffer.

“Beg for it,” he growls into her ear. It’s one of the things that makes sex with him so exhilarating. He can be soft and gentle, but also really fucking dirty. And demanding, which came as a surprise to her because she’s the kind of person who has to be in charge but she loves when he tells her what to do. She aches for him in those moments, kind of like now.

“I need you to fuck me,” she complies, locking her eyes into his so he can see how much she wants him. At first, she thinks he’s going to make her work for it a little more, but then he pushes into her ever so slowly, filling her up with all of him. They both moan at the feel of it, familiar, warm, and perfect. He places a kiss onto her collarbone, then on her chin, and her cheek. He starts moving, slow strokes in and out of her as his hand strokes her side. She had been prepared for something rough and quick but the slower pace is so fucking good.

She can feel her orgasm already building, the foreplay having done a good job at getting her wound up. She’s so focused on the feeling in her core, she almost doesn’t hear him when leans his forehead on hers.

“I win.” he says and if she weren’t so fucking into this, she would shove him onto the floor. She wishes she could think of something clever to say back. SOmething witty or snarky but she can’t really focus on anything except the feel of him inside her.

“Bite me,” she manages to get out, the only two words she string together coherently. He only grins when she says it, leaning down to bit her shoulder, eliciting another long moan out of her as he runs his tongue over the mark he definitely left.

“Fuck,” she sighs as he does it, loving the feel of his teeth pressing into her soft skin. While she may have lost the debate, she’s determined to assert herself in some way.

She hooks her leg over his hip and pushes up. He picks up on the hint quickly, allowing her to flip them over so he his on his back and she straddles him. She sinks down onto him, using his forearms for support and she feels much more satisfied watching his eyes nearly roll back into his head.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he tells her, watching her ride him with such reverence it should actually scare her. The first time she had noticed it, it had. But now she understands that Bellamy is just very vocal about his appreciation, he likes telling her how good she look because he knows it gets her off. It does.

She picks up the pace, her breasts bouncing with each movement, and she can feel the edge coming closer. He reaches down to begin circling her clit again, causing her legs to shake uncontrollably.

“Come for me, baby,” he demands, meeting her thrust for thrust as his hand works it’s magic on her as well. His other hand reaches up for her, grabbing her neck and pulling her down into a searing kiss. He kisses his way into her soul, all passion and fire as she finally feels herself teetering over the edge. She moans into his mouth as she comes, and he continues to slam his hips into her. He takes her through the entire orgasm, kissing her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. She can tell he’s almost there as well but still needs that extra push.

“You’re so fucking good,” she purrs into his ear, “You always make me feel so good, Bell.”

He grips her hips in response, his own way of encouraging her to go on. She slows her movement, pushing herself up to his tip before slamming back down, “You look so sexy underneath me like this.”

“Fuck,” he breathes as he watches her, “Amazing, you’re fucking amazing. So good.”

“You gonna come for me, Bell? Huh?” she leans back and places her hands on his thighs, the angle change causing him to curse into the void. She goes with it, rocking her hips back and forth. It doesn’t take long before he taps her thigh and she moves off him quickly, getting him into her mouth before he comes with a guttural moan. She swallows him with a crooked smile as he takes a deep, shaky breath. She collapses next to him on the bed, chest heaving wildly.

He reaches for her, pulling her into his chest and stoking her back gently, eliciting  different kind of goosebumps along her spine. The cuddling is a relatively new development, though something they both seem to thoroughly enjoy. She prefers it like this, rather than awkwardly finding her clothes and leaving as quick as possible. She hadn’t thought him a post sex cuddler but he’s into it almost more than she is.

They lay there in silence for a while, just regaining their breath and relaxing into each other. Their debate seems long forgotten until she thinks of it, giggling softly at the thought.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles into his chest, “I think that was the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever had.”

He looks down at her with a smoke, “You’re really hot when you argue greek history with me.”

She pinches his arm playfully, “You just like to fight with me.”

“True,” he agrees, “I also like winning fights with you.”

She scoffs at that, “You rarely ever win.”

“I just did,” he points out, tightening his arm around her when she tries to pull away.

“I call bullshit,” she laughs as she pretends to struggle in his arms, “You distracted me.”

“Face it, Princess, I’m just smarter,” he pins her to the bed with his body before tickling her side. She doesn’t want to laugh, she wasn’t to argue that statement alone, but he’s playing dirty.

“I hate you,” she manages with a laugh and he leans down to kiss her, quick and chaste. He has his signature crooked smile on when he pulls away and she realizes then how completely and totally screwed she is.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says quietly, his hand reaching up to move a stray curl from her forehead, “I hate you too.”

And it  isn’t true. Not even a little bit (but it’ll take a little longer for both of them to realize it).

[btssmxt-blog]

Paradise

Description: It’s been weeks since you and Kim Taehyung have been alone together. Finally the dorm is empty and the two of you can get down to dirty business.

Pairing: V X Reader

Genre: Smut

Warning: Strong language, detailed description of sex

Let us all take a second to remember how beautiful this baby is…also, I wrote this at like midnight so i don’t know how good it is..😅

“Finally, gotdamn!” Taehyung groaned as he pushed you backwards into his bedroom. You both were literally clawing at each others clothes as the heat and electricity between you became unbearable. 

Taehyung, I-” 

“I know.” It had been weeks since the last time you were alone with Taehyung, and it had really taken a toll on the both of you. You were desperate and so was he. You craved each other more than anything.

It was the last concert of the year and everyone was pumped to get on stage and go out with a bang. The boys were planning on going out for dinner to celebrate afterwards; however, Taehyung who hadn’t quite been his usual bubbly self lately was looking forward to the end of the show for a different reason entirely.

He huffed to himself as he struggled to button his skinny jeans. All week social media had been blowing up about his clearly seen boner through his pants, but there was nothing he could do about it. His hyungs suggested pleasuring himself to get rid of the unwanted arousal he had been struggling with, but he simply wasn’t satisfied and would continue to not be satisfied until he had his girlfriend in his arms. But there were strict rules and strict regulations for the boys to have their loved ones around. It was a distraction so often times the boys’ girlfriends were sent to separate rooms until concerts were over.

“Need help?” Taehyung looked up with a panicked expression when he heard the familiar voice of his girlfriend. You walked into his changing room, biting your lip when you, too, could see what seemed to be a painful erection.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be in here. If you get caught, we could-”

“Relax,” you said softly as you stepped up to him and gripped the waist of his jeans. “I only came to tell you good luck, that’s all. And you really-..” You heaved as you used almost all of your might to get his pants to button correctly, then you zipped up the zipper which caused Taehyung to gasp and clutch at the chair behind him.

“You really need bigger pants.” You said and looked up at the man who clearly couldn’t breath.

“Yeah…well none of the wardrobe noona’s thought it was necessary to find anything bigger since this is the last concert.” He squeaked.

“But this has been happening all week…I wish I could help.” You bit your lip and looked down at his pants again. The thought of hiding away in some broom closet for a quickie seemed very enticing and had you pressing your thighs together. Taehyung watched you eye him and then he shook his head.

“Just wait a little longer, baby. After tonight’s concert we’ll finally have some time to ourselves. I promise.”

You nodded slowly and then met his eyes once more. You could see the lust he was trying so hard to hide clearly in his dark gaze. You could feel heat pooling in your stomach and you whimpered quietly to yourself as it took every bit of your will to keep your hands to yourself.

“I-I should go then.” You tell him before anything could even begin to get out of hand.

“I love you, have a good show.”

He sighed softly to himself as he watched you walk off toward the door.

“Love you too..” He murmured quietly before you left the room all together.

The show felt like it lasted for ages. You sat back stage in one of the rooms you were forced to remain in and watched the concert from there on a small monitor. Your eyes never left Taehyung. You focused on every little thrust of his hips, every body roll, and the way his sweat made him shine so perfectly. Your eyes traveled all over him until they landed on his face. He looked disgruntled, or maybe it wasn’t that, but he was engrossed in concentration with a twinge of discomfort which you were aware was coming from his lower region. His tongue flicked out of his mouth as it usually did, but this time when you watched him, all you could think about was having his tongue all over you. Your thighs pressed together and you held your breath to calm down, but those lewd thoughts kept creeping about. 

The last song Bangtan performed was Blood Sweat and Tears and you could tell that your man was searing in agony. Every time he had to dive down and grind on the floor, he made the action last a little longer, trying to get any sort of relief, but nothing was working. The very last time he did so he grunted huskily and it could be heard clearly through his mic. You blushed in embarrassment for his behalf, knowing fans will start talking.

When the concert ended finally, you had gone to meet the boys and congratulate them for a great performance, except there was no sign of Taehyung.

“Hey, has anyone seen Tae?” You asked anyone who was listening.

“He ran out.” Hoseok responded as he cleaned the sweat from his face with a towel.

“He looked like he was going to hurl. He might have gone back to the dorm already. I don’t think he’ll be going to dinner with us tonight, though.”

You nodded your head and thanked him for the information. Just as you had turned away your phone buzzed with a text message from the man in question.

Get over here now!

Your eyes widened at the message, knowing he meant business. How he had gotten home already was beyond you, but you wouldn’t question him.

You ran out of the venue as fast as you could and hailed the first cab you saw. You urged the driver to go as fast as he could to the boys’ apartment building but he took his sweet time.

You were practically bouncing in your seat with anticipation. Irritation began to boil up inside of you from how slow the cab driver decided to go despite your plea for him to hurry.

What’s taking you so damn long?!?! 

Your phone buzzed again with another text from Tae and you could sense his urgency. You typed your response quickly but before you could even press send, another message had been sent to you. You looked up at the picture that had been sent and you nearly tossed your phone. His hard erection was sent to you. An angry red tip with precrum steadily dripping down the side.

You whined in frustration before you knocked angrily on the divider separating you from the driver.

“Excuse me, but do you think you could speed this along?” You snapped, hoping he would listen this time around, but alas, he had only scoffed and continued on his merrily way.

“Dammit, he’s waiting for me! How would you feel if you haven’t had sex in nearly a month and your just so frustrated that your dick wont leave you alone and-” You bit your tongue the moment you realized what you were saying. You were practically in tears after your anger had boiled over and fizzled out in defeat. You were surprised that the driver didn’t say anything. But even more so when he finally picked up the pace.

You sniffed and pulled yourself back together once you finally arrived to your destination. You hurriedly paid without worry about change and you dashed out of the cab and into the apartment building.

You decided to just run up the stairs instead of waiting for an elevator. You were impatient and was increasingly becoming frustrated once again at your own legs for not going fast enough. Your phone buzzed once more but this time you didn’t look at it, knowing you were almost there.

After clearing a number of flights, you had reached his floor and then darted down the hall to his door. You banged on the door with a tight fist and you whined impatiently.

You didn’t wait long before the door swung open and you felt yourself being yanked inside then caught on the lips.

Taehyung kicked the door shut and held you tight against him as he kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to live.

“Finally, gotdamn!” He groaned as he pushed you backwards into his room. You both were literally clawing at each others clothes as the heat and electricity between you became to much.

“Tae, I-”

“I know.” He looked up at you once the two of you had entered his bedroom. He studied your face for a moment before his thumb ran over your cheek.

“Were you crying?” He asks while his thumb trailed down to your swollen lips.

You nodded in response and pouted shamefully to yourself. How could you have cried over something like this? You thought it was pathetic and childish of you to do so, but Taehyung thought otherwise. He smiled and chuckled as he backed you up to the bed until you fell backward onto you back.

“Aw, my baby missed me that much.” He teased as he crawled up onto the bed with you. “Well no more tears, angel, because I can finally take care of you. He kissed both of your cheeks, then your nose, and then your lips. You instantly melted before your body riled up again in excitement. Finally. It was about damn time you had him all to yourself again.

“N-no..” You said against his lips and pulled away hesitantly. “I want to take care of you this time.” You looked at him with a determined expression. You suffered so long, and now the whole world practically has your dick pick.” You pouted and pushed him over so he lay on his back and you straddled him. “I’m not too thrilled about that. Think of all the girls that are imagining being near what’s mine.” You shook your head in disapproval before you began grinding down on his rock hard bulge. you placed your hands on his almost bare chest. You had only managed to unbutton his shirt, probably breaking a few buttons in the process, but you had gotten the job done.

“I’ll finally make you feel better.” You whispered and gazed down at his curious eyes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth when his hands went up and gripped your hips. A whisper of a moan escaped from between his lips and you knew he didn’t care who was on top, he just wanted to fuck. You sat up again and carded your hand through your hair, pushing the long strands out of your face. Then you reached behind you and unhooked your bra, pulling off and tossing it elsewhere. Before you let his touch you any more, you climbed off of him and then bent down. pulling down your panties and giving him a good view of your ass. You heard him groan but you kept in mind that you probably shouldn’t tease him too much this time around, seeing as how he had been suffering though a whole month without even the slightest touch from you. You climbed back onto the bed and then helped him pull off his jeans and his boxers, only to be greeted by a beyond angry cock. It sprung from its restraints and bounced back from slapping him against his toned abdomen. You chewed your lip while watching as it practically spewed precum everywhere, you were sure he was already cuming with how much that was coming out. You didn’t wait any longer and gripped his shaft tight in your hand. Tae hissed through his teeth and then whimpered when his hips instinctively bucked into your hand. Once. Then twice and you hadn’t even moved yet. You felt a twinge of sympathy for him, but it only fueled your determination to take control this time and grant him some relief.

You pumped your hand up and down, spreading his precum everywhere to lubricate him. You then licked your lips and leaned down. You presented his tip with little kitten licks and you looked up at him for any signs of approval. He bit his lip and shut his eyes as he concentrated on your touch. His brow furrowed slightly at the tiny waves of pleasure your tongue sent him and he simply wanted more. You read him correctly and shut your eyes. You closed your lips tight around his tip and then swirled your tongue around in circles before bringing your mouth down on him. A long guttural groan rumbled through his chest and he tilted his head back, face contorting in pleasure. You began to slowly bob your head up and down, creating a comfortable rhythm. You pulled off only for a moment and licked up the side of his shaft before returning your mouth back around him. You sucked his cock and hallowed your cheeks as you took him further into your mouth. You felt the head of his cock hit the back of your throat and you gagged only a little. You paused and caught your breath before continuing. Taehyung reacted more than you expected him to when you gagged. When your throat only caught his tip and constricted around it, he jerked and moaned loudly.

“Ah, fuck!” He yelled and reached down, fisting your hair. “Do it again, Y/N, It felt so good! Please!” He was begging, and you knew it was from pent up sexual frustration. You pulled upward and you drew in a deep breath, fueling your lungs with air before you attempted to take all of his cock into your mouth. His tip passed the end of your mouth and soon you were deep throating. You hummed, sending vibrations around him, and you swallowed, causing your throat to constrict around him again like he asked. His tossed his head back and he was groaning, grunting mess. His hips bucked once again and your moaned out when tears began to form. You bobbed your head up and down as best as you could, inhaling at any given moment, wanting to send Tae over the edge. Your hand reached down and you cradled his balls in your hand. You gave them a squeeze and his back arched upward.

“Fuck, Y/N, Oh my god!!” He couldn’t even think straight to form any better sentences. He was sweating and you felt him twitching in your mouth. “UGh, I’m close!” He cried. “Keep going, angel, you take my cock so well! Don’t stop!” His praises kept you determined and you didn’t give up. You moaned again. You absolutely loved your pet name, as ironic as it was in this sort of situation. You felt your juices trickle down the side of your thigh from your excitement. You needed him.

After a few more bobs of your head, vibrations of your moans, and sinful slurping sounds that serenaded his ears, he was brought to his high and had came with a deep husky voice, that had you clamping your thighs tight together. You whimpered at your throbbing core but you focused on him. You swallowed all of his cum, milking him through his release until it subsided and then you sat up with triumphant smile on your face, wiping your mouth free of any left over residue. He watched you with his mouth agape. It was silent for only a split moment before he gripped your arm.

“Ride me.” He said firmly and you eagerly agreed. You climbed onto his lap as he sat up completely, scooting back and leaning against the headboard of the bed. You let out a soft pleasurable sigh when you felt his dick underneath you and you grinded against it. Your hands found purchase atop his shoulders while his own reached up and began playing with your breasts. He squeezed and pinched the nipples before massaging the mounds. You moaned and hummed at the feeling before you lifted yourself up. He reached down with one hand and positioned himself your entrance.

“You feel so wet down here, baby.” He gasped softly and then smirked. He leaned forward and kissed all over your jawline, before pressing his tip against your entrance. You whimpered and slowly sunk down onto him. In unison you both moaned at the feeling you hadn’t felt in so long and then you paused once you were sitting on his lap. He kissed down to your neck and began sucking little purple blossoms into your skin, marking you as his own. He gripped your hips again and began grinding into you. Your grip on his shoulders tightened and finally you raised your body again before slamming yourself back onto him. You began to bounce up and down his cock, riding him just as he asked. You moaned at ever little motion and you were almost positive your wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. Your toes curled and your face was contorted in pleasure as his cock deliciously stretched and filled you up. You could hear him grunting, feeling the vibrations of his voice against your skin. You thought every sound he made was hot. His voice was deep and husky and you couldn’t get over the beautiful sound. You were shaking from exhaustion and Tae took it upon himself to help you out. He gripped you tight before he thrusted upward into you. You squealed as you bounced upward from the impact and then sunk back down onto him. He was relentless, and neither of you cared to say the least. His thrusts were quick and spastic and soon they became uneven and sloppy as he was reaching his high for a second time. You as well were coming to the end as you felt a tight night pull in your stomach. You whimpered and mulled out contortions of his name as your wrapped your legs around him.

“T-Tae..a-almost…there.” You managed as your grip around him tight. You pleaded internally for him not to stop. He couldn’t when the both of you were so close.

“T-togehter.” Taehyung said. He gripped you even tighter, probably going to leave bruises later, and he gave a few more long strokes. Your breath hitched when the knot in your stomach untangled and left you screaming as you came undone. As your walls clenched and spasamed around him, he too was pushed over the edge, and finally, finally, a huge weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He felt like he could be himself again, knowing he had been all to irritable to his hyungs and especially his dongsaeng, Kookie. He hugged your around the middle as your collapsed against his chest, out of breath and seeing stars.

After Tae had calmed down enough, he had kissed you on the forehead and laid down in bed with you on his chest. He didn’t really care if the boys came home now and saw him. All that mattered was that he could finally relax.

“Fuck…” He whispered quietly as he began stroking your hair soothingly.

 “Thank you.”

[fashiontrendin-blog]

We Recreated Some of Our Moms’ Most Iconic Outfits

http://fashion-trendin.com/we-recreated-some-of-our-moms-most-iconic-outfits/

We Recreated Some of Our Moms’ Most Iconic Outfits

There’s something about an old photo of a mom that exudes glamour, don’t you think? The mom in question could be wearing denim shorts and a tank top and sitting in a basement full of trash and still look absolutely, positively enchanting. What is that?!?! I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the telltale sepia tone of a bygone era, the visible signs of passé sartorial trends, the gentle revelation that the expanse of this person’s life is so much wider than the juncture at which she became a parent or all of the above.

In honor of Mother’s Day, Team Man Repeller recreated outfits from treasured photos of our moms to pay homage to them, their styles and the impact they’ve had on us. Find them below, and deposit your own favorite mom photos in the comments.

Harling (Me)

How old my mom was in this photo:

32.

A little about her outfit and why she was wearing it: 

My mom told me that we were in Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic when this photo was taken. She’s holding my sister Lizzy, who was four months old, and I am the recently minted two-year-old on the floor demanding to take her place. My mom couldn’t remember much about the outfit except that the batik shorts she was wearing came with a matching top that she swapped out for a black tank because “Lizzy spit up on it.” She recalled that the shorts had a comfortable waistband, which she appreciated after recently having a baby. When I asked her how she felt in the outfit at the time, she said, “I was much more focused on yours and Lizzy’s outfits than my own because I had only just discovered the thrill of being able to dress two kids in coordinating ensembles, so I didn’t think about my own clothes that much.”

What it was like to recreate the outfit myself: 

Quite easy, in the sense that the outfit was made up of very simple components. I just wish I owned batik shorts!

How my mom has influenced my style:

In countless, profound ways. She typically gravitates towards bright colors and patterns and unusual shapes, and she loves piecing them together into outfits that feel very much her. I was surprised I couldn’t find an old photo in which her maximalist aesthetic was more apparent, but she told me that when my sisters and I were little, she prioritized wearing stuff that was easy to wash and move around in. Her sense of style as I know it didn’t actually take root until I was a teenager. In hindsight, I guess that makes sense; my teens were a seminal time for me in terms of coming into my own style, and I found a lot of inspiration in my mom’s wardrobe and perspective. She is definitely the reason I am who I am when it comes to style, and because of that, the reason I work in the fashion industry, and because of that, the reason I get to wake up every morning and do something I love. I can’t imagine a greater gift besides life itself, which she gave me, too. Moms, man.

Leandra

How old was your mom in this photo?

34.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

We were in Mougins, which is a small town in the South of France that used to be inhabited by and visited by loads of artists. It was also a center that produced florals, and the economy there is still more or less driven by the production and sales of scented soaps and various other things that smell good. We were there for dinner, and my brother Haim (next to me) was being a shithead because he gives zero fucks about soap, so I recall that my mom was trying to get him to smile. She purchased the skirt she was wearing that same day! I actually own it currently.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

I thought it would be a cop-out to use the same skirt but don’t have another in the same silhouette, so I went the route of approximating colors for the base look and actual products for the accessories — cue fanny pack and summery-ass closed-toe shoes. I’m pretty comfortable with how it turned out, to the extent that I actually ended up wearing the outfit for the rest of the day.

How has your mom influenced your style?

More than I give her credit for. I spent years combing through her closet when I was a kid and was always so surprised by how the clothes looked on their hangers or folded in the closet vs. how they looked when she wore them — like completely different garments! She taught me everything I know about building a sense of personal style. I can already tell that I will regret saying that on record! She won’t let me live it down. But it’s true, Mama.

Amelia

How old was your mom in this photo?

31 (which means I was a year old!).

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

We were at a park in Lower Merion, Pennsylvania, visiting family friends. It was spring. My mom was wearing her favorite high-waist jeans (“which had zipper ankles, by the way”), a white ribbed tank top and a boxy peach cotton knit cable with a hat, of course; my mom wore a hat every single day until we moved to San Francisco. She was barefoot in this photo but owned a pair of white huaraches that she wore to their death — they were likely paired with this outfit earlier in the day.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

I already had one of the two most important pieces of this outfit (not including the baby): the sweater. I’d call my version “close-enough”; I got it recently after a friend who works at J.Crew sent it to me, but I had been searching for an equivalent of my mom’s sweater in this photo my whole life. (She doesn’t have it anymore.) The hat was the second most important part, because when I think of my mom, I think of big, big curls (although at this time in her life she had super short hair and a braided “rat’s tail” down her back; very ’80s) and a wide-brimmed straw hat. I borrowed this one from the Man Repeller fashion closet and tucked my hair into it — something I wouldn’t mind doing again in the future. I had no idea I’d like how this looks on me! I also really like how much it makes me look like my mom.

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom’s style sways far more “bohemian”/vintage than mine. I tend to lean more “preppy,” like my mom in the top half of this photo, and her mom’s mom/my grandmother, Mimi. There’s a clear and direct line between my mom’s style and my own love for white button-downs, black one-piece swimsuits and anything “cozy,” but I’d say my mom’s greatest influence on my personal style has always been in her limitless support of my “sartorial self-expression.” With every phase I went through, she wasn’t just on board, but a full accomplice: She made me custom bell bottoms when I was in the sixth grade and the ’60s and ’70s were back among the Limited Too set. She took me to dip-dye my hair pink and helped source a multitude of spikes during my “punk” phase. The list goes on. Today, it translates a little more literally into home decor (she’s my interior decorator/consultant/treasure hunter), but she’s still without a doubt my favorite person to go shopping for clothes with!

Crystal

How old was your mom in this photo?

28.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

First, hi Mama, happy Mother’s Day, I love you endlessly! Mom says that this photo was taken Christmas day, when we were all on our way to my grandma’s house for dinner. She says she felt incredibly happy because she was on her way to her mom’s house. The outfit she’s wearing pretty much sums up my mom’s overall aesthetic. She’s incredibly put-together and buttoned-up, but always manages to maintain a little bit of an edge.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

Well it wasn’t super easy, because much to the chagrin of Lydia (my mom), I do not own a cable-knit sweater or slacks. BUT I was able to style an outfit that honored her original look while also staying true to my personal style. I would toootalllyyyyy wear this again, even though I probably wouldn’t have put these pieces together in the first place had I not been trying to recreate her look.

How has your mom influenced your style?

I always say that “I am because she is” and “she is because Ella Mae (my grandma/her mom) was.” My grandma had impeccable style, and my mom passed down her style rules to me. We have VERY different tastes, but I do follow some of her style rules word-for-word:

1. Spend money on good shoes. 2. If you see a thrift store, don’t pass it by. 3. Save your money for quality pieces instead of investing in cheap garments that won’t last.

Louisiana

How old was your mom in this photo?

She says she was 29!

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

It was her “Saturday outfit.” She remembers that because she was wearing jeans, which she wouldn’t wear to work during the week. I think it is kind of representative of her taste and style now. She still wears a lot of minimal, classic pieces.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

It was actually really easy for me to recreate this outfit since it consisted of two really basic items (black long-sleeved top and medium-wash jeans) that I already had in my wardrobe. I’ve definitely worn this outfit before, and more than once! The only thing I didn’t have were the peep-toe shoes, but other than that, it was so cool to see how her outfit withstood the test of time.

Elizabeth

How old was your mom in this photo?

25, a year younger than I am now.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

My mom was on her honeymoon in London in this photograph. She says she chose the outfit because “it was the ’80s” — touché, Mom. It was kind of a combination of clothes she would wear to downtown clubs and more conservative stuff. She had just taken the bar exam and was about to start practicing law. Gotta dress the part! The skirt was from Fiorucci and the jacket was Levi’s.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

A little tricky — most of my mom’s photos are in storage sadly. Also I will not wear a skirt this length ever again because I don’t like the length on me. I wish I’d been able to find a navy or black polo like hers because I love how she wore it.

Has your mom influenced your style?

Yes, of course she has — she is an icon. 🙂 But I think I’ve influenced hers, too!

Nora

How old was your mom in this photo?

33 (she’s the brunette in the front in the overalls).

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

My mom was an actress/model for a bit in her youth, and this was backstage at the western-themed dinner theater show she did.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

Easy, I basically wear this outfit all the time.

How has your mom influenced your style?

The older I get, the more I dress like my mother: in low-key outfits that prioritize comfort, with some sort of statement accessory.

Haley

How old was your mom in this photo?

24!

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

From my mom: “I totally know where I was: Waimea Canyon, Kauai, on my honeymoon in August 1984. I remember the moment well because as we stood there, we watched clouds approach, rain all over us, and then move on. I’d never experienced something like that. But I don’t remember the outfit specifically or the tube sock (?!) situation. From all the other photos from that trip, it does seem to be pretty standard dress for me though. I laugh about those rolled up sleeves — that had just become a thing. I remember we all suddenly started doing it because it made our T-shirts look more stylish and feminine. And of course I had on large cheap sunglasses — very me. I now find it hard to imagine I wore such short shorts. I would never remember that about myself! I do remember the honeymoon was so fun though. We were from Colorado, so Hawaii seemed like another land.”

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

I purposely chose this photo because I love it and immediately recognized how easy it would be to replicate it with my own clothes. I draw a lot of inspiration from the ’80s when I dress casually like this, so it was a perfect fit. How cool does she look?! My mom has been perpetually tan her whole life (something she did not pass on to me), so I look considerably less carefree and sun-kissed than she does. Also less relaxed, but I’ll blame that on my living in New York and her vacationing in Hawaii. Either way though, I felt great and ready to jog at a moment’s notice. I didn’t want to take it off (and didn’t).

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom always claims she has little interest in fashion, but her incredible backlog of stylish photographs says otherwise! Looking back, I can see the distinct thread of ’80s influence in her style throughout her 20s, 30s and 40s. The fun jackets and oversize blazers and big hair — all things I associated with making a woman look grown-up — were really just things my mom loved. Those are the things that make me feel grown-up now, too. I even have a couple of her old blazers for special occasions. Today, my mom’s not much into material things, but I still relish the times we get ready together. There’s something uniquely comforting to me about keeping her company while she blows her hair dry and helping her pick out a necklace. It reminds me of sitting in her bathroom as a kid, watching her “freshen up” with a keen, unwavering interest.

Matt

How old was your mom in this photo?

27.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

This photo was snapped at my dad’s med school graduation party. When asked about the inspo for this particular look, my mom said it was a simple time and she prioritized function over aesthetic — especially since budgets were tight and “her world revolved around me” or whatever (thanks, Mom!).

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

It was difficult in the sense that I was hopeful this assignment would provide an excuse for me to purchase the denim onesie of my dreams, but alas I couldn’t find one in time. It was fun putting this together (full transparency: the pieces are mine, but the styling was fully my boyfriend’s) and I was feeling it! 10/10 would wear again.

Has your mom influenced your style?

Umm…I stole one of her cropped denim jackets from the basement last time I was home and now wear it regularly, so if by “influenced” you mean “unwittingly contributed to” — YES!

Patty

How old was your mom in this photo?

26!

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

Mary Anne is in her element here: hanging poolside on a sunny day in a breezy outfit with a brand-spanking new human — me! This outfit is pretty indicative of her style; my mom looks beautiful in color and she keeps it radically simple. Example: my brother was two years old when this was taken, and my mom’s solution to him constantly pulling her hair was to cut it into this pixie.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

It made me realize that I don’t really own ANY yellow tops. I ordered this T-shirt from Amazon, settled for wearing white denim shorts and jazzed it up with some fun earrings and red slides in lieu of my mom’s cool red plaid. This T-shirt probably won’t get that much action, but I am soooo very into the idea of summer plaid. Eyes peeled!

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom has always been supportive and endlessly patient with my style choices. I wanted to chop my hair off? Cool, let’s do it. I wanted to wear pink leggings with a (slightly different shade of) pink top covered with rainbow beads? Okay then! My mom influenced my style mostly by being a determined ally in fueling my independence.

Imani

Vintage shorts, belt, top, bag

How old was your mom in this photo?

19.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

This photograph was actually taken on my mom’s college campus. She was dolled up just for a regular day of class (I truly am my mother’s child). She was taking #OOTD pics before social media even existed! From what she remembers, she felt pretty cool — my mom was a New York City girl on an upstate campus, so she had a leg up in the style department.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

Recreating my mom’s outfit was quite easy, as many ’80s/’90s silhouettes have persisted through today. The twist was the styling; without this photo, I probably never would have paired my oversize jorts with an equally oversized button-down. Now that I’ve given it a try, I’ll probably be repeating this look all summer — you’ve been warned.

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom has never let me leave the house without a pair of earrings, which I believe spawned my obsession for huge ones.

Starling

How old was your mom in this photo?

23 (my age!).

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

Her older sister Polly took it while visiting my mom in Paris. She says it was right before ripping up sweatshirts became trendy due to Dirty Dancing.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

Adding a chambray romper to my wishlist as we speak. Sadly, a dress had to do for my recreation due to this wardrobe limitation.

Has your mom influenced your style?

Heck. Yes. In the fashion sense but also in her style of speaking, collaborating and creating. I’ve always admired her ability to see the value in people’s differences. I credit that skill for empowering her to found an elementary school in my hometown called Touchstone Academy, which gives kids a chance to learn in their own unique ways in a hands-on, supportive environment. I was a student there, and she was my principal!

Edith

How old was your mom in this photo? 

I’d guess 27.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

I didn’t ask her because I wanted it to be a surprise, so this is mostly speculation — sound off in the comments, Mom! (JK!) Though I do know that this photo was taken by a friend whom we still know. I’m pretty sure the coffee is from a Korean deli they used to go to together. They’re in Central Park, it’s a quintessential autumn day and she’s nothing if not dressed for practicality with the heavy jacket and the fancifully tied scarf. That’s my dad’s hand — he painted a portrait of the full photo, too! Did I answer your question here? Not really! Thanks for playing!

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

I definitely ended up feeling more like an impersonator. To my disappointment, the Anthora coffee cup did not function as a time-travel device. I subbed in my favorite light bomber jacket from Equipment, though I ended up regretting my own lapse in judgment re: not finding a leather jacket to perfectly replicate her autumnal Central Park look. I totally fumbled on the side part. My mom and I are sharing the neck scarf I’m wearing (designed by the illustrious Happy Menocal for Moda Operandi) after going to the showcase together, so I was happy to have a chance to include it/have the outfit recreation come full circle in a funny way.

How has your mom influenced your style? 

My mom’s style continues to be more refined and tasteful than my own, so I’m still trying to keep up and learn from her. The best wisdom she is slowly imparting upon me is how to dress practically with personality (her sense of color is divine). I definitely wish we still had this chic leather jacket!

Jasmin

How old was your mom in this photo?

38.

Tell me about her outfit, and why she was wearing it.

She was on holiday in Israel in the Negev desert. They had just been on a drive and here she’s sitting down to have some tea (of course). Given the activity she wanted to wear something light and comfortable but also needed a jumper on her shoulders as the temperature in the desert can suddenly drop in the evenings. And a hat because sun protection is a must – she likes to say it’s primarily for function but we all know it’s more than that. Side note: my mum and my dad had his and hers versions of these shoes and matching jackets in the same color suede. Both were worn regularly in my formative years. She felt comfortable and appropriate for the activity – it’s a very her look, similar to her style now too.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

I initially had a different outfit in mind, one that included high-waisted LIME GREEN jeans with matching loafers. However, we could find the photo so opted for this one. For the most part it was pretty simple to re-create, but I couldn’t of done it without Eliz’s help! I kind of love it, felt very chic and put together. May add to my roster of summer outfits.

How has your mom influenced your style?

I like that she always swings between simple and chic to colorful and fun – growing up sometimes she’d be in a crisp white shirt and checked waistcoat and then other days in lime green jeans or bright red kaftans. I think I’m definitely in a similar mindset with my style at the moment where I don’t feel confined to just one type of look. Looking through old photos for this shoot was definitely an inspiration booster!

Ashley

How old was your mom in this photo?

She was fresh out of college so probably 22.

Tell me about her outfit, and why she was wearing it.

This photo was taken the week of college graduation. She had graduated early but went back to school to walk in the big ceremony so it was her first time seeing a lot of her college friends in months. She wore a blazer and a sweater to let the world know she was grown-up and sophisticated but she was also still fun and Debbie so she kept it chill with her favorite clothing item: shorts.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

My mom and I are complete opposites style-wise. I suspect it’s because she’s very short so she gravitates towards patterns in order to stand out. She sent me a slew of photos that I couldn’t even begin to fathom recreating using my own wardrobe. We are both big shorts people, though, which made that part easy.

How has your mom influenced your style?

A few years ago my mom did a mega wardrobe clean-out and I started going through a lot of old things that I’d never even seen her in. I kept some of her cool T-shirts and random jewelry. A few years ago, when I stopped wearing only jeans and plain tanks, I realized how fun it was to use her random pieces to dress up my otherwise boring wardrobe. I’ve also adopted her mantra that you can never have too many shoes, which stresses out my New York closet.

[anavoliselenu]

Relase me chapter 14

“Hell yes,” I say, which makes him laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m like a doctor. Purely clinical.”

I raise my brows.

“Okay, that’s not entirely true. But I appreciate beauty, and I get off on capturing it. It’s personal, but it’s not. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” I say, thinking of my photographs.

“We have to trust each other. Work for you?”

“I’ll try.”

“And just so you know, I signed Justin’s agreement.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my confusion must show on my face.

“The confidentiality agreement,” he clarifies. “I’m not allowed to talk about you or the sessions. And once it’s done, I’m not allowed to reveal who the model is.”

“Really?” I look to Justin, who nods. He turns and points to the wall opposite the ocean. It isn’t a full wall, in fact it’s not really a wall at all. There’s a huge fireplace, with a great expanse of stone rising above it, hiding the chimney, I presume.

“It will hang there,” he says. “You’ll be looking out on the ocean. You’ll see the sunset every night.”

I nod. “Where’s the canvas?” If it’s going to fill that space, it must be huge. But there’s nothing but an oversized sketchpad on the easel.

“Tomorrow,” Blaine says. “Today’s about getting us familiar with each other. I sketch your curves, you stand there and look fabulous.”

“I think you have the easier job,” I say dryly.

“Hell yeah, I do,” he says, and we both laugh.

“I’m still nervous,” I admit.

“Totally normal,” Blaine says.

I look desperately toward Justin. My skin is clammy and my pulse is pounding. Why on earth did I think this would be easy? I’m going to be standing naked in front of a stranger. Holy shit. “Do you have any wine?” I blurt.

He brushes a chaste kiss over my lips. “Of course.”

He disappears behind the fireplace, and returns quickly with three glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. He passes me a glass first, and I drink half of it in one swallow. The men look at each other with amusement and I defiantly swallow the rest.

“Okay,” I say, then reach for the bedpost to steady myself. “Yeah. I think that’s better.” I hold out my glass, but Justin pours only a tiny bit.

“I want you standing, not passed out,” he says, but he’s smiling indulgently. He squeezes my hand. “The first moment is the hardest.”

“And you know this because of the many times you’ve posed naked?”

“Touché,” he says. “Take your time.”

“By the window,” Blaine says, and I’m grateful for the businesslike tone in his voice. “Close to the drapes. Justin, where’d you put that robe?”

There’s an antique trunk at the foot of the bed, and Justin opens it and pulls out a red silk robe.

“Just put it on the bed—the far side so it’s not in my composition. Yeah, that’s right. Okay, Selena, right there. Do you want to put the robe on in the bathroom and then come in? Easier to just slip it off your shoulders.”

I run the drape through my fingers. “No,” I say. I take the hem of the tank top and pull it defiantly over my head. The cool air assaults my bare breasts, and my nipples feel hard and heavy. I don’t look at Justin. Instead, I look out at the ocean.

“Oh, man,” Blaine says. “That’s great. Your profile is amazing. And you have the most beautiful breasts. Stay like that,” he says as he starts to walk the room. “I just want to find the right place.”

After a few moments, he’s settled in and though I should be more relaxed all I can feel is the tension building inside me, getting tauter and tauter every time he says I’m beautiful. Every time he praises my soft, perfect skin.

I’m holding my eyes wide open, trying not to blink, trying to imagine I’m part of that ocean. That I am the tide, coming in and out, in and out.

“Can you do the jeans now?” Blaine asks, and his voice startles me so much that I jump.

“Selena?” Justin’s voice is soft.

“I—sure.” I put my hands on the button and unclasp it, then start to ease the jeans down over my hips. My fingers are on my skin, and I feel the scars, raised and ugly.

I freeze, take a deep breath, and try again.

But I can’t do it. I open my mouth to say something—to ask for more time, a moment alone, something. But no words come out. Instead, I’m suddenly sobbing, my body shaking and my legs unable to hold me up. I sag to the floor and bury my face in the soft material of the drapes.

Justin is immediately at my side. “Shhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. We’ll take it slow. It’s hard, I know. Revealing yourself like that. It takes courage, but you can do it.”

I shake my head and let him pull me into his arms. I press my face to his shoulder and he holds me close. My breasts are pressed tight against his chest, the cotton of his T-shirt soft against my nipples. His palm strokes my back. But there’s nothing sexual. He’s comforting me, holding me, and I feel warm and safe.

“I can’t do it,” I whisper when the sobs slow enough to let me speak. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

I pull away. My body is still shaking, and I have the hiccups. “I thought I could. I don’t know what I thought. That it would be revenge against you. Against the world. I don’t know.”

I’m babbling, and he’s looking at me with such concern and sympathy that I think my heart is going to break.

“I’m sorry, Justin,” I say. “I can’t take your money. And I can’t do this.”

20

I scramble out of his embrace and snatch my shirt off the floor. I pull it on, then stand up, brushing my tears away with the back of my hand.

I fasten my jeans and look around for my purse and camera bag. They’re on the floor by the foot of the bed, right where I left them.

I hurry that way and sling my purse over my shoulder. I briefly register that Blaine is gone. I’m grateful he didn’t make a show of leaving, even though I’m embarrassed I melted down in front of him.

“I—I can call a cab if you want. Or Edward can—” I cut myself off, closing my eyes. My entire body feels warm. I’m burning up with embarrassment.

Justin has risen to his feet and he’s standing by the bed, watching me. I can’t read his face, but I know he must be furious.

“I’m sorry, Justin. I’m so sorry.” How many times can I say it? Will it ever not sound hollow? “I’ll wait outside.”

I hurry toward the stairs, my head down.

“Selena …” His voice caresses my name, and I hesitate, but then move on.

“Selena.” This time, my name is a command. I stop, my back stiff, and turn to face him.

He is right there, and he brings his hands to my shoulders, his eyes on my face. His expression is dark. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to leave. I told you. I can’t do this.”

“We have a deal,” he says, his eyes burning into me. “You’re mine, Selena.” His hand slides behind my neck, tugging me toward him. With his other hand, he lifts my tank top and cups my breast. “Mine,” he repeats.

The warmth of his hand fills me, and I gasp. I want him, but I can’t do this. I can’t …

I shake my head. “I’m breaking the deal.”

“I don’t accept that.”

Anger pierces my embarrassment and shatters my desire. “Fuck what you accept. I’m saying no.”

His thumb makes lazy circles on my nipple. “Stop it.”

He doesn’t. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.” This, I think as desire knots through me. The way I feel. Where this will lead …

No, I’m not afraid. I’m fucking terrified.

“Bullshit.” He pulls me close and takes my mouth with his, kissing me roughly and then pushing me away. “I can taste the fear on you, baby. Tell me. Dammit, Selena, let me make it better.”

I shake my head. I have no words.

Slowly, he nods. “All right. I won’t hold you to our deal. But at least let me see what I’m losing.”

My head jerks up to look at him. “What?”

“I wanted a portrait. And I wanted the woman. Naked, Selena. Naked and open in my bed. At least let me see what I’m missing out on.”

The anger that’s been growing bursts out like gasoline thrown on a fire. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He is perfectly calm, his eyes flat and focused on me. “I’m not. Take your jeans off, Selena. Let me see you.”

“You son of a bitch.” I blink, and a tear streaks down my cheek. I wanted my scars to be a weapon? Well, they’re damn well going to be. Angrily, I rip open the button of my jeans and yank the zipper down. I wriggle out of them until the denim is pooled at my feet. I kick off the damn flip-flops and stand there, my legs spread slightly. There’s no way he can miss the welts on my hips and inner thighs. “You goddamn son of a bitch.”

I don’t know what I expect, but Justin drops to his knees. His face is about level with my hips, and he gently rubs the pad of his thumb over the thickest scar on my hip. I’d cut too deep, and I’d been too scared to go to the emergency room. I’d closed the wound with duct tape and super glue and kept pressure on with an Ace bandage wrapped tight around me. I’d kept my secret, but the scar was vile. Even now, years later, it’s still slightly pink.

“Oh, baby.” His voice is soft, like a caress. “I knew there was something, but …” He trails off, his other hand tracing the scars on the inside of my thighs. “Who did this to you?”

I close my eyes and tilt my head away, ashamed.

I hear his soft exhale and know that he understands. I force myself to look back at him.

“Is this what you were afraid of? That I’d learn about these scars? That I wouldn’t want you?”

A tear is clinging to the end of my nose. It falls and lands with a plop on his arm.

“Sweetheart …” I hear my pain in his voice. And then he leans close to me and runs his tongue over the inside of my left thigh. Over my flesh, over my scar. I can’t believe this is real, but it is. He’s not running. He’s kissing me there, so sweetly, and then he takes my hands and pulls me down until I’m kneeling in front of him.

I’m a mess, tears spilling, my nose running. I’m hiccuping and it’s not easy to breathe.

“Shhhh,” he says, and then he’s gathered me in his arms. I cling to him as he carries me back to the bed and lays me down, naked except for my tank top, which he very slowly pulls off.

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head to the side, not looking at him.

“No,” he says, and eases my arms to my sides. He takes some pity on me, though, and doesn’t make me look at him.

Slowly, he explores my scars, as if I am a road map, his finger tracing over each of them. He speaks soothing words, and there’s no horror in his voice. No disgust. “This is what you were trying to hide. Why you’ve run from me. Why you wanted to be painted exactly the way you are.”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He already knows.

“You’re a goddamn fool, Selena Fairchild.” The harshness in his voice makes me turn my head. I look at him, expecting anger or disgust or exasperation. What I see is desire.

“I don’t want an icon. Not on my wall, not in my bed. I want the woman, Selena. I want you.”

“I—”

He presses a finger over my lips. “Our deal is on. No arguments. No exceptions.”

He eases off the bed and goes to the window, then pulls down one of the drapes. I hear the rattle of the ornate clips that have connected the material to the bar.

“What are you doing?”

“What I want,” he says as he ties the end of the drape to the bedpost. “Raise your arms.”

My pulse quickens, but I comply. Right now, I don’t want to be in charge. I don’t want to control. I want to be swept away, to be taken care of.

Gently, he twists the drape around my wrist, then weaves it through the bedposts before repeating the process with my other wrist. Finally, he ties the loose end off on the other bedpost.

“Justin.”

“Hush.” He kisses the soft skin of my wrist, then trails his lips down my arm, my shoulder, then over the curve of my breast. His mouth closes over my right nipple, and he sucks hard, making the areola pucker and tingle as he twists and strokes my other breast. Hot threads seem to crisscross my body, tracing from my breasts to my clit. My sex is throbbing, and I bring my legs together, trying to quell some of the building pressure.

He lifts his head and grins at me, and his expression is so devilish that I’m certain he knows exactly how I’m suffering. Then he sets off on his trail of kisses once more, moving down my stomach, to my navel, to my pubic bone, and then—oh, yes, oh, please.

But he shifts his attention, sitting up and putting his hands on my knees. “Spread your legs, Selena.”

I shake my head, and he chuckles, then stands up and rips down another drape.

“What are you doing?”

“You know.”

“Justin, no. Please, no.”

He pauses and looks at me. “Do you know what a safeword is?”

“I—yes. I think so.”

“No doesn’t always mean no. But the safeword always means stop. If I go too far, that’s what you say. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“What do you want your safeword to be?”

My vocabulary has entirely left my mind. I look around the room, as if something will leap out at me, then gaze out at the ocean. “Sunset,” I say finally.

His mouth curves into a smile, he nods, and then he ties the drape to the post at the foot of the bed. I swallow and watch him.

Slowly, he reaches for my right foot, easing my legs apart. He looks at me, and I see the question mark in his eyes.

“Will you hurt me?”

His eyes dart to my scars. “Do you want me to?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Do you know what passion is?”

I blink, confused.

“Most people think it only means desire. Arousal. Wild abandon. But that’s not all. The word derives from the Latin. It means suffering. Submission. Pain and pleasure, Selena. Passion.” The flash of heat that burns across his expression is unmistakable. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitating.

“Then trust me to take you where you’ve never gone before.”

I nod, and he looks at me with such naked desire that warm satisfaction fills me. Gently, he binds my ankle, then moves on to the other. When he’s done, I’m spread-eagled on the bed, naked and helpless and undeniably turned on.

“You’re mine, Selena. To touch. To soothe. To pleasure.” He tenderly cups my sex. I’m slick and hot and he groans with desire. “I want you, Selena. I want to bury myself in you and fuck you hard. I want to hear you scream when you come. Tell me you want it, too.”

“Yes, oh, yes.” I’ve wanted it since he first touched me. Wanted to feel him inside me, filling me, claiming me.

He sits beside me on the bed, still in jeans and T-shirt. He trails his index finger up my stomach to my breasts. Slowly, he circles one, then the other. “Should I make you beg for it?” he teases.

“I will,” I say, utterly shameless.

His expression is devious. “I want you hot, I want you desperate.”

I swallow. “I already am.”

“We’ll see,” he says. Then he reaches for the robe and pulls off the sash. Without his eyes ever leaving mine, he puts it over my eyes.

“Justin?”

“Shhh.”

He ties it behind my head. I think of the word—sunset—but I keep it to myself. I want this. I want to feel, and how much more will I be able to if I can’t see?

The bed shifts, and I realize he’s no longer beside me. I bite my lower lip, but I refuse to call out. He’s playing a delicious game with me, and I fully intend to hold my own. He’s taken me full circle, I realize, from fear and shame, to excitement and arousal. I don’t think anyone but Justin could do that, and whatever he has planned for me now, I trust him.

I jump as something cold and wet hits my breast.

“Ice,” I whisper.

“Mmm.” But he doesn’t speak, because he’s licking the water off, his mouth hot against my nipple. He traces the cube down my belly, and my muscles jump and twitch from the cold and from excitement. His mouth follows, his tongue, his lips. He leaves a hot trail down my body. I tug against the sash that binds my wrists, wanting to touch him, wanting to rip off the blindfold. And yet I don’t want to, either. There’s something exciting about being so totally at his mercy. Of seeing just where this will lead.

My legs are spread wide, and I can feel the cool night air against my soaking wet sex. I shift my hips, partly to try to quell the growing need and partly as an invitation. Either that or a demand. I want him in me, and I want it now.

“Getting anxious, Ms. Fairchild?”

“You’re a cruel man, Mr. Stark.”

His laugh suggests that I don’t yet know just how cruel, and then I feel the bed shift again. One finger stays on my belly, but I don’t feel the rest of him. And then—oh, God, yes—I feel his warm breath against my sex followed by the brush of his cheek against my inner thigh.

I almost come right then, and my hips buck up involuntarily.

“Please,” I whisper. “I’ll beg. Justin, I’ll beg.”

“I know you will, baby.” His mouth is right there, and then I feel the sharp flick of his tongue and I cry out from the almost painful pleasure that shoots through me. “But you’re not ready yet, not quite yet.”

“I think you’re wrong about that,” I grump and draw another laugh.

It’s stifled, though, by his mouth on my inner thigh. I squeeze my eyes closed tight behind the sash as he brushes his lips over my scars, kissing his way down my leg, worshipping me with his mouth. I feel his tongue dart out and tease the back of my knee, and I learn in that moment just how sensitive that part of a body can be.

I’m still twitching from the electrical sensations that buzz over my body when he reaches my feet.

“You have lovely toes, Ms. Fairchild,” he says. “I don’t have a foot fetish, but if I did …” He trails off, and his mouth closes over my big toe. He sucks on it, gently at first, and then harder until I’m squirming again, feeling the corresponding tug all the way in my cunt. I’m throbbing, but I know better than to beg. Justin’s not done with me yet.

He moves his attention to my other foot and licks each of my toes gently. Then he kisses his way back up my leg. By the time he reaches the soft skin between my thigh and my vulva, I am completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

At least, I think I am. When he closes his mouth over me and grazes my clit lightly with his teeth, I am wildly, hotly, intensely proven wrong. There are still heights, and Justin is taking me there.

He has an expert tongue, and it swirls over my clit, soft and gentle, but with a building intensity. My eyes are squeezed shut behind the blindfold, my breath coming in short gasps. I twist against the bindings that hold me. I am lost, I am nothing but pleasure. A vibrant white scream of pleasure concentrated between my thighs.

And then—oh, yes, oh, my—the world seems to explode, and I’m bucking against him, and still he’s sucking and pulling and tonguing me and I’m climbing higher and higher until finally, finally, the world settles back around me and my chest is rising and falling with the power of the explosion.

“Now,” Justin whispers, and I realize he’s above me. His mouth closes over mine, slick with the scent of me. The thick head of his penis is pressed against me, and he thrusts inside. “Oh, baby,” he says. His hand slips down between our bodies, and I feel his thumb on my sensitive clit. My body trembles again, and I gasp as my muscles clench, drawing him in even more. “There you go, that’s right. Are you sore?”

I manage to croak out a no.

“Good,” he says, and I feel him withdraw just a little, then slam back into me. He said he was going to fuck me hard, and he is, and I’m lifting my hips to meet him, because I want him deeper now, deeper and harder. I want all of him, and, dammit, I want to see him.

“Justin,” I say. “Justin, the blindfold.”

I’m afraid he’s going to ignore me, but then his fingers brush my temple and he pulls it off. He’s above me, his face hard but his eyes showing nothing but pleasure. His mouth curves into a gentle smile, and then he kisses the corner of my mouth. The frenzied fuck slows to a sweet, sensual rhythm that is all the more devastating because he’s drawing it out, making it last. It can last forever as far as I’m concerned.

And then I see the tension building in his body, his muscles tightening, his body stiffening against mine. He closes his eyes and I watch as he arches back, and then I feel the sweet pressure as he explodes inside me.

“Christ, Selena,” he says as he collapses against me.

I want to press my body against him, but I’m still trapped. “Justin,” I whisper. “Untie me.”

He rolls over and smiles at me, warm and languid. At some point he put on a condom, and he takes it off and drops it in a small trash bin by the bed. Then he moves quickly to undo the drapes. I didn’t get to enjoy watching him strip, but I’m very happy with the view now. He may not have played tennis professionally for years, but the man still has an athlete’s body, long and lean and so damn sexy.

“Come here,” he says roughly once I’m untied. He pulls me close to spoon against him, my back against his chest, my ass against his magnificent cock. His fingers stroke the outside of my thigh, and his lips graze my shoulder. “I liked taking you tied up,” he says. “We may have to try more of that.”

“More?”

“Have you ever heard of Kinbaku?”

“No.”

His hand slides over my thigh to rest on my sex. His fingers stroke my hair lightly. “It’s ropes,” he says. “But they’re for restraint as much as for pleasure.” His fingers ease between my thighs, and I gasp, amazed that I already want him again so desperately. He rubs his finger over my clit and whispers, “It’s all about the placement of the ropes.”

“Oh.” My voice is breathy.

“Would you like that?”

“I—I don’t know.” I swallow. “I liked this,” I admit.

His fingers slide easily inside me and I moan. “Yes,” he says. “I could tell.”

He’s teasing me for being aroused, but I can feel his cock twitching against my rear. He’s getting hard again, and I wriggle my butt a little, hoping to speed up that process.

“My, my, Ms. Fairchild. You are a naughty girl.”

“Very,” I say. “Fuck me again, Mr. Stark.”

He bites my earlobe, just hard enough that I squeal. “On your knees.”

I look back at him. “What?”

“On your knees.”

I obey.

“Spread your legs.”

I do. I’ve never had sex like this—who am I kidding, I’ve never had sex like anything I’ve done with Justin. I feel exposed. And, yeah, I like the feeling.

He is behind me, and he runs his palms over my ass, then bends to kiss my cheek. “Sweet,” he says. He slides his fingers between my legs, stroking my sex, the sensation of his touch beyond delicious.

He brings his hand up, and I feel his thumb at my anus. I bite my lower lip. “No,” I whisper.

“No?” he repeats, increasing the pressure and sending a shock of amazing sensations through me. “Not sunset?”

I gasp, and he laughs. “No,” he repeats. “You’re right. Not now. Not yet.” He slides his finger between my ass cheeks, and I draw in air, overwhelmed by the sensations. “But soon, Selena,” he says. “Because there is no part of you that isn’t mine.” Swiftly, he thrusts two fingers into my vagina even as the pad of his thumb presses against my ass. My muscles contract, wanting to draw him in, and there’s no denying the intensity of my arousal. Even if I admit it only to myself, I want to experience everything with Justin. Every last thing.

“Put your arms down,” he says, “so you’re resting on your elbows. That’s right.”

I’m on the mattress, my head low, my ass high. Yeah, exposed is right. But I don’t have time to think about my position, because Justin’s touch grows more intense. He’s leaning over me, one hand stroking my nipple as the other plays with my cunt, dipping in and out, in and out. “You make me so hard,” he says.

I hear the rip of a condom packet, and then, a moment later, the pressure of his cock against me. This time, he does fuck me hard and, dammit, I don’t want it to end. The pressure of his thrusts moves us across the bed, and I reach out, grabbing hold of the iron bedframe to hold myself in position, meeting him thrust for thrust, losing myself in the sensation and the sound of our bodies meeting.

I feel when he gets close, and as he does, his hand returns to my clit, stroking and teasing and bringing me closer and closer. “Come with me,” he demands. “I’m coming, baby, I want you to come with me, too.” He explodes inside me, and that’s all it takes to bring me over the edge with him, the universe showering stars down on the two of us.

Spent, we collapse together on the bed, a tangle of arms and legs.

When my body is functioning again, I prop myself up on an elbow and brush his cheek. He looks rumpled and sexy and very well-fucked, and I get a nice little knot of satisfaction in my belly.

He looks at me and smiles.

I grin flirtatiously. “That was nice,” I say. “Can we do it again?”

21

“Nice?” he repeats. I can tell he’s trying to sound offended, but the crinkling around his eyes gives away his mirth. “That wasn’t just nice. That was rocket ship to the moon. That was fucking amazing. Guinness World Records quality. Hell, that fuck was a thousand times better than those shoes you were wearing the night we met.”

“I wasn’t sure you remembered.”

He runs his fingers through my hair and sighs. “I remember everything about you.”

Considering how well he knew the details of my education, he may not be exaggerating. “You didn’t remember the pageant.”

“The Dallas Convention Center. You wore a fire engine red ball gown and a turquoise bathing suit. You were also about ten pounds lighter, and you were eyeing the mini-cheesecakes with the kind of lust that makes a man hard.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I probably was.”

He strokes my breasts and my hips. “The curves are an improvement.”

“I think so, too. But my mother about had a heart attack when I told her I wasn’t going to count carbs or calories anymore.” I grin at him. “I can’t believe you really remember all of that.”

“You were the only contestant who seemed alive to me, and that was despite the fact that everything you were doing was a lie. Or maybe because of it.”

“A lie?” I prop myself up on my elbow, fascinated. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I told you at the time. You didn’t want to be there. You felt like a kindred spirit.”

“You were right. That was my last pageant. After that one, I finally managed to get free.” I frown. “Kindred spirit? You said that because you wanted out of tennis, didn’t you?”

His expression darkens. “Hell yes.”

I hope he can’t see my sadness. I remember the emcee introducing him at the pageant, announcing that Justin Stark had just won the US Open. He had so much talent, and the joy had been ripped away from him. I’m certain there’s more to it than the story he told me, and I wonder if he’ll ever tell me the full truth.

ci ���/