#get over yourselves you sound stupid as fuck

[damnfandomproblems]

Responding to 3 anons in #5796

"I agree with this tbh. Like adults are the ones making things unsafe for minors in fandom spaces. YOU are the ones who approach minors unprompted. Minors are just minding their own business in fandom, then you all come along and bother everyone."

Predators that are adults are not synonymous with all adults in fandom. It's not the fault of the vast majority of fandom that kids purposefully bust into adult spaces and arbitrarily believe the creeps saying they're "safe" adults. It's the fault of your parents for not reaching you worth a damn and the predator. And yes, kids do fucking barge into adult NSFW spaces. None of the the ones that say they mind their business actually do.

"I agree with this post, cause like... the ones doing the most harassing are adults. I am a minor, and it makes me feel unsafe in fandom spaces. Especially when I see adults drawing nsfw of characters who are MINORS! aging them up does not excuse that gross and creepy behavior. Just stop and give us a space where we don't get pushed into a corner and called annoying. Leave our fandom spaces!"

It's gonna be really funny when you age out of your favorite characters and have a moral dilemma over the fact that you don't stop thirsting over Bakugo or whoever the fuck the minute you're older than him.

And aging up is...how time works. That's like saying no one can view anyone sexually, fictional or real life, because they were once a child. Do you realize how stupid that sounds? If you don't want to be sat at the kids table, learn how to behave rather than screaming at the main table because Aunt Milly told an off color joke and Grandpa Joe has a naked Princess Peach tattooed on his arm.

"I see people getting mad about Fandom Problem #5796, but that kind of is just proving the point? You all act like the minors are the biggest problem in fandom, but you are the ones constantly inserting yourselves and making it about you.

I see adults say things like:

- "Fandom wouldn't exist without adults."

- "Who do you think created fandom? Not minors!"

- "Minors wouldn't have content if it weren't for adults."

All are ignorant of the idea that minors are the foundation to fandom. Fandom would not exist if it wasn't for minors being interested in it and starting groups for people to join. Often times, the best artists and writers in the fandoms are THE MINORS.

Adults make the space uncomfortable by inserting themselves and putting NSFW fics and art of minor characters. Then they get pissy when a minor points out it makes them uncomfortable and go "stop invading our space!"

You are the ones trying to push minors out when we just want to have fun! Just leave us alone!

-A minor"

Minors aren't the biggest problem, no. But by food are they the loudest. You say you just want to have fun but minors have on mass harassed people that were leaving them alone simply because they didn't understand the concept of dead dove don't eat.

And no, you are not, nor have you ever been, the foundation of fandom. It has always been adults, from the very beginning when Sherlock Holmes novels gained an international fan club unlike the world had ever seen to the 1960s housewife Spock/Kirk shipping Trekkies starting conventions, mailing lists, having coalate parties for zines, and laying down the foundation we have today. Adults were the ones that got sued my lunatic writers in the 90s, and they're the ones that, 90% of the time, are buying the services or media for you to consume in the first place.

And I'm sorry, but the best artists and writers in the fandom are never minors. Exceptionally talented minors are exceptional for a reason. The rest of you sit somewhere between "average and has potential" to "would make My Immortal hide its face in secondhand embarassment." Art and writing are skills, and anyone under the age of 16 likely hasn't been writing fiction long enough to run with the heavy hitters. Considering the state of the US education system, this is an even more laughable stance.

Many minors have great potential, but acting like your the best in show when you just made it out the gate is the height of hubris.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[lonesplendour]

'Feminists' aka terfs will shout about more diverse representation for women and then kick up a fuss when a trans woman wears a sports bra because she's flat chested because all cis women obviously have large breasts and if you don't then sorry but sports bras ain't for you apparently

[zouisexo]

.

[whateveriwant]

Ok I lied. Here’s some more Simon fucking himself stupid because apparently he has a chokehold on me. (prev: part 1, part 2)

You’d think a man that regularly fucks his own brains mushy would have a poor performance in the bedroom, right? For a normal man, perhaps, but this is Simon Riley we’re talking about; ‘vigor’ is his middle name.

So even after going for multiple rounds, cycling through multiple positions, and getting covered in multiple fluids, your boyfriend is as ready to go as ever… physically speaking, that is. Because as far as mentally goes, he dropped out a long time ago, somewhere between taking you on your back and then on your knees.

Now you’ve reached the part of the night you like to call your ‘wind down phase’, where you’re just looking for one last, easy release before you throw in the towel. But where you’re tired, sensitive as hell, and already feeling tomorrow’s soreness starting to creep in, Simon’s still pinching and pawing at you like he can’t get enough.

As you lazily ride him, fingers curled over his thick shoulders, Simon’s own hands are pressed hungrily into the meat of your hips. From where he’s sat against the headboard, his lower back propped up by a pillow or two, he’s in the perfect position to guide you back and forth in his lap.

It’s as you feel the slow approach of your final climax that you begin to pick up the pace a little, only to slow right back down again as a sudden noise has you distracted. It takes you a second to place the sound, but once you recognize it, you’re immediately grinding your movements to a halt.

Simon’s phone only rings when it’s you or his work calling. And seeing the current situation you find yourselves in, you know it’s not the former.

The phone rings and rings, neither one of you bothering to move for it. The call gets sent to voicemail, and for a moment you think that’s all it’s going to be, but as the phone promptly begins to trill again, you know something else is up.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach over to the nightstand to grab the device. “It’s John,” you tell your boyfriend, seeing his Captain’s contact flash across the screen. You turn the phone around to show Simon, but it seems he has little interest in it, his grip on your waist unwavering as his phone buzzes away in your hand.

“Should you answer? Could be important,” you say. The boss making back to back calls speaks of urgency, if not emergency. But Simon’s focus lies solely on where your two bodies are connected, a sex-fueled tunnel vision if you ever saw one.

Though one look at Simon’s face tells you he’s in no place to have a meaningful conversation right now, as the phone darkens again, only to then light up for a third time in a row, you know this is serious. So despite the haziness in his eyes and the limpness of his jaw, you decide to answer the phone, putting it on speaker.

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before you hear the deep baritone of Price’s voice calling out. “Simon?” He waits a beat. “Simon, hello?” He tries again when he hears nothing in response.

While Price is kept in limbo, you’re busy trying to rouse your boyfriend back from brain death. “Simon, it’s John,” you whisper to him, hoping to not be heard by the other man on the phone. Unfortunately, Simon gives zero indication he’s heard you, his bleary gaze looking right past you.

“You there, Simon?” Price’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Bringing your hand up, you lightly tap Simon on the cheek. “Baby, it’s John. Your boss,” you whisper again, slightly louder this time.

Again, he offers you no response, just a slow blink, an even slower trickle of drool starting to form at the corner of his mouth.

As you hear another gruff, “Simon?”, being spoken over the phone, your taps become a little more insistent, a little more forceful.

“It’s Price, Si. Price. Captain Price,” you hiss, urgently patting him against the cheek.

Somehow, whether by miracle or sheer force, you’re able to knock Simon’s last two brain cells together and coax forth a vaguely human-sounding reaction from him.

“Priiizzzzze,” Simon rumbles out, a garbled approximation of his Captain’s surname.

The line goes quiet for a beat, and you can almost imagine the man on the other side blinking in confusion. Then, “You alright, Simon?” he asks earnestly. “Now’s not a bad time, is it?”

Thankfully, Simon seems to have regained the smallest hint of his bearings again, and he manages to hum a solid, “Mmmf.”

Price takes a moment to consider what he means by such an ambiguous response, and deciding it translates to ‘Speak freely’, he does just that. “Well, I’m callin’ because we’ve just received word of some new developments comin’ out of Hong Kong. Laswell’ll want to give a full briefing tomorrow mornin’, but essentially–”

And that’s about as far as Simon gets before he checks out again.

As Price continues to lay down the basics for him, Simon’s focus shifts back to what he really desires: the person he’s currently buried to the hilt inside.

His Captain’s droning acts as little more than background noise as Simon reaches up and begins toying with one of your nipples. The action is unexpected (not to mention ill-timed given the circumstances), and you try batting his hand away, even as a pleasurable tweak has you choking back a moan.

However, unfazed, Simon drags his fingers down, down, downwards, slowly tracing the midline of your body until he reaches your throbbing sex. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as he begins to stroke you, applying just the barest of touches, but it’s enough to light your nerves on fire.

This time, it’s harder to stop your moans from spilling forth, and you’re forced to mash your lips together lest you reveal your presence to the Captain still chirping on and on. Your free hand darts down to grab Simon’s wrist, meaning to tug it away, but instead, you find yourself pausing, holding onto him as a shudder wracks up your spine.

You know you should push him away – or, at the very least, tell him to ease up a little – but it just feels so fucking good that you can’t bring yourself to do either.

Besides, even if you were to speak up, would Simon be cognizant enough to heed your words? A quick peek at his expression tells you all you need to know. The lights may be on upstairs, but there is no one home right now to answer the phone.

You can feel the hand between your legs grow wetter and wetter as you start to leak droplets of your arousal. The slippery fluid makes Simon’s fingers glide that much smoother, that much slicker as he rubs you.

Even the way he’s touching you now – the way he’s expertly taking you apart – isn’t the result of conscious decision making by Simon. His movements, however deft, aren’t directed by any true rhyme or reason; they’re pure muscle memory at this point.

Simon’s other hand on your hip starts to rock you against him, and you find it’s getting harder to keep yourself under control. Try as you might to tamp your voice down, your ecstasy soon gets the better of you, and before you can stop it, you’re muttering a less than subtle, “Fuck.”

Immediately, you realize what you’ve done, and you slap a hand over your mouth at your mistake. As Price’s side of the call goes similarly quiet, you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to kick yourself for your carelessness.

Just as you think the jig is up, however, you catch a lucky break, as not a second later, Price resumes, “–boots on the ground to confirm what these sat images have been pickin’ up.”

The feeling of relief that floods you is almost akin to euphoria, and you exhale deeply (but not loud enough to be picked up over the receiver) as you bring your hand back down.

That was close; way too close for comfort, honestly. And yet, despite how close you just came to exposing yourself, Simon is totally, completely oblivious to it all.

This time when you reach for the wrist between your legs, you successfully tug it away. You feel like you’ve tempted fate enough for one night.

Though Simon puts up zero fight as you remove his hand from your sex, that’s only because he then reaches up and quickly stuffs his slickened fingers into his mouth. His eyes fall shut as he savors the salty taste of your arousal, a sort of blissful wave washing over him as he sucks his fingers clean.

Somehow, though you’re not sure how it’s possible, you swear you can feel him grow even harder where he’s buried inside you. The sensation makes you squirm, wanting to bear down on the fullness within you, but you force yourself to resist the urge to tilt your hips back and forth.

This is almost torture at this point, like you’re caught in some kind of kinky Saw trap. Honestly, you’re not sure how much more of this you can take. But thankfully, it appears you won’t have to endure it for much longer.

“All that’s to say, it looks like our timetable’s been moved up. We’ll be shippin’ out earlier than expected,” Price starts to wind the one-sided conversation down.

Though Simon has been relatively mute this entire time, for some reason, at this moment, he takes the opportunity to let out a long, “Mmmmmm.”

While you know the noise isn’t much more than an appreciative moan at your taste, Price is unaware of that fact, and so he asks, “That’s not a problem, is it, Lieutenant?”

You both wait a few beats for Simon to respond, but with less than a handful of working neurons left in his brain, you figure that’s unlikely to happen. Knowing Price is still expecting an answer and your boyfriend is unable to offer him one, you realize you have to take matters into your own hands once more.

So puffing out your chest and straightening up your spine, you muster up your best Simon impression as you expel a deep, gravelly, “Hmm.” The several seconds that follow find you holding your breath in anticipation, praying to whatever god will listen that Price buys your impersonation.

It’s after he eventually says, “Alright, well, I’ll expect you at 0800 for tomorrow’s brief,” that you breathe again, feeling nearly on the verge of passing out.

Frankly, this whole ordeal has left you exhausted. From having to hide from Price to having to pull one over on him, you feel like your heart is liable to give out any moment now.

If only Simon had been more of a conscious participant in this conversation maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. You and him could have quietly laughed and swore together in your shared misery. Instead, he’s too preoccupied with squeezing your nipple again between his wet fingers to notice anything’s the matter.

You don’t even bother pushing his hand away this time as you can sense the call is mercifully coming to a close.

“Have a good rest of your night, Simon,” Price says through the speaker.

If you weren’t so wrecked right now, you could almost leap with joy from how utterly relieved you feel. From the moment you answered this call, you thought you’d undoubtedly be found out. Truth be told, you’re not sure how you managed to make it through the past several minutes unheard and undiscovered. All you know is that you did and you’re beyond grateful for that.

But before you can hang up the phone to celebrate, Price has one last thing to say. Just as you’re about to press the end call button, just as you’re about to fling the phone to the far side of the room, just as you’re about to collapse into a boneless heap because you’re finally, finally, finally in the clear, Price gives one last farewell that makes your stomach fall out of your ass.

“And you too, (Y/N).”

The call dies, and you wish you died with it.

[heart-eyed-love]

Love is Embarrassing

Summary | You and Eddie embarrass yourselves in front of each other a lot, but that’s okay, it only seems to make your relationship stronger

Contains | Fem!Reader, Established Relationship, Embarrassing Moments, Cursing

Word Count | 1.8k

Currently, You, Eddie, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant, all stand outside the fence surrounding one of the abandoned houses in Hawkins. It’s not a very tall one, but it did slightly ease you, putting distance between you and the sketchy house.

“Do you guys really think this is a smart idea?” Jeff asks, looking over to you and the boys.

“No, actually. I think this is really fucking stupid.” You answer in return, agreeing with Jeff on the fact that this wasn’t the one of the smartest ideas your boyfriend has had. You’re not entirely sure what good could come from this.

“It’ll be fine… It’ll be fun.” Eddie reassured you, lightly putting his hand on your shoulder and giving it an affectionate rub. You only side eye him.

Grant is already making his way closer to the fence when he asks, “Who’s going first?” And when no one answers you narrow your eyes at your boyfriend.

“Wasn’t this your idea?” You ask

He rolls his eyes, “Fine, whatever…” He approaches the fence. And in an attempt to impress, he begins climbing over the fence with ease. Trying to be all slick and suave about it, he’s about to jump off the fence, and be successfully on the other side. But once he does, his jeans catch on the fence… and they rip.

And you cringe once he’s back on the ground, having unfortunately ripped his go-to jeans. His face falls immediately when he notices, but the boys behind you are giggling.

“Dude…” Is all Jeff mutters out between giggles, but Gareth has always been one to make it worse.

“Are those Bats?!” He’s now cackling at his boxers, and even though Eddie's glare would usually make him shut up, the fence between them has made him brave.

“Shut up.” he doesn’t dare look at you yet, cheeks aflame. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, so you’re not sure why he’s so flustered.

“Maybe it’s a sign.” You shrug your shoulders, looking over to your boyfriend, who’s now currently trying to get a better view of his ass, trying to make the rip less noticeable.

Without looking up at you he says, “We’re going in.” You roll your eyes and make sure way over to the fence. Climbing up carefully as to not be in the same predicament as Eddie. He holds his hands out for you, helping you get down safely.

“Let me see…” You say, now that you can get a better look, hand on his back to turn him so you can see. The other boys begin climbing over the fence as Eddie lets you examine the rip in his pants.

“Is it fixable?” He asks softly.

“Oh, Yeah. We’ll have these fixed right up…” You pat his shoulder, “But for now…” You place your hand on his ass right over the rip with a smirk, “This will have to do…”

Last night was the first night sleeping over at your boyfriend's house. It was a domestic night of bliss, dinner was eaten at the table together, skin care was done, and you both brushed your teeth as you looked at each other through the mirror with a smile.

It was perfect, and the night was concluded by snuggling into his side, head resting on his chest as you both passed out, faster than you ever had. It felt right.

But the next morning was a different story.

You were woken by a soft shake to your shoulder, with eyes scrunched almost closed, you lifted your head from Eddie's chest and felt a stickiness on your cheek. Cracking your eyes a bit more open you’re able to see a wet patch on his shirt. You now know what the stickiness was as you violently tried to wipe the embarrassment off your cheek, then the same to the patch of drool on his chest.

“Shit, I’m so sorry…” You grumble, and Edide can’t help but smile at the pleasant sound of your morning voice.

“No, don’t worry about it, I just was wondering if you were hungry? I thought I could go get some breakfast…?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice…” You say softly, cheeks a little flushed.

“K, let’s go get dressed and brush our teeth and get rid of that morning breath.” He says with a smile, and your eyes go wide and to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh my god.” You whine out turning away from him, and he chuckles, following right behind. Pushing himself up against your back.

“Hey! Don’t be embarrassed, at least it’s not as bad as mine…” He says, lifting himself onto his elbow to get a better advantage on you as he begins blowing his breath into your face. You can’t help but giggle as you squirm away, cause yeah, at least it’s not as bad as that.

“Eddie, stop!” You now move your hand to cover your nose, a smile evident on your face now.

“Let’s go brush our rats' nests out and our morning breath away together, Baby…” He smiles cheekily as he takes your hand to pull you up with him, as he attempts to rake his other through your hair.

He then leans in to try and kiss you, and you pull away with a scrunch of your nose, “Is that really a good idea right now?” You tease.

“I can’t think of a better one.” Giving you the sloppiest kiss you had the honor of receiving.

You and Eddie had been in his bedroom when he acted upon his urges. He always thought it was so much fun to wrestle and play around with you, and he was happy to find out you had just as much fun.

But today, he took it to another level. An unfair level.

He had you pinned down on the bed, and he was tickling you relentlessly. And after having a pretty fulfilling dinner that wasn’t really going well with your stomach.

Giggling as you beg him to stop, losing your breath as he continues, the unfortunate happens. And a small fart escapes you.

You freeze under him, and he’s frozen too as he hovers over you. You can only imagine the shade of your face as Eddie stares down at you. He’s not even laughing, honestly that would feel better than the intense staring he seems to be doing right now.

Wanting to get out of this vulnerable and embarrassing position faster you sit up quickly and shove him off of you.

He’s falling onto his butt on the bed, with a slightly offended, “Hey!” And he’s pushing you back down so he’s on top of you again, moving down to kiss you fiercely.

He pulls away with a teasing smirk, “That was your first fart with me, Babe. Feel proud.”

You roll your eyes, but feel the blush rising to your cheeks again, and he’s leaning back down to kiss you again.

Tonight was special. Usually when Eddie invited you to his shows it consisted of his band playing covers of they’re favorite artists and bands. Lately, they’d been feeling bold enough to start playing some of Corroded Coffin's originals.

Those were your favorites.

But tonight Eddie wanted to do something special for you.

He had made the guys practice ‘Head Over Heals’, he knew it was your favorite. He hoped you’d think this was a romantic gesture, cause he’d never play such a song for anyone else.

He was putting his metalhead dignity on the line for you.

The guys had tried to tease him about it, but he was quick to remind them that he was the only one who actually has a girlfriend and that shut them up pretty quick.

That Tuesday as he saw you sat in the record breaking crowd of 10 drunks, he felt his nerves start getting the best of him. There was a small pit in his stomach at the thought of making a fool of himself.

And when he starts playing the song that has had him worked up since he started practicing it, his eyes find yours, widened and surprised. That doesn't help his nerves much as the first words he sings are slightly high and scratchy, and he cringes to himself slightly. Pulling himself together for most of the song, but unfortunately a few more voice cracks and off tone notes were sung.

After they had finished and went backstage, he plopped himself down on the rickety couch with a loud groan.

“That was totally shit man.” Gareth said as he made his way backstage too, earning a punch to the shoulder from Jeff, big eyes signaling him to shut up. But Eddie was feeling too distraught to give a single ounce of a shit about what Gareth thought.

“I think you sounded sweet…” Grant admits, trying to make him feel better.

“Yeah, don’t listen to Gareth, he’s a dipshit.” Jeff glares over at the boy.

Eddie, only wanting to be romantic for you, but who would swoon over a nervously high pitched, scratchy rendition of their favorite song?

He lets out a groan into his hands. “Eddie…?” A soft voice causes his head to snap up. There you stood, a sweet smile on your face, and he watched the other guy scramble out of the room as you approached the couch he was sitting on.

You sat yourself down next to him, so close, your bare thigh pressed to his denim clad one. “You sang my favorite song…?” At your words he looks over to you, and your eyes somehow are able to hold the most affection that's ever been directed to him. He knew you would never judge or make fun of him for something like that, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a humbling experience for him. “I thought you said you’d never stoop so low?” You smirk.

“Yeah well, look what that got me…” He scoffs and looks straight forward, and you can tell by his tone this might be a bit more serious.

“I thought it was great…”

“I sounded like an idiot.” He looks over to you.

“No, you didn’t. I thought you sounded sweet…”

“Sweet? I sounded tone deaf.”

“Well, we both know that you aren’t, I think you were just nervous, Eddie. But, just because it was a little pitchy doesn’t mean I didn’t think it was the best thing I’ve ever heard anyone sing.”

You’re smiling so sweetly at him, and he can’t help but chuckle, “Don’t be a suck up…”

“I’m not, like really, that was the sweetest and most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. I loved it… I Love you…” You admit, feeling your own rush of nerves. It was the first time either of you had said it, but it felt fitting. He was vulnerable for you, you can be vulnerable for him.

He stares at you for a second too long, and you look away nervously, “Sorry, that was weird.” You say, but he vigorously shakes his head.

“No! No, it’s not weird… I just didn’t expect that shitty performance to pull an ‘I Love you’ from you…” He chuckles again, “I Love you too…” And he’s leaning in now, kissing your lips softly.

[bro-atz]

daddy dearest — chapter one

pair: idol!san/afab!reader word count: 4.3k chapter rating: r — nsfw genre: romance, drama, smut content: clubbing, drinking, nickname (sweetheart), hotel room sex, safe sex, oral sex, slight bulge kink?, completely consensual!

table of contents | next chapter

this chapter contains smut— minors do not interact

When your friend invited you to go clubbing, you didn’t think she was going to drag you to one of the most exclusive clubs in existence. You knew that she had connections, that she would be able to make sure the two of you got all the drinks you wanted for free, but you didn’t think for a second that the drinks, before they were free, would cost more than your rent.

“Wh— How— Are you insane?!” you whisper-hissed to your friend. “How the hell did you manage to pull this off?!”

“Will you relax? I’m friends with one of the bartenders, and he told me that he would be able to get us in,” you friend said as she covered your mouth. “That’s why the drinks are also free.”

“Here, though… The drinks will be free here?!”

“Yes, the drinks will be free here as long as we order from my friend. Now, come on! Stop worrying so much!”

Yet, you were going to worry, because a fancy club like this was certainly not a place that you were used to— or even comfortable— being in. Hell, the bodycon black dress was already too much for you to handle, so being in such an exclusive club just made your anxiety run even higher.

However, after a singular drink, that changed immediately. You and your friend were sitting in a little booth by yourselves, and while sipping on your second drink, you confided in your friend.

“I really want to hook up with someone tonight!” you tried to be quiet, but there was no way you were going to be able to with the sound of the loud bass pumping in the club and in your ears.

“You? You want to hook up with someone? You?”

“Yes, me. I want to hook up with someone— anyone! I’m tired of being in these dead end relationships, and I just want to feel something other than sadness tonight!”

Your friend laughed. She downed her drink then began scouting the area for you— you were never one to choose a good person (given how poorly your past relationships went), so you thought relying on your friend this time would be best.

“Okay, what about that guy over there?”

You looked in the direction your friend was pointing, and you immediately grimaced. He was very attractive, but…

“He’s too tall.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t be this picky,” she complained. “You’re the one who said you wanted to hook up with anyone tonight, so just ignore your stupid standards.”

“It was me ignoring my “stupid standards” that fucks me in the first place. If I’m going to hook up with someone tonight, I’m going to hook up with someone I won’t regret.”

“Fine, I’ll keep looking then,” your friend gave up and started to actually look for a guy you would be interested in. “What about that guy over there?”

You looked and saw a man with short, blond hair that cascaded over his eyes sitting at a booth with several other men. He had a gorgeous smile, and he was pretty close to what your type was. You nodded and said, “Okay, maybe—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” your friend stopped you. “What about the guy next to him?”

Next to him was a man with an extremely sharp jawline, wide shoulders, and dimples that made your heart flutter. Forget about a one night stand— this guy was the literal guy of your dreams. He only checked the boxes more when you saw him stand up; he was tall, but he wasn’t too tall, which only made you more interested in him. Plus, his white button up and black trousers that hugged his tiny waist just made you all the more interested in him.

“God…” you whispered.

“Oh, shit! He’s coming over here! Get up and flirt!”

You did not need to be told twice. You got up and tracked his movements. He was headed towards the bar. You waited until he caught the bartender’s attention and put in his order for drinks before sliding into the space next to him. He looked right at you, and he looked a little annoyed, so you decided to not flirt with him and just get a drink instead. You flagged down the bartender your friend knew.

“Hey, what can I get ya?” the bartender asked.

“A Grey Goose vodka soda and two shots of Jameson— don’t you dare give me that well bullshit!”

The bartender laughed and nodded before preparing your drinks, and the man next to you, who was definitely less annoyed now, started talking to you.

“You really don’t like well liquor, huh?” he asked

“I’m trying to have a good time, not die of alcohol poisoning,” you responded.

The man let out a little laugh, his dimples peaking through slightly. Moments later, the bartender returned with your drink and shots.

“Who’s the other shot for, if you don’t mind me asking,” the man said as he pointed at the shots.

“Oh, my friend over there,” you pointed around the corner at your booth.

You grabbed your vodka soda, but before you could grab the shots, the man picked them up for you.

“Let me help you with these,” he offered.

“Are you sure? Aren’t you waiting for your drinks?”

“I can come back for them.”

With that, he started walking over to your friend with your shots, leaving you to scurry after him. He dropped off the shots before waving to the two of you and returning back to the bar.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” your friend giggled. “Did you two hit it off?”

“Ugh, not really,” you groaned. “We talked about the drinks for, like, two seconds, he helped me with the shots, then brought them here.”

“You didn’t even get his name? Girl, what the hell?!”

“I know! I know… Maybe I shouldn’t even bother tonight…”

You sighed and picked up one of the shots before forcing your friend to pick up the other and clink glasses with you. A couple minutes after your shots disappeared, your friend’s bartender friend walked up to your booth with a tray of ten shots.

“Dude, what the hell is this?” your friend immediately asked.

“They’re lemon drops,” the bartender responded matter-of-factly.

“No, I mean why the hell are you bringing them here?”

“Someone got it for you guys. I don’t think all ten shots are for you, though.”

“Then why are there so many?”

“Sorry, I thought it would’ve been fun if we joined you,” the man from earlier popped his head out from around the corner.

You nearly choked on your spit when you saw his cheeky dimple peek out. Behind him were seven other men— the other men who were in the same booth as the man. The bartender left the tray of shots, and before you knew it, you were wedged between the man you were talking to and one of his friends.

“You got these for all of us to share?”

“Yeah! Grab one,” the man answered cheerily as he smiled.

The ten of you shared the shots, and you found yourself sucked into conversation with all of them. At first, you were a little worried for your friend because she didn’t do so well with a bunch of strange men, but she seemed to be just fine flirting with one of his friends— he had part of his hair tied up, but his bangs still covered his face slightly, making you nearly miss the little mole under his eye.

“By the way,” the man leaned into you, his lips close to your ear so he could make sure you heard him. “I never got your name.”

You offered him your name and your hand, the man taking it and shaking it lightly.

“Nice to meet you. I’m San.”

“San? That’s a unique name,” you couldn’t help but comment— there weren’t many Korean guys with one syllable names, after all.

“Yeah, my father wanted me to be a comforting hill for some and a mountain no one will dare challenge for others,” San explained the reasoning behind his name.

“It really suits you.”

“Really?”

San grinned at you, his dimples and cute eye smile making your heart skip a beat. You knew then and there that you had the capacity to love this man to death, but you had to stop your brain from spiraling— he was just going to be a hookup, and that’s it.

“It really does.”

You found yourself completely immersed in conversation with San as the night progressed. Neither of you really drank that much after that insanely sweet lemon drop, so you wondered how much he had to drink prior given that his hand was resting on your knee and slowly moving up your thigh.

“So, tell me something,” he leaned closer to you. “What’re you and your friend doing here on this lovely evening?”

“We’re just visiting her friend and grabbing a couple of drinks,” you answered.

“A friend?”

“Yeah, the bartender from earlier.”

“Oh,” San exhaled and smiled. “So he’s just a friend?”

“My friend’s friend, but not really mine… You seem relieved?”

“I thought he might be someone a little more. That makes me feel a lot less guilty for this,” San murmured in your ear as his hand slid a little further up.

Your entire body jolted when you felt his hand slip under the skirt of your dress, his thumb rubbing circles into your legs. You couldn’t help but exhale softly when you felt his fingers slip to the inside of your thighs. You tried closing your legs, but he had a strong grip on you, and while he pulled your legs open, he pulled you closer to him. To mask your surprise, you took a sip of your vodka soda and avoided eye contact with him, but that didn’t stop your entire body from craving him.

“Is this okay, by the way?” he asked softly.

“I’d prefer if we were somewhere private, but for now, I’m not opposed to it,” you murmured back as you turned your head towards him.

You saw a tiny smirk cross his face as he neared you. His nose brushed against your jawline, making a moan nearly slip from your lips. You couldn’t help but sigh sensually the closer he got to you, the more his hands roamed your body.

“Oh, so you would like to go somewhere more private?” he asked.

San squeezed your thigh, and you choked back another moan. He was really testing you at that point, and you desperately needed him. You held onto his forearm as his hand somehow managed to slide up even further, the lust practically sucking all of the patience and willpower from you.

“Yes, please.”

Somehow, the two of you managed to slip away from the booth and head towards the exit of the club. Once the exit was in sight, you felt San’s large, warm hand rest on the small of your back, making electricity run from head to toe. It certainly did not help when he leaned in close to you, giving you a good whiff of his intoxicating cologne. Your entire being craved to latch onto him and never let go.

“I have a question for you,” San said into your ear just loud enough so that you could hear him over the loud bass of the club music.

You looked at him and nodded as if to give him the go ahead for him to ask his question.

“Should I be worried about how much you’ve had to drink tonight?”

You shook your head and replied, “No, I promise. As long as I can still feel my fingers and toes, I know I’m alright.”

“You sure? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You see me walking in a straight line, don’t you?”

“Yeah, that’ll change later tonight. Believe me.”

With that, his hand slid down from your back to your ass, and you felt his fingers give your ass a nice squeeze before he moved his hand back up and around your waist. He guided you through the rest of the club and kept a tight hold on you as the two of you stood and waited for a taxi.

The entire taxi right consisted of the same things that San was doing in the booth. Touching you here, touching you there, making you feel all sorts of ways. He wasn’t intentionally teasing you, but he was intentionally riling you up and making you crave him more and more. His low voice whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to you echoed in your ear as he spoke quietly. His hold on your thigh was strong enough for him to pull your entire body closer to him until your shoulder was pressing right into his chest, slightly surprising you at the strength he had. You wanted to see, and feel, more of that strength. You wanted him.

When you and San got to the hotel, though, you kept your distance for some reason. There was something telling you to just head to the elevator while San booked the room, and so you waited for the elevator. By the time it arrived, San got the room key and stood behind you. The two of you entered the elevator, and the second the doors closed, San pinned you against the wall.

“You’re such a good girl,” he whispered, his hot breath hitting your collarbone. “How’d you know to keep your distance?”

“W-What do you mean?” you asked, your mind beginning to spiral as you felt his hands on your waist— and the fact that he called you a good girl did not help at all.

“It’s almost as if you’ve done this before…” he skipped over your question and continued while brushing his nose against your jawline. “That makes me wonder if you’re a good girl or a naughty girl.”

“What if I’m both?”

San inhaled sharply; he apparently loved that answer. He pressed you up against the wall completely, his chest rubbing against yours as you felt his waist begin to roll into your body. You felt his fingers run through your hair as he moved your face to lock your lips with his.

You melted the second you felt his warm, soft lips press against yours. He was an amazing kisser. The way he sucked lightly on your lower lip and tugged upwards, the way his tongue ran over your lower lip before making its way into your mouth— you couldn’t help but think that he was just an expert kisser. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let yourself get sucked into his tenderness. Light moans echoed in the empty elevator the more he kissed you. The more intense they got, the weaker your legs became, and you desperately needed a bed at that point because you were in no shape to remain standing.

Luckily, the elevator finally dinged when you got to your floor. You and San hurried to the room, and the second he unlocked and opened the door, the two of you tumbled inside. Your shoes flew off as San pushed you towards the bed, his lips latched to yours once more. He immediately pinned you on the bed and broke away from you to push your insanely tight black dress upwards, revealing your sheer, black thong.

“Oh, wow…” you heard him whisper the second he unveiled your lingerie.

You watched him bite his lower lip before lowering his head between your legs. He left a sweet kiss on your clit over your panties, making you curl your toes and arch your back so that you were pushing your head into the mattress. You moaned softly when his tongue flicked against your clothed clit, your cunt getting wetter and more impatient by the second.

“You taste so sweet and lovely…” he murmured. “I wonder how you feel, though…”

San didn’t give you time to formulate a thought and respond. He pushed your thong to the side and began stroking your quivering pussy, a sharp gasp leaving your lungs. The gasp then turned into a moan when he sunk two of his thick fingers into you. There were only two, but you felt like he was already filling you up. You clutched the bedsheets and nearly tore through them with your nails the more he fingered you. He was moving his fingers slowly and deliberately, and every stroke was driving you more and more insane.

Your eyes were squeezed shut at that point, so you didn’t realize that San had one knee on the bed and lowered himself so that his face was right next to yours. You felt his fingers wrap around your neck, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly as he turned your head to face him. He kissed you hungrily as he moved his fingers in and out of your cunt a little faster.

It was when San curled his fingers inside you repetitively did your pleasure build at an exponential rate. Between his fingers filling you up and his fingers pressing the tiniest bit more into your neck, you were riding the most insane line of pleasure you ever had in your entire life. You moved your hands from the bed to his shoulders and gripped them tightly as you felt your abdomen tighten with every passing second. You were close, but you weren’t quite there yet.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” San’s choice of nickname made your mind completely combust. “You want to cum?”

“Ye— Oh! Oh God!”

San added a third finger to the mix, and that was exactly what you needed. Your legs trembled uncontrollably as you came hard all over the man’s fingers. Your cunt clenched around his fingers, and you watched a slight smile appear on his face when he moved away from you and released your neck.

“You feel good, sweetheart? It looked like you really enjoyed that,” San teased you, his voice hushed to a whisper.

You nodded weakly, your tight grip on his shoulders loosening as you sunk into the bed. Your eyes fluttered as you watched him move away from you. He cleaned his fingers with a tissue then took his wallet out of his back pocket to fish a condom out. You managed to sit up by the time he approached the bed again and stood directly in front of you.

“However,” he said as he returned to the bed. “We’re not done yet.”

San stood before you as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly with one hand. You felt your mouth water as each button revealed more of his fair skin, his defined muscles coming into view. When he pulled off his shirt, you could see his biceps bulge, and your heart skipped a beat. His face value was already at a ten, so seeing his bare torso did many, many things to you.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” San asked with a chuckle as he knelt on the bed, his waist right before you. “If you stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole through me.”

“You’re so sexy, San,” you murmured as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants. “So fucking sexy.”

You missed it while you focused on unbuckling his belt, but a light blush crossed his face when he heard you say that. He was thrown a little off his rhythm, only to shake it off quickly and regain his charisma.

“I could say the same thing to you,” he responded in the same decibel.

San cupped his hand under your chin and lifted your head so that you were looking at him. There was a dark, dangerous glint in his eyes that just made you even more excited and made you want him more than ever. He lowered his head and kissed you sloppily, his tongue pushing into your mouth. Your hands moved away from his now unbuckled belt and to his cheek and neck, your fingers pressing into his skin as you pulled him closer to you. He pinned you down on the bed and continued to kiss you until you were seeing stars. You didn’t think it would be possible for you to orgasm while only kissing someone, but with San, you were sure he could get you there.

You were so distracted by San’s lips and tongue that you didn’t realize he moved his hands away to open the condom packet and pull his cock out. He rolled the condom on before beginning to rub his cock against your clit, your cunt quivering as soon as you felt it. He didn’t even let you look yet— he was too busy kissing you as if his life depended on it.

When he moved his hand to the back of your head, he broke off your kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. He let out a shaky exhale as he pressed the tip of his cock against your cunt. “Relax for me, okay?” he whispered.

At first, you didn’t know why he was telling you to relax, but the second his cock started moving into you, you realized exactly why he said it.

San was massive. You’d never experienced anything like it. His cock was shoving into you and spreading you so wide you were afraid you were going to tear into two pieces. You did your best to relax and make sure his cock didn’t absolutely murder you, and you were only able to breathe peacefully when he bottomed out.

“Good job, sweetheart,” San said softly as he brushed your hair out of your face. “I’m going to start moving now, okay?”

You nodded, and San immediately started rolling his hips into yours. He started moving slowly at first, making you feel every single damn thing. You couldn’t help but clench your cunt— he was just so insanely big that you were tense as fuck. San winced when he felt you tighten, and he let out a low chuckle.

“You nearly snapped my cock off, sweetheart,” he teased you while brushing his nose against your jawline. “Just relax for me.”

San planted his lips on your neck and started leaving light marks as he thrust into you steadily. He was still being a little gentle with you with the way his hands were holding onto your waist with just enough firmness that he had a good hold on you but wasn’t hurting you. You liked that he was being considerate of you, but truth be told, you actually wanted him to annihilate you. You were so frustrated that he was teasing you the whole time that what you really wanted was for him to fuck you senseless.

“San,” you whined as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “M-More…”

He moved his head from your neck up so that he could look at your face, and a smirk graced his lips. It was as if he was waiting for you to beg him for more.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll give you more.”

San sat up and pushed his hands under your thighs, pushing your knees up towards your breasts. He still hovered closely above you as his angle changed slightly, his cock rubbing slightly upwards. You moaned loudly and pushed your head back into the bed when you felt his hips quickly snap into yours, his cock bulging out slightly. Your moans turned into loud cries of pleasure as San’s pace sped up very quickly. His cock was hammering into you, and you were definitely losing your mind.

You and San were covered in a light sheen as the room got hotter. His sweat started rolling down his arms, and his hair got a little matted to his forehead. He moved so that he was sitting upright and brushed his hair out of his face, your heart skipping a beat as you watched him effortlessly be so damn sexy. Your split moment of appreciation of his beauty quickly ended when San gripped your waist tightly before ramming his cock into you repeatedly. You reached for his wrists and held onto him, your nails digging into his skin and leaving painful crescents as he refused to let up. He was grunting and groaning as he fucked you, his volume getting louder as his pleasure increased.

The pleasure that was building in your stomach suddenly snapped when San lifted your hips, his cock drilling into you at a new angle. White washed over your vision as you came, your cunt creaming around San’s throbbing cock. You, at first, choked back your cry, but when you felt San get even faster, you screamed with pleasure, your entire body succumbing to him.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” San hissed.

You were too fucked out to even think straight. Your body acted on behalf of you. You reached out for him and pulled him down so that he was flush against your body. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders once more and your legs around his waist as you brought his lips to yours and kissed him passionately. The man let several groans slip out in between kisses as waves of pleasure shot through him. His waist slammed into yours, and his cock twitched and trembled as his cum spurt into the condom, completely filling it up. He came, but he was still restlessly moving his waist against yours.

“Sweetheart… You… Fuck,” he whispered. “That wasn’t enough for me… I need more of you.”

“Well,” you chuckled breathlessly. “I’m not going anywhere tonight, San.”

“You’re going to regret that.”

San moved away from you and locked eyes with you. His mouth said one thing, but his eyes were challenging you; and you weren’t one to back down from a challenge.

“Try me.”

table of contents | next chapter

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[murdrdocs]

sleepy lazy couch sex; hints of very slight somno; pull out method; fluff (again!) MDNI 18+ w/ CARMEN BERZATTO

you tend to like carmy in the aftermath.

it's not like you hate him during the preparation, or despise him throughout the event. but you like him in the aftermath because he actually lets himself relax.

after preparing a menu, grocery shopping, and spending the entire afternoon working like the cookout is service at the bear, you tend to prefer the moments after. when you're on the way home with heat induced fatigue sticking you to the car seats. when your clothes smell of grill and outside and bug spray.

you drag yourselves home, ignoring whatever other festivities the family might have planned for the night. carmy's drained, you can see it in his eyes, which means you're drained too.

so there's no complain to pack up and leave.

he’s so calm in the aftermath.

he laughs weakly at your stupid jokes when you both enter the house. he kicks his shoes off and waits for you to do the same before he's wrapping himself around your body, burying his head in the crook of your neck and letting the remains of your perfume lull him into a state that's rarer and rarer these days.

you both avoid the couch. you know as soon as you sit down, you won't be getting back up. you lead him to the shower, wondering if he'll manage to keep his hands to himself for once. shockingly, he does.

he passes you the soap and lets you shampoo his hair. he scoffs halfheartedly when you chastise him for refusing to use any of the products you recommended. you only catch him staring twice, and he only pretends like he wasn’t the second time.

and then afterwards, when you smell like yourselves and not the backyard of a family member, you make your way to the couch. you're tired, and full, and searching for mundane entertainment until it's late enough to fall asleep without fucking up your sleep schedules.

the entertainment doesn't come from the TV.

it comes from carmy's hand on your thigh, your waist, your tits. carmy's hands slipping beneath your loose tee shirt and your tiny shorts. carmy's hands working you open between your thighs while tweaking your nipples.

he's lazy with it, not particuarly driven to get it all over with quickly. he wants you and you want him, but it's not carnal. it's languid, a hazy but motivated need to explore each other's bodies until exhaustion prevents you from doing so.

you slip your hand beneath his pants, feeling up his cock for long enough to confirm that he's as aroused as you are, and then you straddle his hips.

he looks up at you, eyes lidded and head cocked to the side. his hands rest on your hips, fingers rolling the thin waistband of your panties mindlessly. you could slip them off, but your limbs are getting heavier every minute so you just reach down and pull them to the side before sinking onto carmy.

there's a few moments throughout where the two of you just sit. where carmy's blinks are long and you consider resting your head onto his shoulder and knocking out like this. carmy commented on it once or twice, small questions of "we gonna stay like this?" and "are you gonna move f'me? or do you want me to help you out?"

you're just so comfortable like this. you keep telling yourself that if you were to fall asleep, it wouldn't be anything you haven't done before. but then carmy would shift his position, teasing the possibility of helping you out, and the feeling of his cock brushing up against you makes you want him more.

so you move. you lift and sink. you grind and roll.

he's just as tired as you, but you know how easy it is for him to get needy even at the sight of your cunt. so having you be right on him but unmoving must've been damn near torture.

your suspicions are confirmed by how instantly grateful he is.

"god, there you go. thank you," and he says your name, smooth in the way that you like.

the two of you sound beautiful together. your moans soft and breathy, his breaths extended and his grunts guttural. he slips your shirt over your head and tosses it to the side, and it's then that you have just enough of each other.

you do end up burying your head into carmy's chest at one point. you do lose your rhythm when you zone out and feel yourself slipping into sleep at one point.

but carmy takes over.

he wraps his around around your back and picks up your pace, nearly the exact same but with an added punctuation at the end of each shove up into you.

he only removes an arm to rub tight circles into your clit, and as soon as you come, the full extent of your exhaustion hits you like a ton of bricks. by the time carmy's hips become a little more erratic, you're nearly asleep, only awake enough to register carmy's hands gripping your ass as he turns you over.

you blink awake when your back rests against the couch, watching carmy move above you, feeling the change of position as he fucks you and fucks you and fucks you. his eyes taking in the way your tits shake, your eyes taking in the way his gold chain glints. his hands pressed into the couch and gripping your waist, your hands reaching for his face and his hair.

he pulls out right before and you don't flinch when his cum hits your stomach.

you really do think about falling asleep right there, but carmy helps you up, leading you to the bedroom with hands on your shoulders.

right before you knock out, you have just enough sense to lay on your back instead of your stomach.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Dear DORITO

The dumbass trio just zoning out and blankly staring at the wall. At first its Reader, then its Wade then followed by Logan.

Just three homies that might cause each other death, chillin and not doing anything. Just chillin.

‘And another thing-why are they staring at the wall?’ Logan asked the moment he saw you sat on the hard wooden floor of our shared apartment with the two men, staring blankly at the wall and with no intention of looking away anytime soon.

Wade shrugs his shoulders. ‘They’ve been at it for 48 hours, don’t know how they did it but I’m pretty sure that sitting on a hard wood flooring without anything cushioning that plush ass of theirs isn’t self care. It’s giving self torture.’

‘Will you pack it in with that ridiculous made up lingo.’ Logan snarled.

‘Okay boomer, while you conform to toxic masculinity and glare at me all you want, I’m going to go over to the fun corner with my bestie.’ Wade replied which only made Logan even more angry, but the merc didn’t care as he made his way over to your side and sat down next to you- though not before grabbing a nearby cushion and placing it on the floor to cushion his ass- only to being staring at the wall along with you.

‘Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you too?!’ Logan exclaimed as he stared daggers into yours and Wade’s back but neither of you made a sound nor movement to show that either of you heard him. He honestly didn’t know why he stuck with you and Wade for as long as he had, he could’ve fucked off by now and grouped with other liked minded people, but something deep down in Logan told him that he was just as stupid, reckless and spontaneous as the pair of you whether he’d like to admit it or not.

He was your middle ground, your somewhat voice of reason if Wade didn’t get to him all the time, the man with the plan, the leader of this marry band of chaotic and unpredictable miscreants. So while he might complain about you both, he knew he didn’t have it in him to actually leave you to your own accord, everything would be burnt down if he ever did and so Logan sighed deeply.

‘I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this.’ He mutters to himself as he forced himself to sit down on your other side, uncaring to cushion his ass to prevent potential numbness, and began to stare at the wall also with a perpetually pissed off expression across his face.

You three stayed like this for a good three days and a half with the exception being that you all needed to piss and keep yourselves feed and hydrated, other then that the mystery as to why you were all staring at the wall will remain…unsolved.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Joel Miller X Reader: A way to quiet the mind

Warnings: Smut, blowjob, dirty talk, use of pet names, sexual content, masturbation, description of sexual relations, cum eating, Oral(Female and Male receiving), creampie, penetration (p in v ), unprotected sex, swearing, rough sex, after care, fluff.

Summary: You are having trouble sleeping and Joel decides to help you out.

Word count: 2,8K

This was beyond stupid.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this, not with everything that was going on. What type of fucking person gets horny in the middle of an outbreak? It was a natural feeling, you knew that but you couldn’t help cursing your body for being so good damn needy. This is what happens when you have time to start thinking about things in peace, you start feeling things. 

Ever since the outbreak you hadn’t really had enough calm to think about your “bodies needs” your mind was too busy wondering if you’d survive until the next day to worry about something like that. But since last week you and Joel had found yourselves in a less infectaed area which meant you could relax a bit. You’d found a house that actually had beds that weren’t completely broken and covered in dirt and dust and decided it was safe enough to get a night's sleep. Bad idea. The whole “homey” atmosphere was what was igniting the burning in between your legs. You were sure if you were lying in a ditch instead your brain would be filled with other thoughts. Or maybe not. It didn’t matter in the end, after all this was your reality. Horny in and apocalypse, who would have fucking guessed. 

You let out a sigh of discomfort, turning to lay on your back. You could hear Joel's breathing a couple of steps away, causing you to look over at him. You admired his frame move as he breathed, his muscles shifting with the action. Dammit why did he have to take his shirt off to sleep. The sight of him bare wasn’t helping you situation. You let out a grunt trying to think of your options. You could try to get some sleep but you knew that would be impossible. And faking that you’d slept through the night would be a waste of a good mattress. The first good mattress you’d had available for a good while and maybe the last good mattress you’d have for a long time. You glanced at Joel one last time. Despite everything, that man slept like a rock. You made up your mind, you'd make it quick and once you were satisfied you’d go to sleep. Easy peasy. 

You pushed your hand inside your shots, slipping a finger between your folds and playing with your wetness before pushing a finger inside. You let out a sigh of relief as your body got what it had been wanting. Your eyes went over to where Joel was, trying to see if he’d moved at your noise. The man was in deep sleep so you continued your actions, your eyes closing as your mind conjured a little fantasy for yourself. Images of Joel flashed through your brain. The sound of his voice against your ear, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his gorgeous smile, the way his muscles flexed when he shot a gun. All of these images combined only helped your arousal, your lips leaving a small gasp of Joels name as you moved your fingers faster. You didn’t think it was an issue, you were being quiet and Joel was asleep. 

Or so you thought.

Across the room Joel was wide awake, his body rigid as he tried not to move. He’d woken up at the sound of you sturing in bed. He had been about to turn and call you when you let out a moan of his name. His eyes had widened at the sound, realisation hitting him like a stone. You were getting off. At the thought of him no less. Joel had always found you attractive and he knew that you weren’t opposed to the sight of him. He’d often flush at you calling him a ‘pretty boy’ whenever he scored a shot. He flirted with you and you flirted back but he always assumed it was friendly. You only had each other and Joel doubted you’d see him in a more romantic manner. Neither of you had time for that but humans will be humans. And, whether he’d admit it or not, humans developed feelings for people they found themselves around constantly. So it shouldn’t have surprised him to hear you moaning his name as you tried to get yourself some release but nevertheless it did. Joel could feel the boner forming in his pants, the jean material making it quite uncomfortable. You let out a louder moan and Joel felt himself twitch.

“God damn.”

He’d often wondered what you would sound like. His imagination had nothing on the noises you were making. Joel knew it was risky but he wanted to look at you. A quick glance would do it. Oh was he wrong. The moment he turned to face you, his eyes being greeted by the sight of your body sprawled on the bed, your hand inside your shorts as the other played with your breasts he knew that looking wasn’t going to cut it anymore, he needed to feel you. Needed to make you scream. And that is exactly what he planned to do. 

You didn't hear him get up, had no idea Joel was awake, your mind so foggy with your oncoming orgasm you didn’t even register the presence beside you until Joel's hands made their way onto your wrist. Your eyes snapped open at the feeling of skin on yours. The moment you saw Joel's face you turned crimson red, your hand hulting its movements.

“Joel when did-”

“Shh. Keep going.”

You had to be dreaming, this couldn’t be happening.

“Here let me help.”

You let Joel tug at your arm, removing your hand from its position and replacing it with his own. Joel let out a moan at the feeling of how wet you were.

“God damn babygirl you're soaked.”

“Uhh Joel.”

Joel's ears perked up at the sound of you moaning his name, his fingers sliding into your hole in an attempt to make you let out another moan. To his delight you squealed at the motion, your hand latching onto his arm. 

“Jesus Joel right there!”

“You like that baby?”

“Uhuhmmm”

Your hips bucked up to meet Joel's movements, your body searching desperately for release. You could feel the coil tightening inside your stomach. Joel could tell you were close by how hard you were clamping down on his fingers and as much as he’d love to see you fall apart there was something he needed to do. You whined as Joel stopped moving his fingers before removing them completely. You stared angrily at the older man, your mouth opening to complain but closing upon his words.

“Take your shorts off.”

You looked at him in confusion.

“Take them off. Now.”

You did as you were told, removing your shorts which left you only in your underwear. It wasn’t anything special but the sight of your bare skin was enough to drive Joel wild. He hooked his fingers on your panties tugging them down in a quick motion before kneeling down and tugging your body closer to the edge of the bed. It was then that you realised what he was about to do. Joel, this big hunk of a man, was about to eat you out like a starved man and god you could have cum just at the thought. Not that you needed to think for too long because a second later Joel had delved into your pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds as you screamed out.

“Shit! Joel-uhh- fuck.”

Joel's hands gripped onto your thighs for dear life. It had been so long since he’d had the pleasure of eating someone out and the fact that it was you only made it better. His dick pulsed in his pants but he’d deal with that later, right now he needed to make you cum. You weaved your hands into his hair eliciting a groan from him. Ah, so he likes it rough. You could deal with rough. Joel's nose bumped into your clit as he moved his head making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Joel, do that again.”

You didn't have to ask him twice. Joel repeated the action and just like that your orgasm ripped through your body.

“Ahh Joel!”

As you recovered from your orgasm Joel kept lapping at your cunt, small moans leaving his lips as he did so. You had to tug him off of you, the overstimulation making you sensitive. Joel closed his eyes as you tugged at his hair a groan of pleasure leaving his mouth. He looked fucking wreaked. Your cum was all over his chin covering his beard. You’d be lying if the sight didn’t make you even wetter. Before you could think properly you were dragging him up by the chin, your free hand looping into this pant buckle as you dragged him on top of you. You lips crashed into his, the taste of your juices filling your mouth as the two of you shared a sloppy kiss. Joel couldn’t help but grind against your thigh, his hard on making it difficult to think straight. You got the message your hand finding its way to grope him through his jeans.

“Your turn, pretty boy.”

Joel shivered as you whispered in his ear, his dick twitching in anticipation. You pushed Joel off of you with a shove of your foot. He looked at you as he took him in. Gosh he was beautiful.

“Stip.”

Joel rushed to get his jeans off, his despair causing him to tug his boxers down along with them. His dick sprung free, the tip dripping pre-cum. You looked at his member bob, your mouth salivating at the size. You pushed yourself up from the bed, your hands grabbing the hem of your shirt and tugging it off before making your way to Joel. You watched Joel take a deep breath in as he watched you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. You gave him a sly smile, your hands going onto his chest as you explored his bare skin. Joel watched as you sank to your knees in front of him, his hands instinctively grabbing your hair into a ponytail. You smirked up at him enjoying the way his adams apple bobbed in anticipation.

“Don’t hold back on me big boy. Be as rough as you’d like.”

You paused for a moment to kitten lick the head of Joel's shaft.

“I can take it.”

Upon your words Joel wasted no time pushing his dick into your open mouth, a moan leaving his mouth as your warm lips engulfed his pulsing cock. You relaxed your jaw trying to take as much of him as you could. Joel looked down at you as you gaged lightly, the sight of you making his hips buck faster. Your hands found his balls and began to toy with them.

“Shit baby.”

Joel threw his head back with a groan. He wasn’t going to last long if you kept going. You took a deep breath in as Joel pulled you off his shaft.

“Everything okay, pretty boy?”

“Won’t last if you keep going baby. Your mouth feels too good.”

“But isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah but i wanna fuck that pussy of yours, darling.”

Your thighs pressed together as Joel's words. As much as you’d love to have Joel buried inside of you it didn’t seem fair to you that he’d brought you to heaven using his mouth and you weren’t going to do the same for him.

“I’m not in a rush.”

Before Joel could retort you latched your mouth onto his dick bobbing your head at a rapid pace as your hands fondled his balls. 

“Ahh-fuck-just like that baby. Such a good girl-shit!”

You smirked at Joel's praise, your tongue searching for the bulging vein you knew had to be nearby. Once you found it you gave him a good lick and just as you did Joel came. You kept your mouth on his dick as his seed slipped out making sure to swallow every drop. Joel dragged you up by the chin, his hands weaving into your hair as he pulled you into a steamy kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips and you opened your mouth for him, your tongues dancing in tandem. Joel pulled your head to the side, his lips latching onto your neck. You were sure there would be hickeys the next morning but you couldn't give a shit. You took Joel's hands into your own, guiding them to cup your breasts. Joel got the message, his fingers tweaking at your nipples which elicited a moan out of you. You didn’t even notice Joel had been guiding you closer to the bed until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You licked a stip down Joels chest before laying down on the bed your legs opening wide. Joel started at your bare cunt a boner forming once again.

“So wet already?”

“It's not my fault you’re so hot.”

Joel laughed at your compliment before crawling on top of your body. His hands caressed your body in search of the parts that made you let out those pretty noises he adored so much. You wrapped your legs around Joel's hips pulling him closer to you. You both let out a moan as his dick pushed against you folds.

“Eager are we?”

“I thought you were the one who wanted to fuck me.”

“I do. But I thought you weren’t in a rush.”

You groaned at Joel's words trying to pull his body more flush to yours.

“That was back when I wanted to give you head. Right now i want you to fuck me so hard i can’t walk.”

You watched as the lust entered Joel's eyes at your words.

“You asked for it. Don't complain later.”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak Joel pushed into you cutting your words off with a moan.

“Ah shit baby. So warm.”

“Ahugh Joel!”

You listened to your pussy squelch as Joel thrusted into you, the heels of your feet pushing against his ass so that he’d go deeper. Joel understood  your request, fastening his thrusts.

“So fucking wet for me. Could live inside this pussy.”

“Who’s stopping you?”

“Ah fuck.”

Your hands yanked at Joel's hair causing the man to moan. He placed one of his hands on the wall for support as he tugged your leg over his shoulder. The new angle hitting a spot inside of you that had you moaning.

“I’m…I’m close!”

“I know, baby I know. Just a little longer.”

Joel latched a hand onto your breast tweaking at your nipple and you were done for. You let out a scream as you came. Joel grunted as he felt your juices cover his cock. 

Your body moved as Joel kept thrusting into you in search of his own high. He glanced down to look at your face. You were so cockdrunk you were practically drooling. His eyes trailed down your body to watch his dick going in and out of your pussy.

“Joel…”

Your moan made him look back up at your face.

“Yeah baby?”

“Hand.”

Joel let you pull his hand away from your breast and drag it closer to your mouth, his eyes looking at you questionly. You pulled two of his fingers into your mouth and sucked. The image brought back the memory of you kneeling between his legs, drool coming out the side of your mouth as you gaged aground his cock. And in that moment Joel was a gone man. He came with a groan, his seed filling you up.

The two of you stayed wrapped around each other's embrace for a moment before Joel got up and made his way to his bag. You pushed yourself onto your elbows to see what he was doing. You watched as Joel pulled out a shirt and water from his bag dunking the cloth in the liquid before coming back to you. 

“Let’s clean you up babygirl.”

You smiled at Joel, opening your legs for him and allowing him to clean the cum off your thighs. He cleaned himself up and joined you on the bed once more, his hands wrapping around your waist. Your eyes closed sleepily, the pent up energy you had finally having been spent. Joel could tell you were about to fall asleep.

“Baby?”

“Hum.”

“Next time you can’t sleep, call me.”

You smiled at the suggestion hidden beneath Joel's kind words.

“I might just have to take you up on that big boy.”

Joel placed a kiss on your head nuzzling into you.

“Night babygirl.”

“Goodnight.”

For what felt like ages you got a full night of sleep. Maybe it hadn’t been a waste of a  good mattress in the end. When you woke the next morning you were delighted to find Joel sleeping next to you. It hadn’t been a dream after all.

[syrma-sensei]

→ Hush Hush Behind The Shield.

gif credit.

pairing: soldier boy/ben x wife!reader.

rating: explicit.

warnings: vought's ungodly shenanigans, mentions of cheating, couple fighting, angst, misogyny, antiquated mentality, dub-con, power imbalance, fingering, forced orgasms, angry sex, cock riding...

word count: 3.4k

summary: being america's greatest hero's wife has its perks, but they don't come for free...

taglist: @zepskies, @deansbbyx, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deans-spinster-witch, @venus-haze, @thebiggerbear...

A/N: I'd like to thank my two pretty moots, @kaleldobrev who's been always there for me, listening to mental blurbs and chaotic spews of unhinged ideas and continuous mind dump ❤️ and @zepskies who bares my energy, which can be a bit much, each time I spam her dms with life cringing memes and awaful reacts ❤️

Kneeling down on one knee, your mitted hands hoisted the oven door close as you hummed a melody to yourself. Turning on your heels, you stood up and gave the dining table a once-over before allowing a proud grin slip on your lips.

“Perfect.”

Then your eyes glanced at your watch. It was half an hour past seven in the evening. Perfect. There'd be enough time to pamper yourself in a relaxing shower and spruce up with no rush before your husband was home.

You gave the dining room another glimpse to make sure everything was in place before you headed to the bathroom upstairs, walking through the living room where the T.V. displayed a Soldier Boy anti-drugs commercial.

A snore escaped your nose upon hearing the phrase: “Just say no.” Remembering how your husband threw a fit behind the scenes at how stupid it was, to the point of getting Stan Edgar himself on the line for him to find an alternative to it. Because no way he was saying that shit.

“God, I sounded like a fucking douchebag,” He'd told you in his dressing room, a smouldering reefer hanging between his lips — the irony, after they wrapped filming up.

You'd giggled, playfully plucking it from his lips to take a drag of your own, “No, baby, you did just fine.” You purred, and his mouth curled up into a small grin, “The public needs that y'know…” You tipped his chin up, your polished, long nails grazed lightly to his skin, “You're America's golden son, right? You're the man everyone should look up to.”

“Damn sure they should.” He'd chuckled, leaning down for a kiss which you gladly welcomed.

Being Soldier Boy's wife came with many many perks, but it also had its downsides, one of which was to have to deal with his short temper. But what could you say? You loved the man. Ardently so; you literally fought the world to have him all for yourself despite Vought's disapproval of your nuptial.

You savoured the victory when you married Ben in a small ceremony without Vought's blessing. It was like a slap to them when Ben imparted upon them the happy news, he delivered them a severe black eye, especially the vainglorious bastard Edgar. Who had once told you that you and Ben wouldn't work out, for it was simply "inconvenient" for a superhero like Soldier Boy to be involved in a serious relationship with a mere… human; it'd be a "disappointment" in the public eye, as he put it. Like he had a say in the matter.

But here you were, with a ring on your left hand to swagger about, and happily married to America's first hero, Edgar and Vought could say hello to your middle finger.

To nobody's surprise, you resented Vought, and held such abhorrence against them for not letting you and your husband live the life you wanted for yourselves. Despite your personal efforts, your proclaimed triumph was soon cut short because Vought declined to go public and endorse your marriage. Not that you and your husband gave two shits about their approval, but the rules were rules. And their lawyers affirmed that a public exposure of your marriage might damage Soldier Boy's rep, therefore, Vought's; given the fact that you were more than thirty years younger than him. They couldn't have it said that the hero of heroes was a creep even though they'd tried to conceal his age when he and Phoebe Cates starred in Love And War because it started to seem fishy. It was expected, though. But what you didn't see coming was Ben's response, or lack of response as to put it.

Despite being even more obdurate about this marriage than yourself. You felt terribly abjured by your husband. You'd thought he'd fight for you, for what you both had, and he'd want to let the world know about you. It'd broken your heart when it dawned upon you that Ben wouldn't risk his fame and glory for anyone, for you. Reluctantly, you bit the bullet, you had to, for him, because you loved him, and would do anything to keep this marriage intact. If you had to compromise for it, then so be it. You didn't care.

To your solace, Ben never changed after the frustrating incident; he was still the man you fell in love with. He might be smug, crass, and insufferable to everyone but you could still perceive the tender side he had though he'd never actually admit it, and you never pushed him too much. You were subtle enough to know when to stroke his ego and when to tease it. He was a man, after all. But it was obvious; he was a doting husband who cherished you in his own way. He showered you with gifts, and pampered you when he could. And he was eager to have babies with you. He never ceased to express how rapturous he would be if he were to have a son. A child with you.

Sure, you had your own qualms about that particular day, and there was more than a time you wanted to have a conversation with him about it. But you couldn't bring yourself to screw it up with stupid doubts. If Ben hadn't truly loved you, he wouldn't have treated you the way he did, he wouldn't have brought you to his workplace to have you at his side — and to poke Vought's eye every single time. He wouldn't have let you in and told you about his family and his dad, about his fucked-up childhood and how he became a hero.

No, your bond was bigger than any fleeting thoughts of incredulity.

You crooned softly as you wrapped a towel around your body after you finished your shower. Stepping out, you rubbed your hair with another towel and made your way down towards the kitchen to check on the pie.

Oh, Ben liked pies. You found it amusing how he'd swallow a whole pie alone and wouldn't affect him one bit; a supe sure required a lot of calories. Sometimes, you wished you had his great metabolism.

The moreish scent of baked dough and chocolate told you it was ready. You opened the oven door with a protected hand and placed the delicious pie by the window to let it cool down while you dressed up.

On your way back to your bedroom, you padded through the living room again. Your eyes glanced fleetingly at the screen only to stop abruptly in your tracks. A slight frown made it to your face as you saw a picture of Ben and Crimson Countess together. You never liked Countess. Something about her always disturbed you, and your guts were right.

Your eyes roamed the headline over and over, dilating in stupor.

Breaking News: Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess are officially together, Vought announced.

You shook your head in disbelief, hand grasping the remote control from the couch, shivering fingers shuffling through the channels.

Soldier Boy finally found the one!

Your heart paced up with each press.

A long awaited power couple is now here!

Vought just shocked the world by—

And here's Soldier Boy and Countess's statement…

It was hard to quell your simmering anger when you saw your husband smiling face with that bitch between his arms. Camera flashes and clicks swarmed around them with an entourage of reporters and interviewers.

“Hey, Soldier Boy, now you're together, what can you tell us about the first time you saw Countess? Was it love at first?” A reporter asked.

Ben scratched his beard with his gloved hand, drawling “First time I met Tess was when Vought concocted a hero collab years ago, remember that honey?”

You did remember that event very clearly. You were still Ben's secret girlfriend at the time, and it was exclusive to superheroes, yet Ben brought you there as his date.

Ben grinned as if dreamily reminiscing about the memory as he continued, “And lemme tell ya one thing, this one is a firecracker.”

Countess giggled playfully, gazing up at your husband in the most flirtatious way, it made you gag with disgust.

You scoffed bitterly at the blatant lies spurting right in your face. That specific night, Ben had childishly grumbled and complained about how much he wanted to be out of there. And to spice things up, he playfully dragged you from the pristine hall the event took place in, and fucked you raw against one of the wall of some other hall, keeping your panties as a souvenir for the rest of the soirée. He kept teasing you through the entire night, riling and messing you up. At the time, it was thrilling and venturous. Now, however, it knotted at the tip of your stomach. His focus that day was solely on you. He wasn't even aware of the bitch's presence for all you care.

“And when I first saw her… knew she was the one….”

You couldn't comprehend what Ben said after that point as a deafening buzz bolted through your ears. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and soon they were streaming from your eyes as you stood numb on your spot. Your tears splattered on the ground along with your heart.

“Honey, I'm home.” Ben announced once he stepped in the house. He sighed, putting his shield down and making his way to the kitchen where you usually would be, making his dinner. He didn't take his boots off though he knew you'd throw a fit about it, but let's just say that teasing and screwing with you was his favourite hobby. His anticipating grin soon dropped and a small scowl knitted his brows when an odd mixture of scents wafted into his nose. His eyes dilated at the unusual messy scene in the kitchen; the table was flipped over, glass splints scattered all over the floor, freshly-cooked food covering the carpet beneath the dining table, and a chocolate pie was squashed into the wall.

With a pacing heart, Ben cried your name, and hurriedly climbed up the stairs. His feet darted to the bedroom when he heard you sniffling and weeping.

An audible sigh of relief flouted out of chest when he saw you. Your hair was wet and a damp towel wrapped around your body, but his eyebrow quirked up when he noticed you packing a bag on the bed. The fuck?

“(Y/N), the fuck is going here?” You scared the shit outta me. He wanted to say, after the shitty day he had, he just wanted to have you in his arms and play with your hair.

You startled for a moment when you heard his southern accent. You used to be fond of it, but today you were certainly not.

“I'm leaving.” Your answer came out curt, your hands tugging your bag zippers close.

You heard his footsteps getting closer until you felt his hand on your bare shoulder, “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You pulled yourself away from his hold, hissing, “Don't you fucking touch me!”

He didn't seem to heed your warning as he reached a hand to your face. Gritting your teeth, you spun around with your hand ready to deliver a slap to his cheek. However, and no matter how fast and pissed you were, he was always quicker and alerter. Fucking supe.

“You don't get to touch me ever again you asshole!” You shrieked, yanking your wrist from his grasp, your wet hair stuck to your face, chest heaving with each breath. 

“The fuck is wrong with you, woman?!” He growled with a deep scowl, “Just left you all happy and giggling in the morning, is it here? Your time of the month again?”

“Fuck you!” You spat, clenched hands rising up to his chest, “You're my fucking problem,” You jabbed a fist to chest, though he didn't move an inch, but damn didn't it feel good! You blew another punch to his stupidly firm chest again and again.

“Fucking Christ!” He grumbled, and with one strong arm, Ben wrangled your back against his chest and caged you in his steel hold, one hand securing both of your wrists above your head, “Calm the fuck down!”

Legs kicking and hands tugging, you tried to wriggle out of his arms but to no avail, you felt so helpless against his raw strength. Your anger and frustration poured out of your mouth in a wailing, broken voice, “Leave. Me. Alone!” You bellowed, “Go to your fucking Crimson Bitch!” Two rivulets of tears drizzled from your eyes again, “Go to your fucking Tess and let her fire-crack your nuts, you fucking pussy!”

“Christ on a cross, do you hear yourself talk, woman?!”

His eyes widened before his eyebrows scrunched deeply. He took you off guard when he brought you down to the floor as he crouched on one knee. Your towel unwrapped at the sudden movement and you were naked beneath his eyes. His hands were still holding you in place.

Two green eyes regarded you softly, “You really took that marketing shit for real?” He thumbed your lower lip, and his free hand trailed down your naked form. “Fucking hell, thought you were way smarter than that, sweetheart.” You shivered from both the cold and his touch, his sinful reaching your mound, “You really think I'd fucking leave you for her?”

You couldn't suppress the moan when he stroked your throbbing clit. A shot of arousal seeped out of your opening much to Ben's satisfaction. Anger made the colour of your face rise, “Fuck you! Fuck your bitch! Fuck Vought!” You spat, your eyes burning holes into his as he proceeded toying with your flesh until your voice broke, “Y-You want me to buy your shit — Ah!” Two of his thick and expert digits entered your slit, massaging your love spots thoroughly. “After you didn't stand up for our marriage?!” You groaned, hips rolling to the rhythm of his fingers.

“Is that so?” His brow quirked up amusedly. Was this funny to this bastard? Was your marriage some kind of a joke to him?

You gasped as he deliberately hit your weak spot; sweet, delightful coils fluttered at the tip of your stomach, “I was under the fucking impression that you had your pretty, little head wrapped around how this fucking business worked!” He snarled.

“Fuck you! I hate you!” Your body snapped as you came abundantly on his fingers which made him grin slyly down at you.

You felt his grip on your wrists loosen, so you took your window and jerked yourself free. He was shocked when you pushed him down on the floor and straddled his hips, your dripping cunt was drenching his pants with your cum. He raised a playful brow at you but soon was replaced by a shocked frown when you slapped his irritatingly handsome face.

“Fucking hell, you fucking little ballbuster—”

You shushed him with a finger on his lips, “You're fucking mine, Benjamin, you hear me! You're fucking mine!” You hissed, having no idea where your vigour came from as you tore his shirt off of his chest. His length poked you when you gazed with searing fire in your eyes at his, “You. Belong. To. Me.” You furiously tucked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing out with life.

A wanton moan came off your lips as you sunk yourself down his cock, whereas he grumbled in pleasure as you hugged him tightly with your wet and warm insides.

You snapped your hips harshly and he growled, “Fuck, doll—!”

Another snap, your voice was laboured, “I own you. You're married not to that whore, not to Vought, but to me!”

Your skin slammed against his meat vehemently as you gritted your teeth when another orgasm was spiralling in your body. You paced up your movement, a hand banging demandingly on his chest, “Say it! You're fucking mine!”

“Holy shit!” You watched his eyes roll backwards as he rasped, “Yours, babe,”

“Holy fuck, Ben! Ben, I'm coming again!”

That was his cue to take control again. He sat up, cradling you in his warm hold, “Cum to me, babe, fucking soak my cock.” You wabled his name, clinging to his shoulders as your climax stormed out of your body like a mad hurricane. You whimpered pathetically when his two large hands on your hips kept making you ride him through your high.

“Fucking stupid girl,” He growled, shooting his seed up your insides.

With laboured breaths, you glared at each other. You felt his cock softening inside of you, “Fucking idiot man.” You scoffed.

He chuckled with a boyish grin on his sweaty face, “That was fucking hot, think I like this wild side of you, darlin'”

You snickered, “You bet, wait until you see what I'm gonna do with that little fuck, Edgar.”

Ben rumbled a deep chortle, much to your annoyance, would this man ever take you seriously? “I swear to fucking Christ, Ben, if they—you don't break off that stupid shit with Countess and go public about us, I'll fucking burn that fucking tower to the fucking ground, because I'm fucking done with this—mhmmm!”

He cut you off with a scorching kiss and its heat made you thaw against his lips. His cock twitched inside of you.

“Jealousy looks pretty on you though, sweetheart” He teased, his lips brushing to yours.

God, damn this man and his endless ego! “Ben!” You nudged him playfully.

“Can't wait to see you wanting to snatch some ladies' heads off when we go to balls together.”

You smiled at him, biting on your bottom lip. The idea of finally being acknowledged as Ben's wife warmed your heart, and his willingness to do so made your heart race. However, disturbing thoughts loomed in your head again, “Think Vought will let us be?” You asked with hesitation. Fuck, that shit really got too deep into you.

He rolled his eyes, “Try not to work your pretty head hard 'bout this, doll,” He tucked a tress of your hair behind your ear, “The man who fucking beat the Nazis can handle some sweaty fucknuts at Vought.” There was something warmly reassuring about his smugness.

“See? All that shit wouldn't happen if you didn't stay silent while they fucking tried to play their fucking game!”

Ben chuckled, “Well, the fucking was totally worth it.”

You groaned in frustration, “Ben… I thought you abandoned me.”

Your husband furrowed his brows at you, “You women hardly think sometimes, don't you?” You scowled at his remark but he sighed, cradling your cheeks in his warm hands, “I fucking fought to make you my wife. I fucking put my whole career and name at risk for you.” You blinked at him, “The day before we tied our knot, I fucking told the boardroom that I was marrying you, that I'd fucking walk off if they tried anything funny… they didn't, till fucking today.” He sighed, “They fucking announced that bullshit before I was even told.”

“Assholes,” You whispered.

“After that pathetic act, I fucking stormed to Edgar like I stormed Normandy. Let's say that he and I did a little bit of chatting,” He gave you a conceited smirk, giving you no detail of how he got scared shitless when he saw the mess in the kitchen. He thought Vought dared to fucking do something to you. And when he heard you cry he feared the worst. But of course, he wouldn't tell you anything about that. Because he was the fucking man of this house; if his feelings of fear appeared, the sense of security he provided to this house, to you, would crumble. And he wouldn't have that. Ever.

You, on the other hand, had a weird combination of pride and happiness sprouted within your chest.

“I'm so sorry, Ben…” You said, cupping his face in your hands, “I-I don't know what came over me when I saw you with her,” You couldn't even say her name.

“Couldn't have your man stolen away, could you?” He teased you.

“Never.” You answered, “And I'm sorry for what happened, husband.”

“I mean you did make it up for me, wife,” He flashed you a cheeky grin, “Though, I don't feel particularly in a forgiving mood… yet.”

Head tilting to the side, your raised an eyebrow, rolling your hips teasingly on his cock, “Don't push your luck…”

“Try me.”

[jacobscipioswoman]

Ya’lll this is my first time writing after years! I hope you like it and enjoy🎀

@lovexjoe thanks for proof reading it for me boo. If it wasn’t for her, I’d never post this😭🫶

Armando Aretas x Reader (Smut)🎀💖

𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓘𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴🎀

You stare at the bathroom mirror, you feel a little ridiculous but you know Armando has had a hard week and at this point you'll do anything to help him relax. So you put on the pink satin night dress your friend had convinced you he'd love. You put on a bit of makeup before opening the door a smidge.

"Close your eyes." You sound like a child the way you whine.

"You're killin' me darlin'."

"Please?"

"Okay, okay." You can practically hear the way he holds his hands up in defeat.

You're learning the hard way that trying for a baby is a long and arduous task. With Meghan and Reggie having another baby, and Marcus Jr already in elementary, you've agreed now is as good a time as any to try for the two of you. The only problem is you haven't been feeling great about how long it's taking. You're easily discouraged despite how willing Armando seems to try as often and as hard as possible to knock you up.

So when your friend who is currently six months along offered to give you some advice you were more than willing to sit down at a nearby mall and talk. You'd expected to hear the usual technical jargon. Track your cycle, avoid using lube, and reduce your caffeine intake. You've been doing all of that and more for months now with no luck but much to your surprise she had only one piece of advice.

"Have fun with it."

It sounded absurd to you but she kept on explaining. Telling you that it was important that you were both comfortable and enjoying yourselves, it helped her to try new things. You tried to explain to her that

Armando was slightly vanilla, he didn't like new things. He liked you naked and in a bed, nothing fancy involved.

Your friend of course didn't seem convinced, dragging you to Victoria Secret, insisting that the sheer little pink thing you'd settled on was perfect.

Except it doesn't feel perfect.

Because now you actually have to show him and you're pretty sure he's just going to have you take it off immediately and you'll feel like an idiot and this will all be for nothing.

You take a few steps out of the bathroom, he's sitting on the bed, back against the headboards as move towards him. wringing your hands nervously. He looks like he always does. Handsome, and in his boxers and black shirt. You're beside him now and you're just about to lose your nerve.

"Nevermind this is stupid." You blurt out as he opens his eyes. You give him an apologetic smile as he looks you up and down. You turn around, wanting to just change and forget any of this happened as he grabs you by your arm, pulling you onto the bed.

"Not stupid, not stupid at all." He stares at you, infatuated as he pulls you onto his lap. He takes a bit of the see through fabric in his hands, running it through his fingers. "S'pretty."

"Really? You like it?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought you didn't like this kind of thing."

"What kind of thing? Pretty things? I like you, why wouldn't I like this." Your face gets hot as he lifts the fabric, running a finger along the hem of the matching pink panties.

"You really like it?" Your face is getting hotter by the second as he drags you forward by your hips so you can feel his hard on straining through his boxers.

"Like it so much." He rocks his hips up against you with a groan. "Such a- fuck , such a pretty color." He hooks a finger onto the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side as he ruts up against you, watching with hungry eyes as you soak the front of his underwear. He usually spends quite a bit of time warming you up but now he seems wildly impatient as he pulls his dick out over the band of his boxers. "Want you to wear this more often, s'nice."

"Th-thanks." You stammer out as he guides his cock into you as you sit up on your knees.

"Sit down querida, take it all, I know you can." Armando grunts, his little Spanish accent making you clench around him. Once he nudges the first couple of inches into you, he brings his hands back to the sheer fabric. You do as he says, taking your time until you're filled with his cock, the two of you moaning in unison.

"Baby." You whisper, feeling the head of his cock bump against your cervix.

"Bet this would be even prettier stretched over a round belly." He squeezes your hips, leveraging you down onto him as he thrusts up into you. You've never seen him so worked up as his hips jolt up into you, his breathing going unsteady.

Armando’s never been one to talk during sex, usually all you can get out of him is a few grunts and curses but now he seemingly can't stop mumbling to himself as he marvels at the way the pink fabric clings to you in some places while flowing freely in others. "Can't wait to have you bouncing on my cock when you've got your bump."

The sudden vulgarity from him shoots sparks through your veins as you slowly start moving, raising and dropping your hips, reveling in the feeling of him filling you completely as he bunches up the fabric a bit, pulling it out of the way so he can watch you take him.

"Mando please- " You whine, your hands go to the headboard behind him to steady yourself. "Please touch me." He enthusiastically obliges, one hand going to your clit while the other palms at your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers over the thin fabric. He leans forward, pulling your breast out of the nightie, sucking the tender flesh.

"These are gonna get bigger too." He mumbles against your tit, your hips stutter as he sinks his teeth into the swollen nub. "Gonna be so round- and soft." He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, his fingers picking up speed between your legs as you feel your stomach getting tight, your breath going ragged as you slam your hips down on him, pressing him deep against the spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

"Come on- fuck , fucking take it." He growls as he pops his mouth off of you, pulling you into a kiss as you chase the feeling inside of you, moaning against him until in one sharp motion you seat yourself on him completely, sending yourself over that edge.

His lips move from your mouth to your chin, then cheeks, then forehead, he kisses you everywhere as you work yourself through your orgasm, everything going tense as that white hot fire ripples through your veins.

When you come down from your high your legs feel like jelly and you honestly aren't sure you're gonna be able to keep going but thankfully he takes matters into his own hands, planting his feet on the mattress firmly behind you as he wraps his arms around your torso to keep you upright. He fucks up into you, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"Gonna fill up this pretty pussy, make you a mama." He murmurs against the sensitive skin of your throat, his thrusts quickly becoming clumsy as he groans. He's quick to follow you, his cock pulses and you can feel him spill against your walls, his demeanor softens with his cock as he rubs his nose against yours. "I love you s'much." He mumbles, gently lifting you, helping you off his lap as you lay beside him.

You take a moment, catching your breath as he leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water, handing it to you as he turns the lights off, crawling into the blankets with you as you lay your head on his chest.

"Love you." He says quietly, giving you a quick kiss that you know means good night as he settles in.

You sit in silence for a few minutes before sighing mostly to yourself.

“What if this doesn't work? Like ever?" You whisper into the darkness, curling yourself up closer to him.

You expect him to be asleep, or to brush you off, and to tell you that it will. Instead he just pulls you closer.

"Then we'll keep trying. And if it doesn't work then we'll look into other options. We can get Mike or Christine to help you with adoption, it should be easier the second time around." He kisses your forehead and you feel him relax, you know he'll be asleep in a few minutes. You're just happy he's willing to validate your worries.

"Good night, love you." You murmur, you really do mean it.

He's right. You'll keep trying, and if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. There's no way to know if you're pregnant or not until then. (Although Armando isn't all that surprised when you take a test two weeks later and are met with two blue lines.)

[michibap]

drunk cooking stream with schlatt

-the goal is to make some stupidly elaborate recipe

-like macarons or those stupid 24 hour cookies

-it starts off pretty well, the two of you having developed a system where you measure out the ingredients while schlatt mixes them

"Like a well oiled fuckin' machine," he'd boasted, carefully folding the merengue mixture as you sifted in the almond flour

-until schlatt insists you go shot for shot with him and you’re struggling to keep up

-you get tipsy a little quicker than he does (bc he’s massive) and start getting a little clumsy, fumbling with kitchen tools

-and the system devolved into him watching you like a hawk while you flit around the kitchen, easily distracted and giggly

-he confiscates your knife while you’re in the middle of chopping up strawberries because you almost lobbed off one of your fingers one too many times and he thinks he’s going to have palpitations

-he’s scolding you for being stupid bc he was worried and you’re not hearing a damn word it’s just like “blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff”

-chat tattling on him for eating the ingredients while you’re not looking and he yells at them

-yells at them more once they clock him being drunk bc he’s getting rowdy

-trying to goad you into bickering with him and being generally menacing

-obnoxiously petting your hair like you’re a dog while you’re trying to do something

-practically hanging off of you while you’re trying to move around the kitchen

-inhibiting your ability to get anything done bc you have to drag a grown man with you everywhere you go

-he’s shuffling close behind you so he doesn’t have to unwrap his arms from around your waist, occasionally stepping on the backs of your shoes

-turning giving him a horrified look when he aggressively sniffs your hair and being like “alright you’re done”

-it only gets worse when you make him let go of you 😭 bc now his hands are free

-he’s picking things up and moving them when you’re not looking as a little pranky prank but forgetting where he puts them and having to help you find them

-very obviously fucking something up and blaming you for it

-like he knocks a cup of flour you’re standing next to over with his elbow and glares at you like it’s your fault

-catching him trying to steal ingredients again but this time he just feeds u some, grinning when your eyes light up and you’re like mmmm!!

-cannot have nice things bc it quickly turns into a food fight

-it’s all fun and games until he breaks an egg and u get mad so u banish him to sitting off to the side

-and he’s griping and huffing and puffing, trying to distract you from the task at hand

-it comes as a relief when he shuts up, allowing u to work in peace and chit chat with the viewers

-what u don’t see is him fighting his demons in the background

-eyes fucking LOCKED in on your ass while you move around the kitchen, u can almost see the loading circle spinning in his brain

-everything comes to a full stop when it sounds like a fucking GUN SHOT goes off and you’re yelping

-hearing his obnoxiously loud laughter over the sound of your whining while you press your forehead to the counter and try to soothe the tender flesh for a moment

-until you whirl around and use the half empty bag of chocolate chips as a melee weapon and get him across the head with it

-it’s your turn to laugh when he ends up on the floor with a pained groan

-does not last long bc he’s jamming his fingers into the sensitive area behind ur knees and you’re collapsing next to him in a fit of giggles

-on some spy vs spy shit

-once you collect yourselves, he’s up first, dragging you up after him

-walking around with a flour hand print on your ass for the rest of the stream 😔

-his head going empty again as he very intensely watches you aggressively tap the baking sheet on the counter to get all of the bubbles out of the batter before putting it in the oven

(AWOOGA? i haven’t heard that name in years….)

-forgetting said cookies in the oven while you make a ganache that turns out too light because SOMEBODY ate HALF OF THE FUCKING CHOCOLATE CHIPS

-he keeps on insisting it’s fine and you’re being dramatic until you show him the contents of the bowl and it’s like,, very light brown sludge

-when you take the cookies out they’ve become this gross brownish red, no longer the cute pink batter you put in the oven

-they end up being fugly and borderline inedible

-and you’re so sad bc you guys worked so hard (no u did NOT)

-he’s trying to make you feel better by forcing himself to eat one

-but the grimace on his face as he struggles to crunch on what was supposed to be a delicate treat just makes it worse 😭

-after stream he ends up door dashing u guys a sweet treat to make up for it

“Even though YOU fuckin’ ruined em.”

[nadvs]

　　💔　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 better off (alt ending) ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you and rafe take time apart to try to get better for each other. when you meet up, you realize your relationship is beyond repair.

content warning toxic relationship, mentions of parental abuse, all hurt/no comfort

this is an alternate sad ending to better off, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Rafe sits a foot away from you on the trail peak you used to always come to together. The sun is setting soon. The air is thick.

It’s been eighteen days since you decided to take time apart to work on yourselves. You haven’t said anything. It’s like you’re both afraid of breaking the silence.

You stare out at the horizon of where sky meets sea. Then, you meet his gaze and finally ask what’s been turning over in your head.

“Are we done?”

Rafe mournfully breathes your name, sounding defeated when he says, “You tell me.”

“What does that mean?” you say. You realize you sound just as exhausted as he does.

Frustration flares in him. He’s the one who’s always being strung along, loving you more, refusing to let you go. It’s always been like that. Now, you’re talking as if he has any power?

“I’m not the one who decides anything,” he says sharply. “You decided to break up. You decided to stop talking. You’re seriously fucking acting like anything here is up to me?”

His tone is so cutting. Mocking. You’ve been speaking for mere seconds and he’s already blaming you. He’s already angry.

But this is Rafe. He’s always angry. Maybe it’s something he’ll never change about himself. Either he can’t or he won’t.

“I’m asking because you blocked me,” you say, trying to keep your tone even, trying to have some sympathy for him.

“Not a good feeling, is it?” he snaps.

You shake your head to yourself and clasp your hands together tightly.

“So, you did it just to hurt me?” you ask.

Rafe’s jaw tenses. He doesn’t answer. It wasn’t the main reason, but he enjoyed knowing you could be trying to contact him and feeling rejected over and over again. Just like you used to do to him.

“Have you done any work on yourself? Like, at all?” you say.

The lack of belief you have in him stings. He angrily pulls out his phone to prove you wrong.

“This is what I was fucking doing, alright?” he mutters, opening his conversation with you.

A string of undelivered texts are on the screen. He blocked you just to send messages that couldn’t actually get to you.

Friday, 5:46 pm

It sucks not talking to you

Saturday, 3:01 am

You think youre so mmuch better than me and it oisses me the fuck k off

Sunday, 12:11 pm

I would take back a lot of the shit I did if I could

Sunday, 9:20 pm

I always fought to make this work and you never did. I always fucking cared more

Monday, 4:44 pm

I think about you every second. I’m going crazy

Tuesday 9:57 am

I miss your laugh

Tuesday, 3:01 pm

I wonder if you noticed

“If I noticed what?” you ask.

“That I wasn’t at that stupid party last weekend,” he admits.

“I noticed.”

He reaches for his phone.

“I’m not done,” you say, looking back down at the screen. His body tightens in irritation.

Tuesday, 11:30 pm

Obviously I love you and it’s so annoying every time you say I don’t say it enough

Yesterday, 1:20 pm

I would choose being sick together over being healthy alone. At least I’d have you

Today, 10:22 am

I just wish I was good enough

You realize your eyes have started to burn with tears. Your insides twist with a painful mix of hopelessness and a yearning to understand.

In the whirl of everything he wrote, you can’t get it out of your head that he said he’d choose being sick together. You’ve always had a fear he actually preferred dysfunction.

And while this is something you’d usually brush past, as you became an expert at ignoring his red flags, you need to be sure. Because now, you’re committed to being well.

“You’d rather be sick together?” you ask.

Rafe roughly takes his phone back. His heart feels like it’s getting wrung out.

You didn’t say you miss him too, that you love him too, that you agree that not talking sucked. You just found the flaw, the hole in him, like you always do.

He wrote all those messages and showed them to you just for you to judge him?

“Of all that,” he says with an angry exhale, “that’s what you nag me about.”

The pain of watching his anger grow right in front of you and you being desperate to stop it is too familiar.

“Sorry,” you say. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to fight. I just want us both to want to be healthy, you know? I wrote - I wrote things for you, too.”

“What?” he snaps. “What did you write? How it’s never your fault?”

“No,” you reply, your voice getting louder. You take a deep breath, still so afraid of being vulnerable in front of someone who has a habit of arguing against your feelings. “The last thing I wrote was that I hope we find our way back. I miss you. And I love you, too.”

His muscles lose a bit of their tension.

“What else?” His voice is rough, almost strained.

You look out at the view again, thinking about all that you’ve wanted to tell him.

“I wrote that I used to feel good about myself around you, and then at some point, I really didn’t like who I became.”

It makes everything in him hurt.

“But I blamed you and I shouldn’t have,” you continue. “We both fought unfairly, but you didn’t bring anything out of me that wasn’t already there. I’m sorry that I made it your fault when I was mean.”

He blinks, staring at your profile as you continue to speak.

“And I didn’t like how controlling and jealous you could get,” you admit. “You didn’t trust me. I never actually did anything to make you question my loyalty, did I?”

Rafe chews on his lip. Tears prick at his eyes. He hates how you never understood this; how if you’re with him, if you love him, you shouldn’t give another man a second of your time.

“You still shouldn’t talk to other guys,” he says. “If you’re in a relationship, what are you doing smiling at some asshole who just wants to fuck you?”

You shake your head in disappointment, forehead creasing. You know you’re speaking differently than you used to, apologizing and explaining yourself carefully. But he’s the same. Rude. Domineering. Argumentative.

And he has yet to say sorry for anything. He’s still hung up on a twenty-second conversation you had with a guy at a party weeks ago, back when you weren’t even together.

He did this all the time. You’d talk to a male friend for a moment and he’d get angry. If you spoke with one of his friends, he’d visibly get tense. He’d even go through your following lists on social media and ask you why you followed every guy on the list, one by one.

You’re afraid he truly hasn’t improved one bit.

“Did you do any reading about jealousy or control?” you ask. “I can show you what I read if-”

“You act like it’s crazy to not want your girl talking to other guys,” he interrupts.

“Having a conversation with a guy doesn’t mean I’m flirting,” you retort, your own anger building now. “And it’s not even just guys! You’d even get pissed off when I went out with my friends. I’d spend the whole night texting you.”

“And blocking me,” he adds.

You let out a frustrated groan.

“Because I needed a break, Rafe. I was glued to my phone because of you,” you mutter. “It’s like you purposely started arguments so I couldn’t enjoy my night. And they all said-”

You stop yourself. You’re trying to be better and not spiteful. Not cruel.

“What?” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt.

You can’t resist the urge. You want to hurt him.

“They all said you’re psychotic,” you say. “And that I could do so much better.”

Rafe tenses up again, looking away. His eyes are bloodshot now. You can do better. He knew that from the first date.

Guilt grips you. He was always painfully insecure. Maybe even more so than you realized. But he made you pay for it time and time again.

You don’t want to be this spiteful girl anymore. You want to be kind. Understanding. You never cared to be the bigger person before. You do now.

You think back to all the reading you’ve been doing about toxic relationships and how to dig yourself out of them.

“Jealousy is insecurity,” you begin, “and I think it’s important that you reflect and ask yourself why you’re insecure. Could it be from stuff at home? I know your dad didn’t always give you a lot of attention and that he hit you and-”

“Are you fucking serious?” Rafe mutters. Hearing you recount the traumatic stories he shared with you in confidence is too painful. He can’t hear it anymore. “You’re such a bitch for using that against me.”

You try to inhale again, but your breath is shallow and broken. Bitch. That insult is so simple, yet so vile. So dehumanizing.

This is how it always happened. The few and far between times you put your effort into having a calm, reasonable conversation, he’d explode, and then you’d explode, too.

“Don’t call me a bitch,” you snarl. “I wasn’t using it against you. I’m trying to understand you. Do you even understand yourself?”

Rafe scoffs in disbelief. You watch a tear quickly roll down his cheek. He wipes it away angrily. He doesn’t answer.

“Do you know why you act like this?” you say. “Have you thought about it at all these past few weeks?”

Rafe hates this feeling. He has lived it every day of his life. The harrowing pain of being neglected, the helplessness of being unable to control what he thinks and how he acts.

Nobody understands him. And that includes himself.

“I get it, alright?” he says, his voice cracking now. “There’s something wrong with me. You said it all the fucking time.”

Despite everything he’s hurled at you, you feel your heart break, looking at him almost curled up as he sits beside you, his cheeks streaked with tears.

You think of his texts. He said he wishes he was good enough.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” you say. “You’re good enough, okay? You’re more than good enough. I just want to understand why you treated me so bad.”

“You treated me bad, too,” he counters.

You grimace. Immediately defensive. No accountability. Just blame. He hasn’t changed at all. And you’re falling back into bad habits just by talking with him.

A few moments of silence pass between you, both of you sniffling but saying no words. You have no hope left.

“I was really hoping we could bring out the best in each other instead of the worst,” you finally say. “But if you don’t actually do the work to get better, it’s not going to happen.”

Rafe meets your eyes. He’s shattered. He’s never felt smaller. And it’s all your fault. Being with you just hurts at this point. And he doesn’t want to hurt anymore.

“Then it’s not going to happen,” he answers, tone low.

You blink away tears. You look down at your lap. You exhale. And you say the hardest possible thing.

“This is over,” you half-whisper. “Goodbye.”

You stand and he doesn’t stop you. Even though going down the trail in the dusk on foot is dangerous, he doesn’t stop you. You start to walk home and he doesn’t stop you.

Eventually, a motorcycle roars past you on the street. You know it’s him. You know he passed you and didn’t care enough to at least offer you a lift home.

But of course that’s the way your mess of a relationship ends. He claims he cares, then when it matters, he obviously doesn’t give a fuck.

As you walk home, wiping away your tears, your heart broken over the fact that he didn’t have the decency to drive you home or the love to actually try to improve himself for you, you tell yourself that eventually, you won’t give a fuck, either.

You won’t talk to him anymore. You won’t touch him anymore. You won’t ask about his day or run your fingers over his hair the way he likes or laugh together. Ever again.

One day, this won’t feel like a loss. Because whatever you had with Rafe wasn’t love. It was poison and you can’t willingly drink it anymore.

(continuation)

[kombuuuu]

Hello✋🏾! If I could request a Peter b parker x wife!reader where they have twins (including mayday) during the events of the movie?

No.1 Dad!

“Baby, Please. It’s a canon thing!”

“They’re toddlers!”

PeterBParker x Wife!Reader + little ones :]

light angst and a chase scene. ending is mostly comforting daddy parker

(it’s not sad i jus ❤️ this gif)

(Benjy is a canon named Kid of Peter B Parker’s in the Comics!)

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“Oh shit.”

The father of two grimaced at the room full of spidey people. The voice of his wife sounding through the phone and into the echoing room.

“Tell me, why the fuck-“ Peter dragged a worried hand down his face. Miles snickering next to Hobie in the background. “—I woke up, to not only my *husband missing from my bed.” He sucked in a breath, glancing over at Miguel. Stood unimpressed with two spider-children climbing all over him and his platform. “But my two toddlers *lost from their damn cribs.” “Baby, I can explain.” He focused back on the phone, crowding over it like it would help conceal the conversation at all.

“You are in so much shit when you get home, young man.”

“I’m older than you by four years!”

“Watch your tone with me, Mister.”

He groaned, huffing and pouting into the phone while you continued to scold him before Miguel interrupted.

“Good morning, [name]. Hope you slept well.” His monotoned voice drawled out while picking the children off his clothes like bugs, and putting them back on Peter.

“Leave my wife alone.”

“Oh my god, please go somewhere private for this conversation.” Miguel rubbed between his eyes, his favourite thing to do apparently.

Your voice spoke back over him. “I don’t need privacy, I need my damn— Oh! Found it.”

“Baby, what are you—“ The connection cut off midway through his sentence, causing him to huff before realising; “Hey! That got me out of it!”

He straightened his posture, collecting his kids, Mayday and Benjy. And stuffing them into their baby carriers, carefully threading their limbs through each limb-window, as he called it.

A sparkle of warm tones caught his eye, circling from nothing into a fully developed portal.

“Oh, I should’ve known.”

“I seem to be making you say ‘Oh’ a lot.”

“You should’a heard you last night.”

“Peter!” He laughed as he watched you make your way over to him, giving Miguel a courteous nod and Miles a questioning glance. You looked so beautiful. An angel to him, the love of his life. He was so lucky to have you. And the little family you had created for yourselves. All the baby-stealing and stupid pictures aside, you were beyond enamoured with him as well.

“You’re lucky I still have this old thing, Parker. Or you wouldn’t have wanted to come home.

Despite the obvious threat, the only thing he could focus on was “come home”. A sentiment that was single to just your home, or just his home. But it was home. For a family, his family.

The admiration was broken when you pinched his nose. “Ow!”

“Shouldn’t have taken my kids.”

“Our kids!”

“Yeah whatever.”

You turned to Miguel, scanning the room and being very unsurprised at the amount of spider people here. If it was something important, Miguel loved a show. “What’s going on?”

“I’m… explaining something.”

“Uhuh.” you blinked at him slowly, unbelieving.

“Stop talking to my wife.” peter cut in.

“The fate of the multiverse is at stake, [name].-“ He threw his hands up, then gestures aggressively towards the kid next to Hobie.

“It’s his father, or an entire universe!”

“She’s not into you weirdo, back off.”

“Uhuh. And how old is the kid?”

He had the gall to look ashamed. Mayday babbled behind you. Giggling excitedly once she and Benjy had lost interest in whatever they were messing with on Peters suit. “Oh, come here baby.”

“How come I didn’t get that?”

Peter pouted over at you, rocking Benji gently, who was still half asleep.

You turned back around with your kid around your hip, addressing the kid near the centre of the room. “Hey uh—.”

“Miles!” He perked up, shyly waving at you.

“Oh, Miles! Peter talks so much about you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“He even named our dog after you!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you.” You smiled at Miles whilst he smiled back, happy to know Peter thought of him as much as he did Peter.

“You too, Mrs.Parker!”

“Don’t listen to this lady, she’s crazy and a psychopath!”

Peter stepped into place beside you, shaking his one un-baby-occupied hand in the air wildly.

“She’s off her meds!”

“Peter.”

He grumbled and stuck his tongue out. Blowing a raspberry, which Mayday happily replicated. You put the tip of your finger on Maydays tongue, pushing it back into her mouth. “Don’t do that, germs.”

turning away from peter, you kissed her cheek in apology, whispering “It’s not you, it’s him.” In her tiny ear.

You propped your free hand on your hip, looking up at Miguel on his platform.

He looked away. Hand settling below his chin as he closed his eyes and sighed.

“There’s that contemplative expression again.”

“Why is he always contemplating, nothing’s that serious.”

“I dunno.” Peter shrugged. He crept up close to you, putting his arm around you waist and leaning down to smell your perfume.

“I like that one.”

You smiled, tilting your head back to look at him, “I know,”.

Miguel continued on with his explanation, showing miles the different Canon events. Showing him Peters, Gwen’s, yours. When Miles seems to suddenly realise something.

“The Spot does it.” His hands shake alongside his voice, Peter glances over to you in worry, but ultimately focuses back on Miles. “He kills ‘im.” The boys shoulders drop in defeat.

“When does it happen.”

Miguel looks away, shaking his head and wincing.

Miles turns to the small group surrounding him, helpless.

“When does it happen?!”

“In two days,” Miles whips back towards him. “When he’s sworn in.”

“That’s- what the model says.”

“I’ sorry Miles-“

“Send me home.”

“I can’t do that, not now.”

Gwen winces and squeezes her eyes shut. Body stuff and unmoving.

“What am I supposed to do then? Let him die?!”

Miguel pauses. And doesn’t relent.

Miles’s face contorts for a second before he turns, gesturing vaguely at Gwen.

“What about your dad? He’s a captain, right?”

She just sighs, “Yeah.”

“Wh- And that’s it! You guys aren’t even gonna do anything about it?!”

Gwen looks down, ashamed.

Mayday grabs hold of your finger. Noting the serious tones of the situation, she stays quiet. He scoffs and turns to Peter.

“Okay what about Uncle Ben? That’d been okay? If you knew and you just—,” he stuttered, “Let it play out?!”

Peter stepped forward, putting a reassuring hand on his students shoulder. “If not for uncle ben, most of us wouldn’t be here Miles.”

He pauses to look at the webbed window of his Ben.

“The good we did it-,” he breathes, “It wouldn’t have been done.”

You harden your gaze over your husband. He doesn’t look at you.

Miles nods, “So we’re just’ supposed to let people die because some algorithm—!” he hits Peters hand of his shoulder and starts towards Miguel again. “Woah, woah.” Lyla interjected. “—Says that that’s supposed to happen?!”

He swings his arms in annoyance, in *fear.

This is a *kid.

“You realise how messed up that sounds, right?”

With a better moral code than most in this room.

“You have a choice between saving one person—“ The slow approach of other spider people filled out the fog coating the room. “—And saving an entire world, every world!” Miguel points at him, hand on hip.

“I can do both!” He tries,

“Spiderman always-,”

“Not always.”

Miles looks to Peter, seeking back up. Peters face twists something sorry, and Miles’s flashes of hurt.

Benji starts to wake up, cooing softly at his dad.

Miguel’s hand gently turns the boy back around, this isn’t looking good.

You glance at Hobie, seeing the apprehension in his posture as he meets your gaze.

He glanced down at Mayday in question, you reassure him with a nod. If it comes to it, you’ll put her in peters baby carrier for safety. He nods back.

“Miles, we all want to lead the life we wish we had.” When Miles shrugs him off he raises his hands.

“Believe me, I’ve tried.”His hands slowly lowered. Miles’ breathing got heavier.

“And the harder I tried, the more damage I did.”

“You can’t have it all, kid.”

Miles looked around in panic, noticing the faces creeping up on him. He makes eye contact with you, and you try and signal your support.

If you run, I’ll run too.

“Being Spiderman is a sacrifice. That’s the job, that’s what you signed up for.”

A robotic voice caught your attention as a large suit approached the outer circle.

“Miles.” The faceplate opened.

“Penny?”

He put up his defences once more.

“What is this?” He yelled, the force of his words drawing an immediate attention. “Is this an intervention or something?”

“We know it’s hard, but it’s the truth, Miles.”

You glare at the faces around you, Adjusting Mayday on your hip and keeping an eye out for your two boys.

Miles and Benji.

Peter will be dealt with later.

Miles stumbles back, righting his foot and turning to Peter.

“Is that why you’re here? To—“

he clenched his fist, “To let me down easy?”

You watch your lover closely, the look on his face telling you all you need to know, and apparently same goes for Miles.

“It worked last time, why not run it back huh?” his voice was raising, Benji getting uncomfortable at the tone.

“Woah- hey, hold on. Hold on!” He raised his hand in a placating matter, trying to tune Miles down.

“You were right, Gwen.”

You glanced up at her, his venomed whisper doing its intended purpose, hurt.

“You should have never come to see me.”

Peter slowly approached Miles, bending down to his height like a person to a stray dog.

“Kid, look at me-“ “Stop callin’ me that.”

“There you go.” You sent Hobie a huff of appraise.

“Hobie, you’re not helping.”

“Good.”

Miles gratefully nodded at him.

“Miles, please understand-“ Peter tried.

“Peter.” Your stern voice interrupted him, and he shut down his attempt.

“You can’t ask me not to save my father.”

“I’m not asking.”

You glared at Miguel, only noticing the barrier a little too late. It opened under Miles, trapping him within when the inner circle started to protest.

“Miguel just give him a second! Please!”

“Dont! Stop it.”

“You let him leave, he’ll only do more damage.”

Gwen intervened, “Enough!”

You rushed towards the barrier with Mayday, her reaching for the barrier in confusion. You can’t help him out of this, you don’t know how.

“Miguel, let him out! He’s a kid.” You raised your voice. Weaponising your authority.

“Miguel this is too far.”

“[Name], it’ll only hold him few days.” He turned around to walk away.

Miles was panicking, banging on the barriers walls and spinning to try and find a weak point. His eyes caught onto Hobie. Doing nothing but holding his palms out, and giving him an earnest look. “Sorry it had to end like this, kid.”

“I said—“ Miles placed his hands flat on the barrier, right above his head. Palms out, You backed up shielding Mayday and dragging Peter to turn around and using him as a body block for Benji.

“—Not-“ The barriers begun to crack, shatter like glass.

“—To call me that!” A wave of energy pushed everyone down as the barrier broke, exploding in a mess of bright colours.

You heard Hobie chuckle, and looked up at Miles in amazement. A second where he caught your eye, he darted. Running straight for the exit.

“Miles!” Miguel screeched.

You stuffed Mayday in her carrier in record time and blew them a kiss as you pounced from your position to catch up with Miles.

Unbeknownst to you, Your husband, along with every other spider person, would follow. Except Hobie.

“Just for the record, I quit.”

—

You had found Miles being interrogated by your lover, him holding up your two children like bribing toys.

“C’mon- just hold ‘em!”

“I don’t want to do that.”

Miles manoeuvred slyly through all the cranks and pipes, your Spidey following swiftly behind him. “Just one hold! It’s rejuvenating!”

“I’m plenty juvenated!” Miles retorted.

You were going to interrupt when you lagged behind a bit, getting stuck on a moving pipe.

When you finally freed yourself, you stumbled into a cute moment between the two.

“I wanted them to be like you!”

He stared at your husband, vulnerable and scared, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face.

Mayday and Benji bickered with each other in his hold.

Peters watch suddenly lit up.

“Okay, Peter I’ve got your location.”

Their faces dropped, betrayal raw on the young boys.

“No, no. You do not have my location!”

Him peeling open the crate to the industrial fans, and slipping in. You using your webs to sling in after him and pull the crate shut behind you. Catching Peters fleeting glance before what seemed twenty different spider people broke through the crate, smashing through fans.

You followed miles swiftly, through the busses and over cartops. Using your webs to keep up with him. He wasn’t bad, for someone so young.

“I’m a great mentor!”

You huffed at Peters distant offended tone. “Sure, baby.” You muttered.

You hooked around a building, watching as Miles cut himself off from Gwen. Her hand reaching out for him as he fell. Your spidey senses caught your attentions, tingling in the forefront of your mind. You zeroed in on Miles and watched as he aimed for the train. It hadn’t looked like anyone else had caught on yet. Still scrambling to get to him, instead of trying to cut him off.

—

Miguel had the kid by the throat. Slamming him against the train doors and dragging his body up with him. You watched in fear as he spoke to the boy.

“You’re a mistake!”

You screamed at him from your position below, begging for him to just let the kid go. Miles caught you gaze. You fought against the wind, trying hard to get to him, and keeping an eye on Peter and your babies.

“If you hadn’t been bit-!” Miguel slammed his back again. You winced. “Your Peter Parker would have lived!”

Miles struggled against him, trying to push off the claws attacking him. “Instead he died- Saving you.”

“He would have stopped the collider before it went off. Spot wouldn’t exist-“ “Peter!” “-And none of this, would have happened.”

The three of you climbed to get to them. You grabbed Benji off peter, Cradling him in your arms as the winds were getting too rough.

Miguel slammed him back again, crowding over the small boy and growling his words.

“And all this time— I have been the only one holding all this together.”

“Miguel go easy on him!” Peter called down from his spot behind you, he sounded devastated, your heart broke for him. You knew how much he loved Miles, thinking of him almost like his first son. Your husband would bring him up so often, wondering what he was doing when he could see through the Spidey-Windows Miguel would (angrily) provide.

He always stressed when Miles had to figure out things himself, saying things like “Just give me a day with him, we’ll figure it out!” “He’s a kid Miguel. Wouldn’t you have wanted a mentor back then?” “I’m a great mentor.” “You just don’t see my brilliance.”

Benji babbled in your arms and you cooed back at him, spider beanie pulled snug over his face. Huh, he was pretty rejuvenating.

Miguel leaned closer, growling words of disgust to the kid.

“Let me go!” Miles struggled against him. A choked sound came from Peter, and when you looked back at him you swore you could see his eyes shine with unshed tears.

“Miguel that’s enough!” Gwen shouted.

“This isn’t what we talked about!”

Miles stopped struggling.

“You talked about this?” He looked down at Peter, heart breaking.

“You knew?”

Peter looked down, ashamed. Clinging onto the train but no longer climbing. Mayday held tightly to his chest with the other hand, he caught your eye.

“Peter what did you do..” Your breath escaped you and the words came out a whisper, flown away by the winds around you.

“You all knew?”

Your head shot up, starting to disagree before Gwen spoke.

“I.. I didn’t know..” She looked away, unable to face him.

“How to tell you.”

“That’s why you never came to see me.”

“Miles it’s for your own good!”

He pushed forwards.

“Who decides that?”

Miguel pushed back.

“I’m not a kid Gwen.”

Miguel grunted, slamming him again, the dent in the train deepening every time. “That’s exactly what you are! You’re just a kid!”

“Who has no idea what he’s doing!” Miles grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to squirm further from the beast on him.

His fingers sparked.

Miguel shoved his forearm against Miles’ neck, pushing his face against broken metal.

“Yeah well, I did get hundreds of Spider people away from your own club house.”

The roaring of spider people climbing the train travelled straight to Miguel’s ears.

“I guess he did plan this out!”

You smiled up at him. Seeing him smug back.

“And, I’m about to do this.”

He latched his sparking fingers onto Miguel’s shoulders. Clenching down and watching the starts of his electricity flow through the man’s arms.

The elder was the on struggling now, confused grunts paired with an effort to escape the boys hold.

“Everyone keeps tellin’ me how my story is s’posed to go.

Nah, Imma do my own thing.”

He pushed his whole hands against blue spiders chest.

“Sorry, but i’m going home.”

He pushed Miguel off of him right as he ignited the current buzzing underneath their veins. And watched as the Brunettes body ragdolled off of him and shot off the train and into the open sky.

The fanged man dragged his hand through waves of spider people, struggling to catch himself against smooth metal.

You looked back up at Miles, as he stood, connected by a single web to the speeding train.

“Goodbye, Gwen.”

He cut the thread and fell.

Gwen yelled for him, a call of his name. But peter? Peter just watched with his heart in his throat. His own betrayal heavy on his heart.

—

You were finally at home again. The stress of the day weighing high on the both of you. Even Mayday and Benji seemed to have noticed the tension.

Getting tired over all the moving and all the fighting, it was barely 7:30 before they were dead asleep.

“You think we’re bad parents?”

You were stood leaning over he crib, arms rested on its gates. Peter crowded over you, covering you in his smell and feeling. The weight on his body pressing against your back was akin to a weighted blanket, grounding you as you watched your sweet children breathe.

“Nah, Everyone has their first chase.”

“Well,..”

“Ehhh, want to see the cute photo I got of Benj and May?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

—

Your husband had been off the whole rest of the night. When you two had sat down together to watch the first mind numbing thing you could find, he couldn’t stop moving. Jittering with nerves.

You were waiting patiently for him to work the courage to say what he needed. Not ever preparing for something like this.

“Think Miles hates me?” It was said slyly. Like he was playing it off to be nothing, but the tension in his shoulder told you otherwise. “I think he’ll be hurt. And upset, but I don’t think he hates you.” He picked at his nails as you spoke, you curled your hands over the expanse of his chest and fit your ledge over his waist, he looked up at you through wet lashes.

“Are you sure cause-“ He cut himself off with a clear of his throat, not wanting to sob over something so *stupid in his head.

“Oh, baby. You’re so sweet, but he could never hate you.”

Peters hands stopped fiddling with themselves, smoothening down the curve of your ass and the small of your back.

“Okay,”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He sounded relieved, if not a little suspicious.

He dug his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder and inhaled deeply.

“Creep.”

He nipped at your skin lightly in retaliation.

“Miguel talks to you too much.”

“Every sentence we shared was negative.”

“He’s like that.”

You scoffed at him playfully and he smiled into your neck, turning his cheek to your skin and watching you. “I’ll make sure next time we talk, it’ll be in sign.”

“No, I don’t speak ASL, what if he says something about me?”

“He says something about you out loud, baby.”

“Yeah but I can’t hear it if he’s signing.”

—

Even later in the night, when you heard the shower running and soft sobs coming from the bathroom. You did nothing but undress and climb in with him. Rubbing your hands soothingly down his back, spreading soap along his chest and back and massaging it in deep for him.

You let him hold himself up against you, and pretended not to notice the difference between the shower water and his tears. You dragged him down to your height, a hand tucked into his soft hair before your lips met his. He would settle his hands on your hips, push you ever closer to him. And take the comfort you gave him in stride.

Eventually you would pay mine to your water bill, and would dry each other off carefully, get dressed together and settle in your shared bed. It was 1 AM now, but you couldn’t care less, being in the arms of your lover had outweighed any negatives lack of sleep could bestow. He would make it up to Miles. Solve the problems of the universe (multiverse), and have you two meet for real. Introducing Miles to his wife, and his son to his twins.

—

I WENT OFF THE RAILSSSS

probs making a part two later, for more peter daddy snippets and cute kids plus wifey reader

[robynlilyblack]

Don't you dare pull away

Sirius Black x fem! slytherin! reader 

Summary: Sirius Black and Y/n y/l/n have always been famous for their public showdowns, but what happens the two are forced to finally spend alone time together?

Warnings: swearing, mentions of wizarding slurs (eventual strange term of endearment), kissing and sex, enemies to lovers, steamy first kiss, getting together, fighting in the rain, kissing in the rain, lil sexual tension

A/n: 2.7k words, can be seen as a prequel to the my little deatheater series, thank you so much for the request, I hope you like it, enjoy! 

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“This is all your fault” Sirius grumbles as descends from the last tower, tossing another bag of collected rubbish onto the pile you both had created

You let out an empty laugh, poking your tongue into your cheek and shaking your head a little, refraining yourself from hurling a quaffle at him…again. If anything, it was entirely his fault. He was the one that decided to pull the most outrageous hail mary in all of quidditch, therefore any reaction you had was merely in defence of his insanity. Not that the professors agreed mind you, forcing you both to clean the entire pitch yourselves without magic

“I don’t know why you’re so pissy you guys still--oh no you don’t” you finally speak, only to be caught off guard by one of the bludgers acting up “Salzar will you… ughh” you huff, anger overcoming you as you attempt force the clasp of the trunk shut, even going so far as to climb onto of it yourself “Motherfu-ahh” you squeal as it bucks harder

Just as you’re about to get thrown off you, feel a weight beside you, bringing the clasp close enough to finally hook on and allow you to lock it. You breathe a sigh of relief, head leaning against the wood and for a moment, it’s peaceful. The bludger stops fighting, going dormant once more, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the soft patter of rain on the tarpaulin above you

“Thank you” the words escape your lips faster than you can stop them and your eyes widen rather comically

Dammit, you don’t even need to look at him; you can already feel that stupid smirk of his forming

“What was that darling? I didn’t quite catch that” 

You groan quietly “I said… ” you purse your lips before lifting yourself up, eyes meeting his “... thank you” you begrudgingly admit and his smirk deepens, the smug bastard

“Thank you?” he over exaggerates in faux awe, hand finding his chest, fingertips gently grazing his jersey “No… ” he shakes his head “... there’s no way our resident deatheater over here is thanking lil' old me for helping her” he coats it on annoyingly thick, egging you on as he always did

“Last time I thank you… for… what was that?” you attempt to rebuke but the sound of something ripping takes your attention away, gaze turning upward “Shit” your eyes blow wide at huge dip in the canopy above you, small drips of water already slipping through the beginnings of a tear

As you stand Sirius’ seems confused before his eyes follow your own, catching on quickly “Crap” he mutters, sliding off the chest “Come on!” he shouts, pulling you with haste towards the wall, shielding you from the impending cascade

… except it never comes.

Instead, you and he are held up against the wall. You peek with one eye to check what's happening, meeting Sirius doing the same, one hand flush against the wall behind you while the other is wrapped around your waist

You wrangle out of his grasp as you both realise the old awnings still got some life in her “Thank merlin you didn’t overreact” you tease him “Come on!” you mock, turning away for a moment and noticing the small trail of water from the edge of the tower and canopy beside you

His tongue pokes his inner cheek, head leaning against the wall before he pushes himself off, turning to face you “Oh fuck off” he tuts “We both thought it was gonna go...if anything you should be thanking me!” he lets out an exasperated breath, arms folding as his back finds the wall

“Thank you?” you look at him astonished, you couldn’t believe the nerve this boy had on him, though it did make splashing him with some of the dripping water less guilt worthy “Why the hell would I thank you?” you flick water at him again

“Oi!” he flinches, taken aback “What the--” he barely gets a word in as you continue

“I’m the one stuck here cleaning your mess!” you shout, flicking him a couple more times before backing down, taking pleasure in his pretty curls deflating into a drenched, frizzy state

“You better cut that out right…wait, my mess!” he lets out an annoyed ‘huh’ as your words finally register “I’m the one with the broken broom and detention for a month! Not to mention I’m missing my bloody victory party” he gestures towards the now hazy castle, obscured thanks to the relentless showers around you

“Well, if you had any real skill it wouldn’t have broken now, would it?!” you scrunch your nose at him, but your argument falls on deaf ears as his head begins to shake a little, trying to remove the strands of hair that have stuck to his face thanks to your watery combat “Plus it’s not like you wouldn’t already have detention… are… Sirius? Are you even listening to me? Black!!” you try to regain his attention but it remains solely on his hair “Oh for fucks sake” you grow tired of his failed attempts, swatting his hands away, gently pulling back the soaked pieces and tucking them behind his ears before stepping back “Better?” you ask crispy

“Yes. Much” he responds, falling in tune with your anger again “Ready whenever you are darling” his arms widen in a half bow, welcoming your attempts 

You stare at him “I…” you start before begging your brain to come up with some kind of clever quip “You're... umm… fuck” you whisper the last bit as you draw a blank, growing increasingly frustrated, more so as he realises that for the first time, you might just be stumped 

“Holy shit, you’ve got nothing” the smirk that grows on his, punchable, pretty, face is maddening “Oh you have no idea how happy I am right now”

“I… ugh… oh fuck you Black” you grab the nearest object, a forgotten wet scarf, and hurl it at him “Least I wasn’t disowned” even you know it’s a low blow, but as the man said, you really didn’t have anything

He manages to avoid it though, the wet fabric barely grazing his shoulder as he ducks “You're really clutching at straws now love” he half laughs at you “Hey!” he points as you chuck something else, taking a stride towards you after it misses as well

“Just admit it darling, you’ve lost!”

“As if!” you defend "I never have and never will lose to you!" you throw what can only be described as a half a decorative lion mane at him

He dodges once again, his eye wide your sheer determinism “Merlin, you’re so petty”

“I am not petty! you’re petty!” you scoff, moving towards him as well as you’ve ran out of safe objects to throw at him “Ugh, I could punch you right now” your fists ball, jerking at your sides as you attempt to control your rage

“Then why haven’t you!” he questions “Not like you haven’t got rough on the field before!” he waves his hands in the air, recalling the time you whacked him the face with your broom as you flew by him

“Because your face is pretty, and I rather like looking at it while I argue!” you admit, anger still in full swing

So is Sirius’ as he argues back “Yeah? Well I happen to think yours is rather cute when you’re all riled up at me!”

“Thank you!” 

“I mean it!”

“Good!” 

“Good!”

You’re faces are dangerously close now, and as your altercation falls into silence, your hard expressions soften for a moment, small half smiles and laughs escaping as the words shouted between you sink in

You thought he was pretty

And he thought you were cute

You and Sirius had always been known for your little battles, but you and he were in foreign territory now. Never before had one lasted so long, gotten you this fired up. Normally first years would run away and seniors would grab popcorn when you and he were in the same room, however without the screening eyes of your peers or authoritative figures something else was building, something new. No longer was it going to end with who got the biggest cheer, or last insult in before the professors broke you up, no, the game had changed now, and you both knew it

Your face hardens, the anger fading but the passion of the fight remains “You know you’d still have your precious broom if you’d accepted your loss” you start of soft, eyes looking deep into his, asking him if you want to walk this line with you

A smile quirks at the corner of his “Loss, darlin? Oh no we won…” his face darken back into it and you take that as a yes “...I think you need to get that pretty head of yours checked”

“We had it until you pulled what was quite frankly the most illegal fucking move in all of quidditch, and if you had been anything other than a perfect little lion this would be a completely different conversation!” you scoff “I can’t believe you call that a win, you bloody cheat!” you’re poking the bear now, pride overcoming you as you watch his eyes flare at the last word 

“Don’t you dare call me that… take that back right now” he takes the smallest step forward, your chests brushing “What I did out there was blimmin' brilliant and you know it!” he leans even closer “You’re just jealous you weren't smart enough to think of it first!”

“Jealous! Why the hell would be jealous of a cheat, cheat, cheat-itie, cheater?” you near bounce at each little quip, merlin were you having fun

He breathes out through his nose, warm air tickles your lips “I am not… ” he stops himself, almost like he’s fighting an internal battle “I’m… ugh” letting out a groan as he turns, stepping in a small circle as he backtracks “I wouldn’t have to pull some cheaty moves if you lot played fair for once” he backtracks, pointing at you, his breathing heavy now “Fricking snakes, the lot of ya” 

“For once?” you huff, slapping his finger away before flicking water in his face again, but this time it’s far more strategic “Thats a good one Mr Marauder” you flaunt your hands mockingly before do it again “Unlike you… Us. Snakes. Have. Standards!” you'll even admit you go a little overboard with the water this time, splashing him between every word before catching some in cupped hands and pouring it over him

He shakes his head like a dog after you finish “Stop!” he warns but it feels more like a challenge, now it’s his turn to ask you with his eyes; did you really want to step over this line? Enter this new world with him?

“Make me” you jeer, tone lower than normal as you accept his unspoken offer, hand sweeping through the water again 

This time however he catches your wrist, holding it in place, before retraining the other one as well, knowing you too well to leave himself unguarded on one front

“Do that one more time and you’ll regret it...”  he’s unbelievably close now "...darling"

“Or what, bloodtraitor” you hold his gaze, enticing him

Whatever it was that was building between the two of you was coming to its apex, and you’re both acutely aware of it. But it’s where, you suppose, this dangerous little dance of yours had always been leading

He leans in closer, letting your hand fall from his grasp, chests breathing in unison as his eyes refuse to leave yours for even a second “I think you know, little deatheater” a smirk threatens to play at his lips, godric was he loving this new frontier

And salzar, were you too, eyes unable to help stealing glancing at his lips then back to him “I do” you admit, bringing your lips up, letting them hover dangerously close to his own but as he smirks, taking this as his win, loving to close the gap, you retreat, whispering a flirty “Gotcha ya Siri” before stepping back, a playful smile on your face

His face is a picture, mouth agape, a light tinge of pink sprinkling his cheeks but within his shocked expression lies amusement, along with realisation that he lost your little game most spectacularly fashion

“You little minx” he breathes out quietly, tongue pushing his cheek out as he hangs his head, you had got him fair and square, and the boy couldn’t even be mad

“Yes!” you punch the air, beginning to laugh lightly, you don’t even try to come up with a witty remark as you celebrate, because you just bet the sirius black, prankster, playboy, at his own game

He raises his head after a few seconds to see you all proud of yourself, yet your pride is different than normal, if anything he swears it’s more genuine. He’s ready to accept defeat, to let you win, but he’s not ready to let you get away without finishing what you both just started, but just as he’s about to step forward it seems the canopy has finally given up, the fabric above you gives way, splitting in one foul swoop and releases a freezing torrent upon you

“What the…”

Your eyes are wide, mouth fallen open as you gasp loudly, feeling the cold water creep into each layer of your clothing, frozen in place as you look up at Sirius who remains dry, narrowly avoiding the same fate. He looks almost in as much shock, eyes looking up at the rather wide hole, then back towards you

Meeting his eyes, you finally let your smile break free “Shit!” you pout for a second “I just lost didn’t I?” you shout over the pitter patter, losing yourself in laughter as the rain pours around you

Sirius watches the scene with a similar smile, you had always been a wonder to him, this force of nature that drove him crazy, but in this moment all he felt was peace, and he was happy to lose, just this once with you

“Nah” he chuckles, letting the rain engulf him as he approaches, your laughter soothing as his finger hooks under your chin, bringing your gaze to his “We both lost” he tells you before guiding your lips upwards towards his, pausing just before they touch in tortuous bliss

The rain is a stark contrast to the moment, it’s unlike anything either of you have shared before, it’s quiet, soft, like you were old lovers finally finding one another again in another life. 

“Don’t you dare pull away” he whispers, lips tickling yours, hot breath warming you despite your numbing limbs

His fingers slide along your jaw slowly, becoming flush before floating upwards carding through the wisps of soaked hair framing your face. His eyes follow, flitting over your face, eyes filled with the kind of admiration one could only dream of and it’s exciting, new, the beginning of a long time coming

“Never again” you promise

He nudges his nose against your own before closing the gap, lips parting as they meet. It’s slow, meaningful, there’s no battle for control, just two souls hungry for one another after being starved for far too long. And it’s intoxicating, your hands finding his cotton of his jersey at his chest, the wet fabric forgotten as you pull him impossibly closer. Sirius feels drunk on your lips, the rements of your lipstick on his tongue as it slips through, hands wandering down to your hips, moving the fabric of your jumper upwards to reveal the skin underneath, eliciting a soft moan from your lips and causing the kiss to finally break

Both your chests heave as Sirius guides you backwards towards the wall and shelter again, turning you around last minute so your flush against it, hands very much still on your hips, thumbs pressing into the skin in soothing circles

“You know…” you catch your breath “...maybe losing isn’t so bad” you admit, throat tickling with light laughter

He joins you “It isn’t…” he agrees, one hand sliding out from below to cup the sweet plush of your cheek, bringing your eyes to his grey ones, heartwarming as you lean into his touch “...but only when it’s with you”

After that, every snide remark that was fired across the battlefield between you was now coated with something more intimate, perhaps they’d always been, but it would always be the kind of strange endearment only you and he could ever understand

My “Little deatheater”  

My “Bloodtraitor”

Thank you for reading ♡