#i go incognito on my phone to listen to it

[real-odark]

alexa please play Whizzvin Yuri Lemon Montage to Symphony by Clean Bandit

i just wanna be part of yuor Symphoooonnyyyyyuh.l...,.,........ ., Will u hold me tigth and not let go..... symphonyyyhhh

[23sanguinity]

The worst thing in fanfic is when you ship a poly ship but there’s not enough content for it so you read a fic with just two of the characters and they make another character you ship with both of them an ex? And it’s not the author fault, they weren’t writing for the poly ship but it still ruins what could have been a great fic because you don’t want them to be exs

[violestars]

𝙄 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: Sunday x male reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: childhood friends to lovers AU, so the boy that broke your heart proposed to you— wait what?!

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: part 1 definitely not a wip lol, i got too attached to Sunday to let him go. !!only male readers!!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: angst, hurt comfort, mention of homophobia, controlling family, arranged marriage; kinda suggestive, vulgar language.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: part 1, part 2.

“Um— Sunday?” 

The owner of that name, who was clinging stubbornly onto your waist, only replied with a soft nuzzle on your stomach before going silent again. 

How the heck did you even get into this position?

A week without talking to Sunday, not even a small glance from him and you felt too awkward to admire those crystal-like eyes from afar.. listen to those soft lips.. ones that rejected your heartfelt confession— 

“Oh shut it!” You mentally screamed. Past you would not believe this. Sunday? As in the guy that could never be separated from you? The same boy that gained you guys the silly ‘’soulmates’ title? Oh please. 

You were a skeptical person, or a fancier way to call it— anxious. Everything is like a stacked cake to you, so polysemous. Each prettily decorated layer tastes like a plain lie, dig enough and you shall find the sweet truth at the very bottom, if you haven't gone crazy from a sugar high that is! But even if you were a mind reader, Sunday's feelings were always a mystery. Must he be so hidden from you? You have been shaking in your boots at the thought of losing these years of beautiful friendship if he hadn't noticed already. 

“It has always been just him and me together.. Why can't you just share your true thoughts?” You signed, directing your frustrations to the little bear that he got you after a small arcane 'date'— well what your delusional self would call it. You smiled fondly at the memories, him being so deadpanned on how childish the place is, only to gamble his whole life away for a plushie you couldn't stop staring at. Honestly, the strangely designed toy was only cute because it looks like him, just with white wings as ears. 

That is also why it was getting punched to oblivion. 

Ding! 

The abuse stopped as you quickly snatched your phone from the bedside table. Thankfully Robin was updating you on Sunday's condition. All she shared throughout the week with her brother's future boyfriend, the dumb nickname reserved for you specially, was his health and little behaviors. Nothing too useful, not too specific for speculation. “I swear Y/N! If I could I would— the guy was made out of stone or something!” You remembered the poor twin sobbed out, only to be glaring at you for replying with “No wonder he looks like an ethereal sculpture..” 

But this time, your phone wasn't buzzing with several messages of either gossip or complaints, there were only one. 

“Brother mumbled your name and ran straight out after I came home! Please don't fight! His face was as crinkly as an old man's!” 

If the circumstances were different, you would have let out a soft chuckle yet you were at a loss for words. Last time he did that, you had to lie to your sleeping parents about such noisy commotion downstairs. 

“Did I lock my windo—” 

“You didn't.” 

Sunday replied. 

And here you were, laying underneath him, being pinned to your own soft bed. You have dreamt of being treated like this before, and if it wasn't for the fact that the guy laying on your stomach has been on incognito mode for days, you would've started blushing. How did he even get onto your window? Last time you prepared a ladder that you painfully struggled with setting up. Did he drag one here himself? 

“Earth to Sunday?” You asked, hesitatingly patting his fluffy baby blue hair. Your touches carried themselves with confidence after its owner let out a sigh of content, to which you could only muster a small 'cute' under your breath. 

“Fuck them..Those selfish deadbeats..” Sunday grumbled, his voice sending vibration to your tender stomach, making you shivered. You were slightly startled by his wordings, Sunday rarely curses, even around you. Did he have a fight with his family again? 

“Whoa..I just heard some strong words from a guy that never works out— Ow!” You grunted, your sides stinging like an army of fire ants has just devoured your flesh. Who said a crush's privilege was freely inflicting pain onto your delicate body?

You were about to start a fight, there were so many bones to pick with this guy, let's not forget how he ignored your presence first. 

As your hands were about to push Sunday off, he lifted his head up. Crystalized eyes challenging the sparkles of precious diamonds, glistening while they silently begged you to comfort their owner. The first time he looked at you in days and it was when he looked like a kicked puppy. You only sigh, gently pulling him up to your level as he buried his face into your neck. 

“They wanted to marry me off— Well I would thank them if they actually left me alone after. But no! It was to strengthen the family relationships or something. I was given the job to take over my supposed spouse's family business and gain more power to ourselves, themselves if we're being brutally honest.” Sunday finally let out, after swallowing back a hiccup. He was slowly breaking down in your arms, you felt useless for just laying there and rubbing his back. Like you haven't been expecting his family to cook up something as unreasonable as that. 

Unsurprisingly, Sunday knew that clearly, his pained grin proved it. What really was he hoping for? A kiss on the cheek? He was glad you hadn't kicked him out after the isolation he put you through. So he continued to spill out his troubles to you. 

“Of course I didn't agree to that. I don't want to be tied to someone I never loved, like they haven't caged me enough. So I suggested your family.” 

H-Huh???

You felt your eyes were bulging out of its sockets, mouth agape as you were about to question his decision. What did you have anything to do with his arranged marriage? 

“Atta boy. Stay there and look pretty, I'm not finished.” You huffed with a light blush dusted across your face as Sunday chuckled between his soft sniffles. Even in times like this, he was joking around with you. This was definitely not the mysterious guy the girls were gushing over.  

“They shamed you, us. Called us homos or whatever, I couldn't care less if they were only aiming at me. I stood my ground though, I told them your family is definitely on a higher status than any lady’s that caught their nasty attention. The public’s views are changing, if they throw away their historical mindset, they would see how we can manipulate this difference and act like the family is filled with open-minded politicians.” 

You could tell Sunday felt relieved after that rant, which was filled with sassy remarks, yet something was holding his breath back. His heart beats were still jogging around, visible through your own chest. You then noticed how close you both were, not like as best friends you two haven't cuddled, it just felt so so close this time. 

You felt naked under his attentive gaze, looking at you like you were the best thing that God has given him, your cheeks increased in color by instinct. You let out a hum after a tight silence, taking your eyes off his only to be gently led back by the hand on your chin, hopeful eyes boring into yours.

“To simply put. I want to marry you.”

His breath was so close to your mouth. When did he lean in so slyly? You gulped, you were definitely shocked at this plot twist and your expressions were all over the place. You must have looked like a fool at that moment.

Are you even supposed to reply? If so, how?? 

You only licked your dry lips, which succeeded in distracting Sunday's focus. It would have helped if he didn't look at them with such hunger, you felt like a weak rabbit in the wolf's den. The said wolf then turned back to your eyes, ones that he missed admiring with such fondness— ensuring their shine like they were priceless pieces of gemstone. Sunday looked at you with an unsure look, he didn't know what you were thinking as he assumed your heart didn't belong to him anymore. He did recognize the little glint in your eyes though, quietly urging him to continue, just like when you guys were sharing ridiculous stories in your secret spot as mischievous kids. So he did, he owed you a sincere apology after all. 

“I understand. The guy that broke my heart proposed to me, what's up his sleeve this time? I was afraid. Y/N, my love, my life. If they knew we were together, they would use you against me. They would hurt you and I would rip them to shreds— But you would still be trapped. You don't deserve that, my prince. If I knew we were gonna have this argument, I would have brought up marrying you. They have called you such disgusting names.. But they all hide behind me, that's how it has always been. I would be the one hurting you, I am the one hurting you. It pains me just thinking about doing such sins.” 

You were awfully silent, Sunday cringed at how he could clearly hear every movement of the rain, slowly hitting your window. Each drop turned harsher — copying the movement of his heart against yours. They all reminded him this was real, this was reality. 

He was finally facing reality. What he was telling you will change the future for the better or worse. But he will take this shot because he couldn't afford to lose you any further. You are his lover, there is no other. 

“I am a monster, it is clear now. After I pulled you into this mess, I know for sure of my kind. I don't know how you even loved me. Am I not obsessed with you? Aren't you weirded out by that? I'm scared I would let you down, I haven't even experienced real love before I met you, I can't provide you with the affections you're expecting, love—” 

You pulled him into a deep kiss, hands wrinkling his neat white shirt, he definitely just got out from a meeting. 

You could taste the metallic from your mouth, Sunday was returning the action with harsh movements like no tomorrow, like this was some sweet dream of his, biting your lips in the process. You couldn't care less, what mattered was how his actions were screaming desire, like an animal finally being freed from its cage— capturing its prized possession. He definitely regretted giving you the cold shoulder, holding onto you like you would run away once you witnessed his true form.

If you did, what would he do? No, he won't hurt you. He would probably cling onto you like child with its mother, crying like a newborn. He wou—

“..Y-You said you're scared of letting me down.” You managed to say, heavy breaths with shaky hands clutching onto his shoulders to balance yourself as you cut off his chain of thoughts. It was a battle trying to take control with him, all you could do was let out small whimpers once you felt like choking. Sunday looked at you with dazed eyes, this was a side he has never seen, one he would kill to reserve for his own feast. But he was focused, he was getting accepted or thrown away for good— the latter being slightly off chance. 

“How about sticking around to find out first?” You asked, your tone assertive and filled with trust in him. You knew Sunday wouldn't back down from a challenge, you knew how possessive he could be. But you didn't mind. You were inviting a monster into your own home, maybe you were the monster all along. 

“Y/N, you know this isn't a silly game—” 

“Don't you want to make me proud?” Sunday paused, whatever insults he was about to throw up to persuade your stubbornness cut off from his script. He has never felt so weak before. Not even with the family, they still need him. But not you, the way you phrased that, how you were looking at him. You looked like a deity, talking to a dumb buffoon of a peasant, giving him orders he oh so carved.

God, you're divine. 

Sunday only lean into your soft luring touch, his eyes never leaving those that got him so weak in the knees. Filled with much adoration but also power. 

“Cause I'm so proud..” You gently breathed out, fanning his thirsty lips. As they crashed into each other once again, this time full of longing and love, you both have sealed your fate. Where you go, he will follow along. Sunday knew he is yours now, you knew you have always belonged to him. 

Baby, I'm so proud of you.

© art by @/sisi19980408 on twt

[artificial-transmutations]

Your stories and images are beyond incredible. My favorite blog on tumblr BY FAR. Truly incredible work. I guess it’s kind of selfish, so absolutely so absolutely no worries, at the very least I got to tell you how much I appreciate and love your content. But I’m a short, nerdy, thin, art student in college right now. I’m tired of being in the closet, I’m tired of being a push over, Im tired of being weak and submissive, I’m tired of being a virgin, and I wanna change. Maybe you could help with a story by turning me into one of those jaw dropping beautiful confident men that you make the pictures of, I would very much appreciate it. But no worries if you can’t, I just love your content!

Confidence

Nathaniel sighed quietly, as he came over his hairless stomach. Of course, he had to be quiet! The dorm walls were paper-thin, and he certainly didn't want the guys from the neighboring dorm rooms to hear him. He looked at the website once more, with the story and the hot buff men before he closed the incognito browser tab and proceeded to clean himself up.

When he looked into the bathroom mirror, he sighed again, but this time, it was a sigh of sadness. There really wasn't anything remotely impressive about him. He was thin and weak, and pathetic really. If it wasn't for his lack of boobs and his sorry excuse for a dick, he could very well pass as a woman. In fact, he had been mistakenly called "Madame" more than once, and one time, he had even been asked "how his transition was going".

No, Nathan was a cis man, just not a very impressive one. He was gay, of course, and loved to look at 'real' men while jerking his small cock. Most of the time, he fantasized about some hairy brute rough-handling him, pushing his face against the bed and fucking his tiny ass into submission. However, even though the thought was exciting to Nathan, he even more wished to *be* such a man. The rational part of Nathan knew that both fantasies would not happen anytime, though. It was physically impossible to just *become* a 'real man', and it was impossible for Nathan to even admit to anyone that he was gay. So, he would probably just stay a closeted virgin forever - doomed to masturbate to some kinky stories he was so embarrassed about that he only dared to look at them from an incognito browser tab.

He sighed a third time when he crawled into bed. Perhaps someday he would accept his fate.

Nathan was already almost asleep when he heard the firework starting outside. Right. It was New Year’s Eve. What a way to start the new year.

The next morning, Nathan was feeling a bit better. Of course, his deep-rooted unhappiness still lingered within him, but Nathan decided to try and enjoy the day. He liked new year’s days. Everyone usually was at home after having celebrated the whole night which meant that the world outside was very quiet. Not much happened on New Year’s Day.

Nathan decided to go to a nearby cafe. There, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate next to him, he got out his drawing utensils and looked around the place. There weren't too many people. An older couple sat together, the man reading a book, and the woman reading a magazine, while an elderly lady sat at the counter. She was probably the owner. However, there was one more guy, a young adult like Nathan, who sat on a nearby table all by himself and was playing on his phone. He had his chair tilted back a bit, stabilizing himself against the wall and rocking a bit. He had earphones in his ear, so he was probably listening to music while doing so.

Nathan's first instinct was to draw the old couple, but then he looked at the other young man again. He looked a bit like one of those men from the internet, the kind that Nathan would fantasize about. Just a bit. The other man wasn't burly and muscular and assertive, but instead he had a lean, fit build. Nathan was a bad judge of character, especially without having spoken to the person in question, but the young man didn't look particularly assertive or dominant either. So, all in all, not too much like the men Nathan longed for on the internet. But still, he had a certain charm to him. Nathan liked the fit, lean body and the aura of positivity the man seemed to exude and wanted to capture that on paper.

Nathan began sketching the man, while occasionally looking up, making sure the man wouldn't notice. However, it was hard to keep his eyes off the guy. Every now and then, he would laugh a bit or make a funny face when watching something on his phone, which Nathan couldn't help but find very attractive.

He was just working on drawing the man's hands, when Nathan suddenly heard someone address him.

"Hey, what are you drawing?" The voice didn't sound rude or unfriendly, but plainly interested. Still, Nathan flinched visibly. The attractive man on the other table had removed one earplug and turned towards Nathan.

"Uh, sorry?" stuttered Nathan, not quite sure how to react. The guy pointed at Nathan's drawing pad and smiled: "You're an artist?"

Nathan could feel the blood rushing to his face. The drawing pad was tilted towards Nathan, so his unvoluntary model could not have seen what exactly Nathan was drawing. He could - no, he should - just lie and tell him he was sketching something in the room. But he just couldn't think of anything and the time for a good answer was running out. Almost involuntarily, Nathan stuttered, with his head red like a tomato: "Uhm, yeah, kind of. I was sketching you, actually."

The guy laughed a short and friendly laugh: "Really? Cool! Can I see it?"

Nathan could feel his heartbeat quicken, and his face got even redder. This was so embarrassing! But he couldn't very well refuse now, could he? So, he placed the pad flat on the table, just as the guy came over and sat himself down on Nathan's table.

"Oh wow!", he sounded impressed. "You're really talented! It's like looking into a mirror."

"Thanks" - Nathan hated getting compliments. Not only didn't he know how to react to them, but he also found them mostly fake. He was an art student, but he wasn't that good really, at least in his own opinion. In the dictionary, there was probably a picture of Nathan right next to the entry for "Imposter Syndrome".

"But why are you drawing me?" Although Nathan had feared that this question might come up, he didn't have a good lie to answer it. It was almost as if his mouth was acting on its own, when Nathan heard himself stammer: "Uh, eh, it's because I... I find you quite handsome actually. Good-looking I mean."

Nathan wished for nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth here and now. But to his big surprise, the guy just laughed again and said: "You think so? Thanks! The name's Oliver by the way." Oliver had, apparently, much less of a problem taking a compliment.

"Nathan." said Nathan and started to relax a tiny bit. However, the situation suddenly got even worse, when Oliver continued, in the same light-hearted voice. "Nice to meet you, Nathan! Are you into guys?"

Nathan froze solid. He hadn't expected that. And even worse, the answer was, of course, yes. But there was no way he could say that, was there? So, instead, he just stared at Oliver with his eyes wide open and a deer-in-headlights look.

"I mean, I'm gay - are you as well?" Oliver explained. "With the whole drawing dudes and all."

Nathan's brain had stopped working properly, so he couldn't help but nod and mumble a faint "yes".

Oliver's smile broadened and he said: "Really? Cool!"

Nathan's mind was racing. He had just admitted his homosexuality. To a complete stranger. Out of the blue. He didn't plan to come out that way, it just... happened.

A moment of awkward silence radiated from Nathan, but, thankfully, Oliver salvaged the situation pretty elegantly.

"Listen Nathan, I'll have to run now. But are you free tomorrow around 2? We could grab a coffee and you could show me some of your drawings if you like."

A spark of bravery, completely foreign to him, awakened in Nathan and he answered: "Y-yes. I think I would like that."

Oliver smiled another of his broad smiles. "Awesome! Let's meet here then tomorrow!"

With that, Oliver nodded at Nathan and left the cafe, putting in his headphone again while humming happily.

Did that really just happen? Nathan looked from the unfinished drawing towards the cafe door. Did he really just... got invited to a date? With a handsome guy named Oliver? Nathan wasn't sure whether to be happy or not. On the one hand, it was a miracle, a once in a lifetime opportunity. A cute and hot guy was actually interested in him! But on the other hand, there was no way he could make a good impression. How desperate had that Oliver guy to be to actually ask *him* out?

A small voice in his head insisted that he could just not show up tomorrow and avoid the whole disappointment. But the spark of bravery was still there, and Nathan fought down the feeling. No, he was going to show. If it turned out to be a disaster, he could still flee the scene - it wasn't like Oliver knew literally anything about him.

Nathan quickly packed his things and returned to his dorm room. Once he arrived, he noticed that he was completely covered in sweat of fear. His shirt showed wet spots under his arms and felt cold to the touch. Disgusted, Nathan immediately went for a shower. Only there, standing under the hot steamy water, Nathan could appreciate what happened. He got *asked out*. On a *date*. With a *guy*. Yesterday he had been certain he would die alone and lonely but then, today, he got *asked out*. Was this really a thing? Did it really happen?

He wasn't sure. He had a hard time believing it. Perhaps the whole thing was just a weird dream? A figment of his imagination. But no. The half-finished drawing was proof enough that Oliver really existed.

When Nathan exited the shower cabin, the whole bathroom was covered in steam, blinding the mirrors. Perhaps this - or the spinning of his thoughts - was the reason that he didn't notice that his hair had changed. Instead of his usual medium length brown-ish hair, he now sported a much shorter hairstyle - in a much darker color, almost black. Be it as it may - Nathan had other things on mind than checking his hair. He spent the whole afternoon and even the evening researching on how to make a good impression on a first date.

The next morning, Nathan slept in, which was pretty unusual for him. His whole frame felt weird, when he crawled out of bed. It wasn't too late, either - he had a comfortable 3 hours until the date. When he passed the bathroom mirror on his morning routine, however, he stopped for a moment. Something was... off about his face. His hair. It looked kind of... different?

Nathan stared at his reflection for a few seconds, straining his mind. Somehow, the shape of his jawbone seemed unfamiliar. And was his hair always that dark, almost black?

Finally, he shook his head. No, he was just seeing things. Of course, that was as it always had been. After having finished his bathroom business, Nathan went for a shower and prepared himself.

An hour later, he stood in front of the mirror, trying out a bunch of outfits and felt slight panic rising inside of him. None of his clothes fit very well, it was like he was cursed! It wasn't that his shirts and pants were much too big or much too small, but for some reason none of his clothes really felt comfortable. Both his favorite shirt and his usual jeans felt somewhat constricting today. Finally, Nathan just put on an outfit, and left his room.

When he entered the cafe, Oliver was already sitting there, two coffee mugs in front of him. He smiled, waved and gestured for Nathan to join him.

"Hello, Nathan!"

"H-hi." said Nathan, his nervousness returning.

"Here, I bought you a coffee!" Oliver pushed one of the mugs over the table.

"Thanks." Nathan was somewhat distracted by the ill-fitting clothes, and he could pretty much feel the nervous sweat practically pouring out of his pores.

"No problem!", said Oliver. "I was early, anyway. How are you doing today?"

"Fine." said Nathan and took a sip of his coffee, trying to hide his nervousness. He vividly remembered all the good advice he had read yesterday, but all that felt just impossible to him.

"So, you're an artist? What do you do?" Oliver asked with genuine interest.

"Well, I study art, I guess. I want to be a concept artist, you know, for games or movies or so. But, eh, right now, I'm just a student, and I'm not really that good."

"That's not how I remember it!" smiled Oliver. "Can you show me more of your work?"

Nathan nodded as he got out his sketchbook. Talking about his art was something he was comfortable with and allowed him to warm up somewhat over the course of the conversation. Oliver appeared to be quite a nice guy and had a lot of questions about drawing, so, Nathan, in turn, started to relax and talk more freely. He found out that Oliver was a veterinary technician and had a part time job at a dog shelter. That, combined with the fact that he was, in general, a really nice and positive guy, made him incredibly appealing to Nathan.

After the two had talked for a while, Oliver suddenly remarked: "You know, I really like your stubble! It really suits you!"

Stubble? What was he talking about? Nathan rarely needed to shave, but he had done so this morning, so, it was absolutely impossible that he should have visible facial hair. And yet, as he felt his chin, his fingers met with bristly short hair, so dense and long that there was no way he could have missed it this morning. Nathan found it strange, to say the least, but didn't want to make a scene in this situation. His spark of courage was a small candle flame now, as he just smiled while he felt his chin and said "Thank you!"

The two continued to chat a bit. While doing so, Nathan tried not to think too much about the fact that his clothes were, somehow, tighter than before.

Finally, Oliver's phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen.

"Damn, it's that late already?"

"What is it?", asked Nathan.

"Oh, the dog shelter. I have a shift soon, I need to go!"

Nathan sighed inwardly. He was really enjoying the date and didn't want it to end. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of Olivers hand on his. It felt... good. Good and strange, like the texture of his own hand was somewhat wrong, somewhat rougher than before. When he looked up into Oliver's eyes, he found the other man smiling.

"I really enjoyed this. You are a wonderful person, Nathan. We should do this again."

Nathan nodded. He didn't trust his voice right now.

"How about... tomorrow?", Oliver continued. "There's an art exhibition in town, perhaps you would like to go there with me?"

Nathan's heart jumped a beat. He didn't have time or courage yet to go to the exhibition and the prospect of seeing Oliver again so soon was wonderful.

"I would very much like that", Nathan replied and smiled.

"Great! Let's meet there, say at 5?"

"Sure!"

Oliver smiled his beautiful, broad smile, and stood up, leaving some money for the coffees on the table. Nathan too got up, but before he could leave, Oliver stopped him with a warm expression in his eyes. "You know, I really think I like you a lot." He said, and his hand touched Nathan's somewhat bristly cheek. Almost automatically, both of their faces drew closer to each other, until their lips met with the slightest touch. It was a chaste, short kiss, but Nathan could feel Oliver's lips smile when they broke apart.

"See you tomorrow!", said Oliver and left the cafe.

Nathan's knees felt weak, and his heart was beating rapidly. There were a thousand feeling, all happening inside him at once and Nathan needed a moment to sort through them before he was able to move again. There was a part of him that couldn't quite believe what just happened, but the biggest part was just euphoric. He basically jogged back to his home, full of a never experienced energy.

When he arrived in his room, his body was feeling even weirder than before. All of his clothes were way too tight. It was not just that he felt constricted, no, the clothes actually were much too small. He quickly got rid of them, noticing that, again, he had sweated like a pig. As Nathan glanced down on himself, he could almost see that his body was somehow different. Fitter, healthier. It was probably just his imagination, though, caused by his ecstatic mood. He briefly considered taking another shower but postponed it to tomorrow. There would be plenty of time and Nathan felt really glad and tired for today.

Nathan woke up from two different feelings the next morning. First, he felt itchy and sweaty all over his body and was subconsciously scratching himself in his sleep. Second, and perhaps even more importantly, Nathan was experiencing a severe case of morning wood. His manhood was rigid and pulsating under his sheets and was begging for attention. Nathan had a hard time remembering when he last experienced such an urgent urge to jerk off. He wasn't sure, but the memories of their kissing yesterday came to his mind as soon as he woke up, so, he couldn't resist closing his hand around his hard cock and started pumping. His hand felt rough and big, and Nathan couldn't be sure, but both length and girth of his tool seemed increased, too. However, Nathan could hardly concentrate on that due to the waves of pleasure washing over him.

It didn't take very long for Nathan to shoot a big load onto his stomach, with a moan. It was a big and sticky load, too, mixing with the little dark hairs on his stomach and chest. Nathan blinked in post-nut clarity. Hairs? He didn't have body hair.

Nathan got up quickly and went to the bathroom. Something about his perspective was off, too. It was like the ceiling was closer than it was supposed to be, and the ground further away. Once Nathan had used some toilet paper to wipe away most of the cum, he took a look at himself in the mirror. There was no denying that he looked different. He was definitely somewhat taller and broader than before. He didn't have a scale, but he was sure that he had gained quite some weight as well - not only due to the increased height and broader shoulders but also because his previous stickman-like appearance had been altered quite somewhat. All over his frame, a lean definition was visible, hinting at muscles even. His chin was covered in visible stubble and there was a bit of body hair visible, mainly on his chest and stomach as well as peeking out under his armpit.

Speaking of which, as Nathan raised his arm to look at his pits, a certain smell reached his nose. A musky, manly, slightly sweaty odor that wasn't quite unpleasant but was certainly unfamiliar.

Nathan had a hard time wrapping his mind around what he was seeing. There was no denying he looked *good*. He just didn't look exactly like *himself*. And for some reason, this didn't bother Nathan quite as much as it probably should. He should be panicking or calling a doctor. People didn't just grow taller overnight or put on definition without working out. And yet, Nathan only felt a slight bit of curiosity and a weak impulse that he probably *should* work out then.

Nathan shook his head and went back to his bedroom. He didn't bother putting on clothing and tried to pass the time until afternoon. The only thing that he *really* regretted about his sudden changes was that his favorite shirt and jeans would definitely not fit anymore.

He ended up watching a bit of TV and browsing the internet, before he decided it was time to prepare himself. Finding clothes that would fit now proved to be quite a challenge, but in the end, he settled on a plain t-shirt and some cargo pants. He had bought both of them a number too big by mistake, which came in quite handy now.

Walking through the city was a strange experience. He felt good about himself and held his head high. Combined with the fact that Nathan's head was, indeed, higher than before, it was like seeing the city in a whole new perspective. Less looking at the ground and more looking straight ahead.

His new posture seemed to have another effect, too. Where before he had to avoid people, trying not to get in their way, now they seemed to be stepping aside for him, which was a foreign but not unpleasant experience.

Finally, he arrived at the exhibition and found Oliver already waiting for him. They greeted with a hug and a short kiss, both fully reciprocated by Nathan, and went inside. Although Oliver seemed to notice something was off about Nathan, he didn't mention it and apparently forgot about it quickly.

Today, Nathan found it much easier to talk to Oliver and brought up topics by himself.

The exhibition however was kind of a let-down for Nathan. Although he could judge on a rational level that the art presented here was really well-done and interesting, on a purely emotional level, Nathan found it mind-numbingly boring. The conversation steered away from the art quickly, and more towards personal matters, which was a relief. So, even though they didn't care much about the paintings around them, the two of them ended up wandering around the exhibition for hours, talking and having a good time.

During the date, however, Nathan was quickly experiencing an unfamiliar feeling. The company of Oliver was... exciting. Exciting on a sexual, primal level. Nathan's larger manhood grew semi-hard in his underwear quickly, so Nathan had to readjust himself more than once. At first, he was very self-conscious about it and tried to be as subtle as possible. However, with every push his cock needed in order not to be too obvious, Nathan actually cared less about who saw him readjust himself. He was a guy after all, and all big-dicked men had that particular problem from time to time.

Besides forming a bulge in his groin, however, his constantly semi-hard cock did one more thing: Nathan was leaking precum in his underwear. First, it was just a drop or two on an involuntary throb, but it quickly became more. His underwear was feeling damp before long, and a faint note of sexuality mixed into his still present smell.

After a while, Oliver even commented on it, in his usual upbeat way: "Hey, Nathan, I have to say, you smell pretty good. Are you using cologne?"

Nathan hadn't noticed his own smell too much. His first impulse was to apologize, but the burning campfire of courage inside of him quickly told him otherwise. Oliver didn't complain. In fact, he liked it.

So, Nathan answered with a grin: "Nope. That's just how I smell."

Oliver took another whiff of the mixture of sweat, dried cum and precum and smiled. "Well, I like it!"

Nathan wasn't quite sure how to react, and just said: "Thanks!"

The exhibition was closing down soon, and Nathan offered Oliver to accompany him to the train station, which he gladly accepted. When they parted, they kissed again. This time, it wasn't a small, timid kiss like before, but a long, sexual one that made Nathan's dick twitch like mad in the confines of his pants. Since their bodies were pressed closely together, Nathan could be sure that Oliver felt the movement against his own groin.

Only after they broke the kiss, Nathan noticed that he was now looking down on Oliver slightly. He could have sworn that Oliver had been slightly taller than him yesterday.

There was no telling on how the evening would have continued hadn't it been for Oliver's train to arrive just then. Before Oliver could board the train, however, Nathan grinned at him and said: "Dinner tomorrow? The Italian place downtown, at 6?"

"I would love that!"

They kissed again and Nathan watched as the train pulled out. Then, he went back to his dorm, whistling a happy tune. It didn't even occur to him that he had taken the initiative in asking Oliver out for a third date. The fire of confidence was burning bright inside of him.

When he came home, Nathan immediately stripped out of his clothes. Even the larger shirt had become somewhat tight. He took a short look at it. There was a wet patch under both arms from his constant sweating, and the t-shirt had adapted his smell. There was something else in the smell, though. At the chest region, there was a medium sized stain, machine oil from the smell of it. Nathan wondered briefly how he could have missed it this morning but then diverted his attention to more pressing matters. His cock was fully hard and was poking out from the waistband of his briefs. Nathan hadn't had an erection like that since puberty and, if he was honest with himself, the feeling was rather nice. Without hesitation, he closed his hand around his hard meat and gave it a few experimental pumps. A low growl escaped his mouth, and a shiver went through his body. He didn't want to go slow, he wanted to fuck. His mind was focused on the task at hand. He didn't even bother to close his curtains, as he went for it. Nathan was jacking himself off, fast and hard, growling and groaning, until he finally exploded all over his chest and face, shooting multiple loads of thick white cum everywhere.

As Nathan was catching his breath, the smell of cum was heavy in the room. God, he needed that. Ever since he met Oliver today. He wiped his face and chest with his discarded t-shirt and briefly considered if he wanted to take a shower. The smell emanating from him was rather strong now, but still, he didn't want to. Oliver seemed to like his body odor, and, if Nathan was being honest, he did so himself, too.

Nathan was woken by his alarm the next morning. As his mind came to focus, his hand reached for the smartphone automatically and dismissed the alarm. He yawned and stretched. He was really looking forward to today. Given, it was the last day before classes started again, but he was going to a third date with Oliver this evening!

When Nathan crawled out of bed and went for his bathroom, however, his body felt weird again. The muscles had become more defined over the course of the last two days and now, the whole body structure felt *strong*. The few hairs from before had become a small forest of body hair and the stubble had grown thicker. He still didn't feel the need for a shave, though.

Nathan wasn't quite sure about the whole situation. Of course, he was enjoying the change. On the other hand, ... No, fuck the other hand. This was great, plain and simple. He finished his morning business standing up while peeing, which he usually never did. But right now, it just felt *right*.

After that, he inspected his wardrobe. He had half-feared that he would need to go and buy new clothes, but apparently, overnight his wardrobe had changed as well. It was filled with sturdy cargos or work pants as well as simple shirts and the occasional overall. Good!

His underwear choice had also changed. Instead of briefs or boxers, the drawer was now filled with jockstraps. That made sense, of course - only a jockstrap would set his large dick in the right scene.

None of the clothes qualified as "clean". Sure, they had been washed before they went into the wardrobe, but permanent grease or oil stains had permeated the fabric just as Nathan's manly stink - both marks no washing machine could ever erase entirely.

Nathan grabbed one of the pants and smelled it. He couldn't help but smile. This was his smell. This was *his* smell. His manly, sweaty, dirty, horny smell. He even felt his ever-present dick twitch a bit at the smell. Nathan wasn't sure if he would ever get used to this new reality. Or if this even was the final reality.

The hours passed quickly. Nathan was keeping himself busy, playing games or listened to music. Not once did it occur to him to draw something or even look at his art. This new him wasn't particularly creative, it seemed.

Nathan's mind wandered back to the date this evening. He couldn't wait to see Oliver again. In fact, he couldn't wait for more than that. It was a third date and Nathan wanted to go all the way with Oliver. He wanted to take his ass and fuck it into oblivion.

At around 5 pm, Nathan stood in front of the Italian place, waiting for Oliver. When Oliver finally arrived, the two men greeted each other with a passionate kiss. Nathan could tell that the kiss was having an effect on Oliver, as his breathing was quicker than usual.

They went inside and sat down on a table. Almost automatically, Nathan's legs spread wide, taking up space, establishing presence and, most importantly, giving his equipment the necessary space. The *old* Nathan would have sat with his legs closed or even crossed, in order to not draw any attention to himself. However, the new Nathan didn't want to draw *less* attention.

The two chatted a bit, with the main topic of the conversation being the menu, before ordering. When he spoke, Nathan noted that his voice had dropped an octave, making his voice gravely and his laugh a low rumble. When Oliver had chosen, Nathan summoned the waiter and ordered for the both of them, his lower voice full of confidence. For Nathan, it was a large meat pizza and a beer.

"You know, I have never seen you drink before", remarked Oliver.

"I don't usually", replied Nathan. "But I thought I'd have a beer today."

"You're not driving, are you?"

"Na, I'm here on foot."

Oliver smiled his usual smile. "I'm here by car, so if you like, I can give you a ride home afterwards."

There seemed to be some subtext to this offer, but it went over Nathan's head. Not that it was necessary, because he had the exact same plans, anyway.

"Sounds great!"

A couple of minutes later, their pizzas arrived, and the two dug in.

"I really like your style, Nathan." said Oliver after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, the way you dress. The way you talk. The way you act."

"Oh. Thanks."

Nathan thought for a moment before he added: "You know, I go by Nate these days."

"Nate, eh?", smiled Oliver.

"Yeah. Fits better, you know."

"I guess so. I like it a lot!"

"I like your style, too."

"What do you mean by that?", Oliver laughed.

"Just, the way you talk, the way you walk. Everything. You're cute, you know."

"Why, thank you!"

The conversation was definitely a lot more flirtatious than yesterday. When they had finished their meals, they didn't linger much longer in the restaurant but got into Oliver's car.

Nate proceeded to give Oliver directions to his home. However, at a certain crossing, he had to stop and think for a moment. He knew for a fact that his dorm was to the left. But he also knew for a fact that his *home* was to the right. Nate decided not to overthink it and directed Oliver to the right with a firm voice.

They didn't get very far from that point, when suddenly, the car stopped with a jerk.

"Damn, sorry!" said Oliver. "The engine is acting up again. It's probably too cold or something like that. I'll just try to start it up again."

When after the third try, the engine didn't start again, Nate laid a hand on Oliver's. "Let me try." he said with a confident voice and left the car. When he opened the hood, the problem became clear to him right away.

"The carburetor is a bit clogged, I'll unclog it real quick and we're ready to go."

While Oliver was staring at Nate in surprise, as the latter quickly and with trained skill removed a few parts and then, with a flex of his mighty arms, applied percussive maintenance to the part in question. After Nate had reassembled the engine, he cleaned his hands on his pants and got into the car again, filling out the passenger seat with his presence.

"It should work again for now, but I'll have to clean it thoroughly tomorrow. The thing is just old and worn down, it needs replacing soon. Just try starting the engine."

Oliver was still staring at Nate with a disbelieving look on his face. Finally, however, he tried starting the engine again, and the car did indeed start running smoothly.

"Wow, Nate, that was amazing! Where did you learn that?"

"What do you mean", grinned Nate. "That's what I do!"

Oliver stared at him for a moment. "Wait, you're a mechanic?"

"Yeah, sure, didn't I tell you when we met?"

Oliver seemed to think about it but then slowly nodded: "Yes, I... think so. Weird. I could have sworn..."

Nate shrugged and pointed down the road: "Shall we go?"

They arrived at Nate's place shortly after. He had a cheap apartment directly over the car garage where he worked. Nate did try to clean up a bit the afternoon, but the place still screamed "Manly bachelor" all over the place with the occasional beer can or jockstrap scattered around.

Neither of them had time to care, though. As soon as the door closed, the two kissed. It wasn't just a chaste, romantic kiss. This was a heated, passionate kiss, full of desire and lust. Nate took Oliver's body and pushed him against the wall, grinding their bodies together. Both were hard and their breathing was rapid. Nate's hands wandered up and down Oliver's body, squeezing and grabbing his body. His fingers were strong and forceful, and he squeezed the smaller man's buttocks and his dick with the same intensity. Oliver responded by moaning and pushing his groin against Nate's, humping him.

Suddenly, Nate broke the kiss. "Oliver, I... I want you. I want to fuck you."

Oliver didn't answer, but kissed Nate again, harder this time. Nate's tongue invaded his mouth, and the bigger man's hands were ripping Oliver's shirt and pants off him. Once Oliver's dick was free, it was enveloped by Nate's big calloused hand, and Oliver's breath hitched in his throat.

"Oh god, Nate, yes!" he moaned.

Nate had enough of foreplay, and he wanted to fuck, now. Without wasting any time, he quickly pushed his pants down and pressed his dick against Oliver's. It was massive, even compared to Oliver's not insignificant size. While Nate's balls were big and heavy, his cock was thick, long, and veiny, with a fat mushroom head. It was also rock hard, and the head was already drooling precum.

With one hand, Nate stroked the two cocks together, rubbing them and smearing the precum all over his dick and Oliver's. With the other hand, he pulled Oliver close and kissed him again, a long, sensual, passionate kiss, which made Oliver moan into his mouth.

The two stood like that for a while, but finally, Nate's need to fuck was stronger than anything else.

"Bedroom. Now!" he growled and dragged the smaller man with him. Once there, Nate simply tossed him onto the bed and followed quickly, his cock pointing up. He positioned himself on top of the other man and kissed him again, their tongues dancing in their mouths.

When the kiss broke, Oliver was panting.

"You really are a big boy, huh?"

"Damn right I am."

"Oh god, I need your big dick inside of me!"

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you?"

"Please! I've wanted to feel your huge meat in me for days."

"Fuck yeah. You're gonna get it."

Nate reached under his bed and produced a bottle of lube, which he applied liberally to his dick.

"You're ready?"

"Do it, big guy."

Nate placed the head of his massive cock against the tight pucker and started to push. Slowly but steadily, his dick invaded Oliver's ass.

"Oooooooooh god, Nate, yesssssss!" moaned Oliver.

The pressure around Nate's dick was unbelievable. Oliver was clearly tight, and the way his asshole was massaging his dick felt heavenly.

Finally, Nate's dick was balls-deep inside Oliver. Both were breathing heavily, and Oliver was moaning incoherently. Nate gave him a moment to adjust and then started moving his hips, first slowly, but increasing his pace quickly. Soon, he was slamming into Oliver's ass as hard as he could, pulling almost completely out and then thrusting back inside the smaller man.

"Fuck yeah! You like that? You like my huge dick pounding your tight little ass?"

"God, yes, Nate, fuck me, fuck meeee!"

Nate was groaning and growling, a sound that came deep from his chest and made Oliver moan even louder.

"Oh shit, Nate, I'm so close! Don't stop, please don't stop, don't st- ooooooooh gooooooood!"

Nate felt Oliver's muscles clamp down on his dick, and that sent him over the edge. He buried his dick as deep as he could and shot a big load of cum deep into Oliver's guts.

The two of them collapsed on each other, spent but happy.

A lot had changed for Nathan in this new year. He had gotten a new body, a new job, a new identity even. But most importantly, he had found love. Nate the manly mechanic sighed. If he were to describe his feelings, looking into the future, there was only one fitting word: Confidence.

I actually generated a ton (okay, 50) of images for this story. If you want to check out the alternate versions of the different stages of Nathan/Nate, check out my tip jar, where I posted them!

[2-dsimp]

I think I just got unlucky then :'00 I did restart the chat and he was being nice, but I will still hold it against him cause how could uuuuuu I trustED YOUUU

bro is gonna be exhausted when I'm gonna sputter about the fact that in some other parallel universe he didn't like me waaaaahhhhh

He's cute, though. Maybe pretty privilege and totally not vulgar touches will get him out this one... maybe.

Is good that u won't leave ur son. Ur son cool.(totally not sending mixed signals) I would love my child as well.

Speaking about that previous argument of "but you didn't like me in this situation", say, would he get annoyed with an insecure s/o? Not the aggressive type, but still, the overbearing one that tends to need to verify they are still liked by the boi? I have the bad habit of doubting others, it's something you learn to let go of, I figure.

-andy tate hater

『Featuring your yandere poltergeist trying and (failing?) at verbally expressing his affections for you』

————;————;————-;————

You were settling down on the bed scrolling idly through your phone. As a sigh escaped your lips from this confusing relationship you’ve found yourself to be in with your ghostly freeloader. He was growing on you despite how pushy and demanding he could be. But you couldn’t help but get the feeling of insecurity whenever he easily comes to take what he wants from you. Before disappearing without a trace (to your knowledge that it, meanwhile he’s just incognito watching you).

So you decided to bite the bullet and confront the poltergeist one night which undoubtedly caught him off guard. Stunning him completely stupid as he blinked in bafflement at what you just asked him.

“No of course I don’t like you. I mean why else would I bother kissing, hugging, groping, cuddling and—

He sneered oozing with sarcasm before he briefly paused after seeing you recede back from his indignant words.

“Ugh let me put this in a different way so your dumbass can understand it”

Xavier huffed scowling at the way you looked even more confused with his brash wording. As he snapped his fingers and levitated you off the floor so you could match him at his eye level from where he was floating,

“Listen I sure as shit can’t fathom why you’re even asking me whether I like you or not to begin with. Cuz I wouldn’t even have bothered haunting you if I didn’t like you to begin with, You dense fuckin idiot!”

[randombush3]

But She’s A Stranger

florence pugh x footballer!reader

summary: originally titled ‘saved’, because that’s what you and this blonde woman seem to be doing for each other

words: 10048

warnings: none (😮)

notes: okay i know i said no more football fics, but i couldn’t help myself. i really couldn’t and you’re going to have to deal with that!

a few of my fav things about writing this include having to check flo’s instagram to see what hairstyle she’s had at what time, creating multiple timelines of club transfers to keep things consistent, and learning catalan! i speak spanish and quite a bit of french so it could have been worse. i also don’t explicitly say this (i think) but the reader played for wolfsburg when she was in germany.

January is fucking freezing. The wind is biting and it rains a lot, clouds lingering, having had to hide for Christmas. The days are grey and dark, trainings are hard, and you’re miserable about being stuck in England after spending a week in Cuba.

You walk down Portobello Road simply because your sister forced you to watch that Hugh Grant rom-com and you’ve got a bit of time before you need to get back to St. Albans. After exploring most of the main road, you stray into a side street, and then another… and another. Until you’re slightly lost (very lost) and in need of food.

Florence Pugh is having a peaceful cup of coffee to make her feel like she’s had a productive day.

Her head snaps to the door when the bell chimes. People don’t often come in here. You sort-of-stumble inside, first looking as if you’re going to walk right out, then settling.

While she is sitting at her usual table (the one in the corner, always with a tulip in the vase), you are aimlessly flitting from seat to seat, deciding on whether this place is worth your precious time. Something about the confusion in your eyes draws Flo in, try as she might to remain incognito. “It’s good,” is all she says, barely looking up from her book, not wanting to have the safety of anonymity stripped away. You glance at the pale blue ceramic mug sitting on her table, and walk to the counter.

“Please could I have whatever she has,” you tell the barista, who takes a moment to understand what you’ve said and then nods with a smug smile. She had been hoping someone would have a little coffee romance in her café.

“Would you like that to go?”

You check your watch.

Hòstia.

Maybe you got carried away on your adventure.

It’s 3.47pm.

Jonas requested everyone meet for team bowling at four, expecting most of you to have been eating lunch together anyway (as that usually happens on Saturdays with the Arsenal women’s football team). Even if you weren’t known to be the most punctual on the squad, getting to St. Albans for that time when it’s 3.47pm now is impossible.

You smile nervously at the woman serving you, and Flo is now intrigued as to why such a beautiful woman looks so terrified.

“Yeah, to go would be great, thanks.” She nods and you are left waiting there, foot tapping, time ticking, nowhere interesting to look other than into those green eyes peering at you from the other side of the room. “Could you… Could you make it quickly, please?”

Flo snorts.

Someone’s just invaded her little sanctuary and then told the barista to hurry up, and she can’t help but find the awkwardness fucking attractive. Like you’re some action in a tranquil day, a rain cloud in a blue sky.

Zach is going to be listening to a very long rant about this later.

It strikes her that you seem different to anyone else she has ever met, though she can barely say to have met you. The way you carry yourself with an air of importance but a dash of humility, the way an accent she can’t place curls around your words, the way you frown at your phone as you furiously type away text after text at the object of your frustration.

The way your eyes meet hers when you realise you’re being stared at.

Before she can defend herself, give you some bullshit about the wall behind you, the barista hands you your coffee. “Thank you,” you say, smiling, though it feels a little ingenuine considering the speed the words tumble out.

As you switch your phone off and reach out to the machine in front of you, the barista grimaces. “Our card machine is broken, sorry. It’s cash only.”

Well she didn’t mention that before.

You gave your last bits of cash to Jordan, having lost some stupid bet about how many of her shots you could save. She said you’d keep a clean sheet; you were humble and said she’d get one past you.

“Merda,” you mutter. Looking up at the barista, you reply, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have any cash on me,” a little panicked and ready to risk it all by dashing out of the shop.

You and the barista exchange a helpless look. She needs the money, but you don’t have it. It’s frankly super awkward, and makes Flo squirm in her seat. She really has to put a stop to this, she can’t bear to watch you and the barista be struck dumb any longer.

She stands and walks over to you, “here,” handing the barista a fiver and trying her best to ignore how your jaw goes slack. Have you recognised her?

(No, you’re just wondering how it’s possible to be this attracted to a stranger.)

(Like, this is one of those moments when you truly are no better than a man.)

“Oh!” you exclaim, finding words again. “You don’t—”

“It’s okay,” she says calmly, though she feels anything but. You have eyes that seem to pierce through her. “You can just buy me—”

But whatever smooth remark she is about to make is plucked from her tongue and swallowed by an aggressively abnormal ringtone. It’s a new experience to be shut down by a duck quacking, and an unwelcome one too.

You grimace once again, finding that this supposedly simple detour has caused more chaos than £5.00 coffee is worth. The caller in question is Beth Mead, recently granted close-friend status after she found you mid panic attack in the gym having been overwhelmed by the watt bike, having to constantly use your third language, and the fact that Ona was being a little standoffish the last time you spoke (you were being dramatic — she hung up on you in favour of going clubbing with her own team). Beth won’t tell you this, but Jonas realised you were struggling in London at the start of the season and asked her to keep an eye on you.

Keeping an eye on you has, apparently, turned her into your mother.

“Where are you?” is what she greets you with, her annoyance drowning out the faint sounds of a bowling alley in the background. “You can’t skip mandatory team bonding.” After a pause, the woman on the other end of the line seems to soften. “Are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh, glancing at the stranger who you are now in debt to. She’s retreated back to her table, accepting defeat, allowing the universe to quell her potential one-night-stand or more. “I’m in Notting Hill. I got distracted by a café, but I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“You’ll be here in an hour, then,” says Beth, unimpressed. “I’m telling Jonas that you got lost, it’ll save you a lecture.”

“Thank you.” You’re grateful for Beth. “I’ll call a taxi now.”

Florence looks at you dumbly. You spare her a concerned look, but then realise she may have been… No, that’s absurd.

“Thank you,” you say once more, this time directed at the blonde, the curve of your lips undeniably attractive and the glint in your eye even more so. Flo nods curtly, attempting to save face, and then forces her eyes back onto Dune. It’s far less interesting than that entire interaction, but what can she do?

The door of the café shuts with a little click, the bell chiming once more, but Flo refuses to watch you leave. That’s creepy, she tells herself.

In truth, as you get into the taxi pulled up outside, you glance back at her, wondering who she is. Why does she look familiar?

You’re seconds away from figuring it out, having a right old lesbian ponder in the car, when Beth pops her head through the abruptly opened car door. “Hola,” she tries, “estas aqui, finalmente.”

“Sí, estoy aqui,” you reply, grinning. She realises your smile might be slightly mocking, pride replaced with slight frustration. “You tried. I’m sure you will improve.”

“It’s not fair if I’m trying to make you more comfortable and you keep talking to me in English,” she groans, but you wave her off.

“I’m grateful, but I need to practice my English.” The pretty blonde woman is worth the struggle. Not that you’re going to talk to her anytime soon. Because you don’t have her number. Or know her name. So really this is all a fantasy, and you’re being a little wistful and probably very horny. Thinking about it, the last time you slept with someone was at least two months ago, and even then it wasn’t the most mind-blowing night of your life. It’s not like the pretty blonde woman is your soulmate.

- - -

She becomes a dream for about a month, something that maybe happened but has become somewhat a fantasy.

As usual, your mother nags you about needing to date someone every time you call her, but unlike previous times where you find it easy to protest and defend your independence (loneliness), you understand what she means.

It’s so fucking stupid that you’re obsessed with a stranger, but it’s the truth.

How embarrassing.

On the 27th February, you forgo playing against Liverpool in favour of attending a big fundraiser for a mental health charity; an event your brother has strongly encouraged you to go to.

You realise why when you get there.

The banner adorning the entrance to the venue clearly states who tonight’s host is: Tomàs L/n. There is the same picture of him plastered around the place; chest puffed out proudly, his Barcelona kit underneath a blazer. No wonder he was so mysterious about this thing. His lack of warning means you actually have to do little interviews, wondering if anyone really cares what you have to say.

“How do you feel about your brother’s recent increase in his involvement with this charity?” a reporter asks you, mic held to your face as if you have an opinion on this.

“I think it’s good,” you reply vaguely. “It’s good to support something you are passionate about.” You can’t say anything else because you haven’t been briefed by his (admittedly over-bearing) publicist.

“You’re missing a match for this, despite playing time being hard to get for goalkeepers. Is family more important to you than your career — seeing as you need the minutes to be selected for the upcoming Euros?”

An odd question, but okay.

Minutes are difficult, but you’ve been first choice all season. The Euros squad will be finalised in early June, though your agent is confident in your selection. “I think that supporting my family should always come first.” You smile. You’re on camera. “And it is a good cause.”

There’s a surge of movement behind you, shuffling and shouting, clamouring for attention. Cameras begin to flash excessively, and before you can turn around, your brother is beside you.

“Hi,” he greets the reporter, grinning with sparkling teeth and a glint in his eye. “Could I borrow her, thanks!” He places a hand on your shoulder and steers you further into the crowd until you reach a corner that isn’t deserted enough to draw attention to the two of you. It being towards the back of the venue makes it somewhere that feels less exposed than the edges nearing the press

“Fuck you,” you hiss in Catalan, happy to switch back to something natural now that you’re alone. “You’re such a dickhead.” He came all the way from Spain to host this event, but you suspect this isn’t the actual reason for his trip.

“Am not,” comes his indignant reply. You scoff, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous ensemble. “Oh, you don’t like the suit? Cèlia said the same. Dolce&Gabbana sent it.”

“Yeah, well, your wife and I are right. It’s awful.” It’s very… loud. Crimson with golden roses. “I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”

“No,” he waves off with a smirk, “that’s from hitting your head against the goalpost.”

“You saw that?” you ask, scrunching your nose up at the memory. You had saved the ball at the price of a few brain cells, luckily scraping a pass in the concussion test you were forced to sit through.

“I’ve started watching your games more,” he admits earnestly. “Barça want you back, you know. You could come home.”

So this is why he’s here.

“To not be played at all?” you retort, walls going right up.

“They’d be crazy to not put you in goal now, and it’s good to play with the national team in the league. That’s easier if you’re actually in the country.” National camps have been going just fine. “I mean, haven’t you had enough of hiding abroad?”

You think about it for a moment. “Not really, no.” An indignant scoff follows, and then, “I have been back, you know. I flew to Barcelona that one time — and then I got the train from there to Madrid.” Plus, your old teammates (and national teammates) go on enough holidays for you to scrape by nervously in Ibiza and Mallorca, and relax in countries further away.

“Y/n, she left the country four years ago. You couldn’t possibly run into her.”

“My chances of that are even smaller in England,” you state firmly. You spent three years in Germany and she still managed to find you twice, conveniently appearing in her stupid, American law firm’s Munich office.. Away from mainland Europe is a safer bet, surely. “Maybe you could copy me and transfer to Arsenal, just like you copied me when I got into the Barcelona academy.”

- - -

Florence hates events held by footballers.

She rarely goes, and doesn’t if avoidable, but the cause is a good one and her publicist wants the media to paint her as a passive advocate for mental health awareness. Nothing too abrasive, but a quiet reminder of her support. It’s quite clever, really.

Sulking in the corner, she sips her martini with a scowl, watching the crowd wearily. The invitees are not her type of people and most seem to have cleared out Dolce&Gabbana’s SALE rack. The guy in front of her is the perfect example, golden roses sprawling across the back of his crimson blazer.

Internally, she rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. This is unbelievable and won’t get interesting until the auction in two hours.

The man in front of her steps to the side slightly, revealing that he hasn’t been talking to himself but rather to someone who looks strangely familiar.

Your eyes meet hers and there’s a moment where you both go into mild panic mode. The recognition in your stare quickly turns into desperation as your mouth moves rapidly to reply to your brother’s opinions. Florence doesn’t understand the conversation at all, but realises she’s being asked for help.

The confidence people see in her usually isn’t real, but she squares her shoulders and walks up to you and the man.

“There you are!” She’s an actress for a reason. “I was just about to get another drink — I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Your brother’s eyes narrow.

She slips an arm around your waist, hiding any shock about your muscular form, pretending she knows your name. You lean into her.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Flo has half a mind to send him a glare, but you do it for her. “Tomàs, no hi tonaré.”

The venom in your tone does something to Flo’s blood pressure. It’s sort of… sexy.

“What was that about?” she asks once you’re by the bar, snapping you out of a moody trance.

“My brother?” Your brother is Tomàs L/n. Interesting. (If Flo knew the first thing about the football world, she’d have realised who you were by now, but she doesn’t and so you remain nameless.) “He was being stupid. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for saving me.”

She finds that she would’ve done it again in a heartbeat, which is a little weird considering she doesn’t know who you are. Flo secretly decides to chalk that one down to having just gotten out of a long-term relationship and needing someone to latch onto.

“No problem,” she replies with a smile. “I believe you owe me a drink…”

You smile. “Two martinis, please.” The bartender nods, looking exasperated by the demands of the overflowing bar.

“That’s my favourite,” Flo says — sort of whispers — as she bashfully looks away. The faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks is hidden well enough by the blue lighting of the place. “How was your coffee?”

For a moment, you look at her blankly and her heart drops with embarrassment. Then, you let out a little laugh.

“I didn’t drink it. It spilled all over me in the taxi!”

“All that stress for nothing, huh?”

Not nothing, you think, but you’re not brave enough to tell her that. “I was recently introduced to Café Nero, and that tastes the most—”

“No!” Flo explains, pressing her hand to her heart. “That’s unacceptable.” You shake your head, laughing more, and she wants nothing but to hear it on repeat for the rest of her life.

“British coffee is unacceptable,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “But I found this place called Reinetta the other day. Very Spanish, very brilliant.”

“Are you from Spain?”

What a genius.

Your incredulous look quickly goes when you realise she’s serious.

“Yeah!” She notices how your smile grows wider but your eyes become a little haunted. “Hablo español,” you say with a smirk, sending her a superfluous wink.

And, if the bartender hadn’t interrupted by serving you your drinks, you would be well aware of how red she goes.

She takes a sip, groaning in appreciation. “This is a good—” She turns around suddenly, squinting at the woman waving at her in the crowd looking furious. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ve got to go.” You catch sight of the person she’s looking at; a stern-faced publicist wading her way through the mass of people to get to her client. In a last ditch attempt of actually getting to know you, she throws out, “you should totally show me this Spanish coffee place,” and rushes off to meet her publicist.

You stand stock-still. Stunned. Oh, that definitely gave you goosebumps.

The rest of your evening is mostly passive aggressive. With hardly anyone else to talk to, you end up hovering in whatever conversation circle your brother is in.

At the soonest possible moment, you leave and join the late-night recovery dinner at Beth’s house, earning wolf-whistles from everyone as you bundle through the door in your formal attire. Beth tells you to change almost immediately, throwing you a t-shirt and jog pants. “Recovery is all about wearing pyjamas,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And eating.”

“What have you made?”

She gives you a wry grin. “Come find out.”

The girls are sitting around her table, eagerly awaiting your arrival so they can tuck in. Jordan, Katie, Jen, Steph, and (surprisingly) Viv are all eyeing the food like starving wolves would look at a herd of sheep. It smells good and familiar and like Beth has kidnapped your abuela and chained her to a paella pan…?

You seem to fill with energy at the sight of the dish, and Katie announces she’s done being patient, spooning a hefty portion onto her plate and prompting Steph to do the same. They begin eating while you remain a little taken aback.

Beth nudges you. “I called Less and practically begged her to give me Ona’s number last week, sending her a text once I got it — to which your friend took bloody ages to reply. And then she was very difficult about when she could FaceTime, so when we eventually could I ended up making a mini version of her paella and memorising the recipe.” Her rambling is nervous. “But I sent her a picture of this one and she said it looked delicious.”

“Déu n’hi do, it looks delicious,” you agree, sitting down as quickly as possible and piling some onto your plate. Mouth now full, you continue, “it tastes like my mother’s cooking! It’s great, Beth, really.”

“She can cook,” Katie proclaims proudly, directing her statement at Viv; you think, for a moment, that she is going to list all of her positive qualities. Your eyes narrow and Beth shoots you a look that says ‘later’. “Y/n, can you cook?”

You almost choke on a prawn. “I can make pesto pasta. That’s it.”

Jen’s jaw drops. “You’ve only been eating pesto pasta this season?!” she asks, sounding scared.

“Yes, because I chose a club without Ona.” At Wolfsburg, you didn’t live on your own. Here you do. “I don’t mind. But Beth might have to make this weekly.”

“Absolutely not. This drained me more than any game of football ever could.” Beth motions at everyone to keep on eating, feeling accomplished that the meal is good. “Katie scored twice today.”

“Did you now?” She nods her head very proudly. “I bet I could’ve scored today.”

The laughter turns into silence as you eat contently, something that is broken when Jen goes, “where were you?”

The thought of having to talk about it causes you to grip your fork tighter, earning Beth’s hand on your shoulder. “Some charity event, right?” she replies for you. “Tomàs hosted it.”

“He came from Spain?”

“Yes,” you answer, and the girls hear how badly you don’t want to talk about this.

No one here knows exactly what happened, but when you abruptly transferred from Barcelona to Wolfsburg four years ago, you allegedly haven’t been back to Barcelona for longer than a day. Ona was saying to Beth the other day that with some convincing you can be persuaded to Ibiza (you’re about to be invited to two trips to the Balearic Islands), but anything on the mainland is strictly business — camps, games, the like.

Everyone has their theories, but Katie and Jenny think something happened between you and your brother. It’s not like you didn’t say outright in an interview that you have had a far better career than him despite being younger, yet he’s the one being paid €12 million a year.

“Guess what Ruesha fucking did yesterday,” Katie changes the topic.

Everyone groans.

“No one cares, Katie. Like I couldn’t care less.” Beth bites her lip to not laugh at Jen’s words. “Y/n, what’s happening in your love life? Got a girl, boy, cat?”

Feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights, you look up from your plate. “I met a girl in a coffee shop in January. She was pretty.” You wonder how her interviews went. “I saw her today, actually. But I don’t date so—”

“You don’t date?” Steph asks, eyes widened a little.

“Yeah, because, like, it’s hard… with football.” They look at you like you’re a dog tearing apart a slipper: so unbelievably unimpressed. “Because it’s time consuming?”

In reality, you don’t date because your ex is the reason you can’t even be in mainland Europe, but they do not have to know that.

“So what’s this girl’s name and how did you go out with her if you were at an event?” Beth asks and it sounds a bit too much like a police interrogation for you to feel comfortable.

You shift your weight in your seat.

“I don’t know. She was just there.”

- - -

It’s the middle of March when you’re back in Notting Hill. With training sessions left, right, and centre, you’d been pretty much confined to St. Alban’s and Beth’s house for social activity. Today is a rare day-off, coincidentally aligning with both Manchester United’s schedule and Manchester City’s. Ona has dragged Leila, Laia, and Vicky down to London to see you.

“I can’t believe we had to come to you,” is the first thing Vicky says when you meet them at Euston.

“Wow, not even a ‘hello’,” you say back. “Come on, we’re going to a market.”

They roll their eyes. All of them. At the same time.

You wonder why you ever missed them.

Laia is the only one interested in Portobello, darting from stall to stall to another, excitedly giving you a rundown on her life while she does. Leila is hungry, and ruthlessly cuts her off.

“We get it. You felt sad for a week. I need coffee, Y/n, take me to a coffee shop.”

“It was more than sad,” Laia protests, but acquiesces to the group’s change of plans.

You lead them to the place you found in January — maybe this time you’ll actually get to try the coffee. But on the way there, Laia finds a mildly creepy clothes shop and manages to herd you inside. She flings clothes at the girls, while glaring at you for flirting with the shop assistant instead of letting the woman do her job and help.

You’re halfway to getting her number when there’s a commotion outside and the mood lighting of the shop is ruined by bright camera flashes.

For a moment, you wonder if they’re for you. People could have thought your brother was here, and the paparazzi love him.

But there’s something familiar about the voice shouting at them to back off; the rasp, the accent. Curiously, you look out of the window.

It’s her.

With brown hair?

Flo catches your eye immediately, and it doesn’t take much thinking for you to dash out of the shop to grab her hand and pull her inside.

The paparazzi have no choice but to crowd around the window, except none of their shots will turn out well once the shop assistant closes the blinds.

“Gracias,” Flo pants, out of breath.

Leila’s eyebrows shoot right up, closely followed by the rest of the girls. “Y/n, that’s Florence Pugh,” she blurts, thankfully in Spanish.

“Y/n?” Flo tries. Now she knows your name and her stomach feels settled with endearance. Your name suits you. “Thank you for saving me. I needed it.”

“I owed you,” comes your reply as you shrug.

“Y/n saves things for a living!” Ona butts in.

(Is she sabotaging you or being your wingwoman?)

There’s a tense silence, of which no one knows what to fill it with, until the shop assistant opens the blinds and informs Flo that the coast is clear. It takes that statement then to be repeated to snap you and Flo out of the mildly creepy eye contact you’re sharing, but once it does she can’t seem to look at you again.

She inhales and resets herself. “Right. I’ll be off. Things to do, people to see.”

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to feel embarrassed in front of your friends’ keen and watchful eyes. “Yes, yeah. Bye.”

“Bye, Y/n.”

With that, you let the woman you’ve been thinking about for months walk away, out of the shop, and down the street. You give yourself an internal kick for lacking the game you know you have in three other languages, but rub it better because now you know her name.

Florence Pugh. Like the actress from that creepy cult film Obi was obsessed with. And the girl from that Marvel movie.

You pause.

“The actress Florence Pugh?” Your question has Leila shoving her Wikipedia in your face. British actress, born in Oxford on 3rd January 1996. Florence Rose Pugh. Maybe you’d heard someone call her Flo before? “Oh, this is the girl I’ve been meaning to tell you about.”

“The girl with no name is Florence fucking Pugh?” Leila shrieks, hands on your shoulders, shaking you. “You know I love Marvel!”

“Sorry,” you chuckle, amused by her overreaction.

Vicky catches your eye, looking like she wants to say something.

Laia does it for her.

“You need to learn how to flirt in English, because that was atrocious.”

You glare at them both. Partly because it’s true.

“The Y/n who fucked four women in a week at the grand old age of eighteen did not just say — no, splutter — ‘yes, yeah, bye’ because she was looking at a pretty girl,” Vicky adds, smugly. “We have finally found the language barrier between Y/n and sex! Round of applause please!”

“Alright, alright,” Ona says, coming to the rescue. “Stop teasing her when she looks like a lovesick puppy.”

Fuck you too, Ona.

“Florence Pugh is practically a stranger.” You look at Leila, “we are not getting married.” You look at Vicky, “she is not being invited to dinner tonight.” You look at Laia, “she will not be upgrading your train tickets to first class.” And finally, you look at Señorita Ona Battle; the woman who has been your closest friend for years. “I am not in love.”

“I’m sure she’s in love too,” Ona says, pushing it.

“But she’s a stranger!”

Your friends are delusional because you’ve been over it in your head millions of times, clinging onto the shreds of interaction, and you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve met the woman. Florence Pugh can possibly be categorised as a celebrity crush at best. What Ona is talking about is way too serious.

- - -

Flo is certain that Ibiza is a good idea. Or so she tells herself.

And, well, Harris tells her.

He thinks she’s been in a bit of a slump since she and Zach broke up. While Flo can barely talk about it without wanting to cry, she mourns the loss in a very vocal manner to her closest friends. She misses him quite a bit.

Harris allows her a month of moaning before putting his foot down; vetoing Flo not joining them in Ibiza because she is sad. “You’re single, you’re hot, and you’re one of the most sought-after actresses and you don’t want to go on a hot-girl vacation…?” His puzzlement is almost comical when he asks. “It’s for my birthday, babe. You can’t not come.”

Her valid apprehension is quelled with the promise of lots of alcohol and sun, and so this is how she ends up on the Spanish island. Harris calls this a ‘come-back curve’ — when you let loose again after being in a long-term relationship.

It’s fun, really. The beach, the time with friends, the drinking. This is the kind of life she had coveted during her youth; the one most believe comes with the fame. When there aren’t any cameras in her face, she feels at peace with her situation.

(Is this what getting over someone feels like?)

Except for one, tiny problem.

Whenever Will drags them all to a nightclub and pumps her full of vodka, she manages to avoid the gaze of every pair of eyes looking for someone to sleep with. Usually, Flo after ten vodka shots would be on top of someone or on her way out, but the days go by and she can’t help but cockblock herself.

She racks her brains to figure out the cause, the reason, but there is nothing in it apart from the echo of your laughter and the sound of you speaking Spanish. She closes her eyes and she can picture you, clear as day, grinning right back at her. She is not okay with it.

Obviously.

Despite the idea of you throwing her off her game, she is still easily convinced to venture out to nightclubs. Leading her here.

Paraíso.

It’s sticky inside; surfaces, people, floor. And packed. Bodies pressed to other bodies, hair trapped, shouting, screaming, singing.

For an already drunk group of people, it’s perfect.

Crammed into a booth in the heart of the club, Flo and her friends do two rounds of lemon drops, the sugar going everywhere. When her nose scrunches at the bitter taste of the rind, Harris snaps a picture, says he’ll post it later.

Good, she thinks. Maybe you will see her having fun.

If one was to ask, and Flo decided not to lie, it would be revealed that she has spent every night this week making her way through articles about you. Your Instagram didn’t take long to find, nor to scroll through, but it saddens her slightly to discover how little people write about you, and how much they write about your brother.

She is dignified enough to refrain from scouring your Wikipedia page.

Funnily enough, you have been doing the same, though the material to get through is significantly more substantial. Mapi has taken to calling it your ‘bedtime reading’, prompting you to announce very loudly to every guest sitting in your family villa in Ibiza that you own the place.

Well, your dad does. (Same thing though.)

Housed in said villa are Mapi and Ingrid, Ona, Laia, Leila, Patri, and Pina. Beth, Jordan, Leah and a few of their England teammates have come along too, staying in a boutique hotel not far away; about a fifteen minute walk. The groups merged very quickly after a bottle of wine.

As you get further into the holiday, you dive deeper into Florence Pugh’s digital footprint, and everyone else is very over it.

“This obsession isn’t cute,” Patri teases, snatching your phone as you spread out on the sofa. “But Leila wanted me to let you know that Florence Pugh is in Ibiza.” Your heart clenches hard; this could be a heart attack. “Oh, and we’re all going out tonight. England girls and us lot. Ingrid is also banning Spanish in case they think we’re talking about them, Pina broke the shower on the third floor, and Laia has fed that stray cat so much that it is now curled up in her bed.”

You glare.

Many of those things are so unbelievably far from ideal.

Patri raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

In time, you wish you had and that your evening was being wasted away in jail, because this place is loud and busy and it is far from acceptable for you to go back to internet-stalking Florence Pugh around such interesting company.

The England girls have chosen a club called Paraíso, though you wouldn’t have known from the way they pronounced it. Most of them are dancing, but Beth, cheeks flushed from a few vodka sodas, has sat next to you in the booth, looking like she’s about to pour her heart out.

You turn to her. “Go on, then. Tell me about you and Viv.” And she grins like that’s the best thing she’s ever heard, launching you into a timeline of events that have you feeling disappointed in yourself about your situation.

If it all hadn’t been ruined, you could have been able to reciprocate the conversation.

It’s a bit like a knife to the stomach to be reminded of something you don’t have.

Eventually, Beth is finished, eyes shining because she is so happy with her and you are so supportive of it. She cares what you think, and is glad you approve.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you say, deciding there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make you feel better but that you can at least try. Beth nods and finds the others on the dance floor.

The bar is well staffed, and it takes all of two minutes for you to place an order of three Jägerbombs. All for you, but you hesitate to tell the bartender that.

Someone brushes your arm and your stomach drops to the floor.

“Hi,” she says, practically sparkling under the club lighting.

This is why you don’t come home. Fucking hell.

“¿Inglés?” you question, raising an eyebrow. Adela used to hate having to learn the language.

“Vivo en Nueva York en la actualidad.”

Tomàs was right. She doesn’t live in Spain anymore. So why is she here? Why is she in the last slice of your home country you can be persuaded to let loose in? Why does she have to ruin everything?

Though time feels frozen, someone else has placed their hand on your waist. You tense as you turn around, but hope Adela doesn’t see it.

When you realise it’s Florence Pugh, you are very close to running away to Australia in search of complete isolation.

“Hey, babe,” Florence drawls casually. She’s an actress, you remind yourself. Improvisation is a skill she’ll be great at. “You alright?” Her hand squeezes your waist in reassurance.

Flo’s hair is blonde again. It looks nice.

“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling a heat pulse through your body. “Just waiting on some Jägerbombs.”

Flo stands her ground. She wants to wait with you. She doesn’t want to leave you alone with the beautiful woman who’s got you on edge.

Is it wrong to feel protective over a stranger?

(Neither of you feel like such — a consequence of extreme internet-stalking on both ends.)

“¿Tu novia?” Adela asks. You smirk at the flash of jealousy in her eyes. “Pensé que estabas follando a todos a la vista como siempre.”

“No, es mi novia. ¿Tienes un problema con eso?” She shakes her head. “Bueno.”

“Sí.” She looks Flo dead in the eyes. “Adiós.”

The two of you let the silence take over, both aware of how she’s still got her hand on your waist, now with her body pressed up against yours.

“Your ex?” Flo asks, praying it doesn’t sound hopeful. There’s no way you’re not into women, right?

“Yeah,” you answer miserably.

She adjusts herself so that you’re now facing each other, but it only aids you both in feeling a little turned on. Seeing the other looking just as flustered does nothing to quell the possibility of where this night is going.

“Want to get out of here?”

She grins. You take that as a yes.

Her hands are sweaty as they cling to yours, but the club is packed now and she’d get lost if she didn’t hold on. Getting outside is like a rebirth, fresh air washing away the grime and a soft breeze cooling her down. That is until you look at her, biting your bottom lip.

“You can if you want,” she whispers as you sort of back yourselves into the alley beside the building. You place your hands firmly on her waist.

You smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And with that you close the space between you, pressing your lips against hers and a hand against the wall to support you both. She kisses back desperately, opening her mouth, clashing her teeth on yours. Her hands run up your back, wrapping around your neck.

You make out for a while, before she pulls away.

“I’ll call a taxi to my hotel.” She gives you the opportunity to text Ona.

You: no volveré esta noche

You’re about to tell your friend where the spare keys to your villa are, before Flo kisses you again, capturing your attention in order to direct you to the taxi.

From there, it’s a downhill slope of ripped clothing, walking into things, and being fucked into oblivion.

The morning comes brightly, unforgiving of any hangovers.

Her suite is really nice, but is partially destroyed by last night’s storm of a hookup. The sofa cushions litter the living area’s floor when you try to find her.

She is sitting on the sofa, hair wet, lazily watching the TV. As you laugh at the program, she snaps out of her brood.

“Do you understand what they’re saying?” you ask through your giggles. It’s a pretty crass show to have on at 10am.

“No,” she sheepishly replies. Her eyes tear from the screen to focus on you, examining your body from head to toe, resulting in a frown. “I went out and bought you something to wear.” She directs your attention to a shopping bag on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to.”

“It was nothing, really.”

You pause.

She looks beautiful. You wish you hadn’t been so drunk. Now all this will be is a one-night stand.

“I’ve got to go. I thought I texted my friend where the spare keys were but I didn't, so they've all crashed at our friends’ hotel, and they’re not happy about it.” Flo laughs, recalling giving you enough time to let everyone know of your changed plans. Maybe you were too caught up in staring at her.

“No worries,” she says easily. “I’m headed to breakfast, but feel free to use the bathroom to clean up.”

There’s a stagnant silence.

Neither of you are going to further this interaction. Alright.

It will be fine. She’s less of a stranger now, and no interview could ever inform you on what your name sounds like as she moans it over and over again.

You tell yourself this again as you approach the England girls’ hotel, bar the last bit. (Though it does remind you of the game you once had.)

Everybody is waiting for you in the small restaurant, the group practically filling the space. There are many colourful words, both in Spanish and Catalan, being muttered as you walk in.

It’s fair for them to feel irritated, and you did leave as soon as possible to allow them back in. You probably would have slept in that expensive hotel bed for the rest of the day if Pina’s seventh phone call hadn’t awoken you.

“You are unbelievable,” is the first thing Mapi says, ignoring the questioning looks from the English girls. None of them speak Spanish, though you’ve heard that Lucy is learning. “Where were you? Pina says she saw Adela as soon as we walked in, and was about to go looking for you to get you out of there.”

“Well Pina didn’t do that,” you reply, folding your arms. Clàudia looks away guiltily. “And I spoke to Adela.”

“So you have a run-in with her and you take off? As if the years haven’t made a difference? As if you’re not over her?”

You clench your fists. “No, I was with a girl.”

“Which girl?” Ona excitedly interjects. “Do we know her?”

“Yeah,” you say, but intend to give them nothing else. “I just came back from her hotel. Would you like to get back to the villa or not?”

“Y/n, you’re such a dickhead.”

Beth asks for a translation.

Before you can omit the parts you don’t want her to hear, the whole of the group is made aware of what you got up to last night. Patri skips over the background information about Adela once she catches the way you are looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now.

The conversation evolves naturally into something more general, until everyone is gathering their things and leaving the hotel to walk to your place. With a group of fifteen, the pavement is cramped, meaning Ona and you pull ahead.

She nudges you when you go quiet for a bit.

“So…” Ona begins, smirking. “Tell me about your night.”

“My night was too scandalous for Onita to handle,” you tease, ultimately avoiding the question. Her eyes narrow and she grabs your wrist to stop you from crossing the road. “I’m not going to run away.”

“But you love running away!”

You sigh. “My night was good, Ona. Really good.”

Ona is clever enough to piece together a story in her head. Adela has a way of disrupting the flow of your life, and a certain someone is in town.

“Fucking hell, Y/n. You slept with Florence Pugh?!” she exclaims.

“Keep your voice down,” you say loudly, shaking your head as to not let the others know. “It was a one-time thing. A mistake.”

She studies your expression, realising how your regret was easily confused for sternness earlier. “You wanted it.”

“It’s a celebrity crush!”

“Not if you’ve actually met her. Then it’s just a crush.”

“You’re just a crush,” you retort. Ona bursts out laughing.

“You slept with your crush and it’s a mistake because she thinks it’s a one-night stand.” Your friend shakes her head in disbelief. “Now I remember why we stopped talking about your love life. It’s chaos!”

Technically, it’s because your love life went very dry once you reached Germany, but you laugh along with Ona because she’s right.

Your hushed Spanish is safe from the ears of the others, but when you lay your phone on the kitchen worktop in the villa, Beth notices two Instagram notifications.

@florencepugh has started following you.

And a DM.

+44 7701 923892 xx

Flo throws her phone across the room once she clicks send, and hides under the covers from a cackling huddle of her best friends.

- - -

Somehow, you are persuaded to cancel your flight to Gatwick and follow the girls to Barcelona. Now that Adela herself has told you she isn’t in your home city anymore, maybe you can visit for longer than five hours again.

When you knock on the door of your family home, you’re tackled to the ground by your mother. Though you didn’t go radio silent on them, the only time they really get to see you is when you’re playing a home game for the national team. Even then, it isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re home?” she asks, pinching your arm to see if you’re real. “My baby was driven out of the country by some stupid girl, so is this stupid girl dead or…”

“Mamá!” You frown and step past her to get inside. It smells like your little sister has found out what incense sticks are and burnt them everywhere. “I thought I’d visit before the Euros. I was in Ibiza anyway.”

“I know,” she says matter-of-factly, making your stomach turn with guilt. “Eva showed me how to work the Instagram.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you checked.”

She smiles softly and it feels like everything you have been missing has always been here.

“Of course I check to see what you’re up to. Wherever you are. Especially since you stopped calling as much.” You shake your head as if it will make it better. You’ve been busy in a new country. You assumed having Eva and Tomàs was enough to keep her hands full. She seems to read your mind. “While your brother and sister are a lot, I’ve missed you.”

You’re suddenly fighting back tears.

“I’ve missed you too, Mamá.”

She pulls you into a calmer, firmer hug. The moment is ruined when Eva comes charging down the stairs, screaming at the sight of you.

The last time you saw her in person was when the Barça academy took her team on tour to Germany last year, but she’s acting as if you’ve come back from the dead.

She alerts the attention of everyone else in the house, meaning your grandma and dad flock to the kitchen, dropping whatever they’re doing. You can hardly blame them. You must have become a myth.

Plans are quickly made to go out to the usual spot for dinner with Tomàs and his family. Your older brother has a wife and three children that you never actually see. You haven’t met his youngest because he was born just before the pandemic started (as if you’d have visited anyway).

With that, you are integrated back into your old life.

You dust off your motorbike from the garage and go on rides through your city, watching the sunset from the rooftop of your friend’s old apartment building with Eva. She tells you about how her football is going; how everyone thinks it’s odd she plays neither in goal nor as a striker.

Growing up, you were forced to save Tomàs’ incessant (but increasingly more accurate) shots, meaning you’d had a fair amount of goalkeeping experience by the time your dad put you onto the football team he coached. You played what you knew. Tomàs hated being on the same team as you, but it didn’t last long when you were scouted and put in Barça’s academy. He followed soon after.

Eva, however, decided to stay away from her older brother and sister’s constant practice. She ended up on your dad’s football team too, scouted again by Barça, her name written down like you and Tomàs had done before her. At seventeen, she might be on track to be signing for the senior team next season. You promise to get the girls round and introduce her to them.

In turn, you tell your sister about the woman you keep on running into. How her eyes looked more grey in January than they did in May. How she makes you nervous, makes you forget how to do things. How you slept together five days before you arrived home.

You have her number, and you show your little sister. She begs you to call it, but you quietly admit you’re scared. She leaves you to move at your own pace, even if she finds it painfully slow.

As the days go by, you become Eva’s chauffeur. She finds it exciting to be driven about on your motorbike, and you have nothing to do but wait for the final Euros squads to be announced.

Your little sister often has places to be. Today it’s The Museu Picasso. Apparently, she’s ‘cultured’ and ‘sophisticated’ and will be getting high as a kite before entry. Makes the experience better.

As you weave through taxis and try not to run over any tourists, a certain blonde catches your eye. She sits dejectedly on a bench with her phone held loosely in her hand. You pull over without a second thought.

“Lost?” you tease, taking off your helmet. Florence startles and almost drops her phone, before coming to her senses and recognising you.

“Very,” she sighs. “My driver cancelled and I’m stranded.”

“Need a ride? She’s getting off here anyway.” You nod to Eva, who is looking affronted by the suggestion of that.

“Jo sóc?”

“Sí, Eva.” She stares at you blankly. “Baixes de la puta moto.”

“Ah. Aquesta és ella.”

You hum in confirmation. “Ara aneu a escampar la boira.”

Flo watches the conversation trying not to blush. The Catalan might be sexier than the Spanish.

After a second of rebellion, Eva gives in and gets off the bike, thrusting her helmet into your stomach bitterly. The museum really isn’t far away — about a ten minute walk — but it’s the principle. What happened to sisterhood?

You get off as well, unsure of whether Flo knows how to get on. She does, thankfully, meaning you don’t have to fumble your way through that. Dodged a bullet there.

At first she keeps her arms loosely wrapped around you, awkwardly holding on. When you speed up, she squeezes you tighter. If she hadn’t squeezed tighter and pulled you out of thought, you’d have been pancaked by an oncoming lorry (they’re memories — it makes it worse).

“Where am I taking you?” you ask, shouting to be heard.

“Coffee!” she replies, amusement audible. “There’s this woman I like who owes me one!”

You pretend you didn’t hear her second sentence, focusing on the road in front of you instead.

Florence relaxes quickly, enjoying the way the people change from tourists to locals; the buildings become more homely and less commercial. Barcelona is beautiful. Your eyes are brighter than when she last looked in them.

The coffee shop you take her to is the one you’ve been going to for years, though the colour scheme has changed from blue to red since the last time you came. The staff are fresh-faced and young, but the manager pulls you into a hug immediately. Flo hangs back, feeling like an elephant among the mice. She doesn’t understand what you say, and takes a minute to realise you want to know her order. Even then, she’s uncomfortable with reading anything off the menu and shrugs.

The manager, Pablo, is the son of the owner, and has worked here longer than you’ve been alive. When you first sat down for a coffee fifteen years ago, exhausted from a 10k run, he gave you a free biscuit on the side. You’ve been close ever since.

Naturally he asks who Flo is. Why is she here?

You can only shrug, say she’s a friend, and deal with his unconvinced expression.

Sitting opposite her on a wobbly table starts the first conversation you have intentionally had. One not tainted by alcohol or put in place to distract from an unwanted discussion. It’s now not a failsafe or emergency, but something you want to happen. It’s weird.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I was a lot more panicked than I looked.”

You laugh. “You looked pretty panicked.”

“New city. Haven’t had a chance to get my bearings.” You wonder why she’s here. What do actresses do for fun? Would Florence go to a museum? “My flight got in yesterday, so it’s really new.”

“This is where I grew up.” She figured as such.

“I went to one of your games, you know,” she blurts. “The last one of the season. My friend was looking to invest, and I only put the pieces together once I saw you from the stands.”

“So you don’t know who Tomàs is?” She shakes her head and you look at her with horror. “Do you not like football?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Do you like musicals?”

“Touché.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smile. “French as well?”

“My talents don’t extend that far.” Innuendo settles in your words. Oh, she knows exactly where your talents lie. “In Ibiza…”

“Who was she?”

“An ex-girlfriend.” She raises her eyebrows. “The ex-girlfriend.”

“We all have one of those,” Flo says with a sly smile. “Mine got me kicked out of the school choir when I was fifteen. Yours?”

Your leg shakes anxiously. There is something so incredibly unfair about having to feel so horrible every time she’s brought up. As if she feels the same way. Your life was the one that was obliterated; the collateral damage.

Flo listens carefully when you talk about signing for Barça’s senior team and moving out. About the lifestyle you adopted from your brother; the parties and the drinking and the constant meaningless sex. And then, when you tell her that Adela seemed so mature, that she had her own place that was quiet, she actually understands. Zach felt like that. An example, a teacher. Someone who was safe and quiet and knew what they were doing.

You would sit quietly in Adela’s little flat while she did her work for her law degree, unwinding and relaxing. She’d stroke your hair and do yoga with you after rough games.

But Adela got tired of it. She was sick of always coming home to either an empty flat or you being exhausted, and she couldn’t handle how much she had to put her own life on hold because of your football. She had been offered a training contract at a big American law firm’s Spanish branch, which would require her to move to Madrid and work like a dog.

She said you were holding her back.

It was the most heartbreaking thing you ever had to do, because she gave you a choice: her or football. And you chose football. But you loved her a lot, and her leaving was like losing your favourite teddy. You became stuck in a dark place; you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Barça became concerned by your playing standard and you were replaced by another keeper. When the transfer window came, you ran off to Germany without so much as a goodbye to Barcelona and hoped to never have to run into Adela again.

“Good thing she now thinks you’ve got a super sexy, hot, famous new girlfriend,” Flo jokes when you finish, attempting to diffuse the tension.

It only adds to it.

“Did Ibiza mean anything to you?” you ask quietly, nervously. She catches your eyes and holds them, trying to make you feel better. Safer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” she confesses, almost a whisper. “Before I even knew your name.”

“I should have called.”

“No, it’s okay. That was very bold of me.” She took a shot before sending it. “I’m not in Barcelona very long, but I have a hotel room and my hotel room has wine. And a—”

“Do we need a bed?” Your wink makes her cross her legs. “First, let me introduce myself, yeah? So we’re not strangers.” She nods. “I’m Y/n, and I saw you in that overpriced coffee shop in Notting Hill.” Pablo pretends to not be listening.

“Hola,” she tries valiantly. “Soy Florence. Call me Flo. Um, that’s the extent of my Spanish.”

“It was good,” you lie. She hits your arm lightly. “No, really! I’m sure you’ll learn some.”

“Oh, I did.” Her smirk is unsettling. “Dámelo más duro,” she moans, imitating you.

Your blush makes your face feel like it is on fire.

“We have got to leave this place right now, oh my god.” She gladly stands. You hand Pablo €20 because you’re not focused on how much money this will cost you. “You’ve got to never do that again. Especially not on the motorcycle. I’ll crash.”

“Yeah, I noticed how you nearly killed us earlier.” You don’t get to make a witty comeback, because she firmly plants her hands on your waist and kisses you hard.

Your heart soars.

- - -

It has taken six months for you and the mystery blonde woman to go on a date, but it’s perfect. You eat out at an Italian place, followed by a different kind of eating out later into the night.

On the 15th June the national team for the Euros is confirmed, she is at your family home, halfway through helping your mother to prepare lunch. The whole family swarm the kitchen to congratulate you on being the first choice of goalkeeper. They couldn’t be prouder.

When you kiss her in front of most of the crowd at the last game of the group stages, she has to wipe away your tears. While everyone else appreciates the effort of your clean sheet, your teammates are thankful you’ve found someone. They knew you seemed different the whole tournament.

Obviously, the quarter-finals are conflicting for Flo. She dons an England shirt, but while her friends seek out their Lionesses afterwards (famous people always think sports teams want to see them), she searches for you instead. You sob into her embrace and she knows how stressful the tournament has been for the whole squad. She supports you fully when you and fifteen other Spanish players email the Football Federation with complaints of the manager.

In September, she’s thrown into the middle of the current hottest scandal in Hollywood. You’re there for her to rant to, scream at, and talk with — even if most of the time it’s over the phone. She misses you the most when you’re away for matches, so for her to be filming in Budapest takes a toll.

Flo tells you that she loves you when you pick her up from Heathrow terminal three, something your little sister goes feral over (another Hugh Grant romcom, apparently).

You say it back without hesitating.

You say it over and over again until it’s your most commonly said phrase. The girls tease you for being obvious about when you get laid, because you can’t keep the smile off your face the next day. In truth, you grin anytime you see her.

Christmas and New Year’s with the Pughs makes you love her more, and you reflect on how far you’ve come since January. How she once didn’t know your name, but now can sort out your bills if you asked. Florence Rose Pugh means more than a Wikipedia page because you say it when you propose, and she manages to say yes in Spanish through her tears. It makes the 29th December a special day forever, and it’s still too cold in England for your liking but it’s an excuse to bury yourselves in blankets that night. And for all the nights to come.

She’s no longer a stranger but she has always been so much more than that anyway.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @karsonromanoff

[icysinner]

codename

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

#ID: that cute boy from your english lecture catches onto your codename for him.

nya note: there will more than likely be a pt 2 to this, me writing something other than influenced? new. may or may not be based on a true story … that’s what they saying ….

warnings: nothing crazy.. i’m connie insane atp

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

connie springer, that was his name. you only knew surface level things about him, like how he likes to dye his hair or how much he misses his mom’s cooking when he’s living on campus. you observed him, not in a creepy way, because you thought he was so cool. you’d even developed a small crush on him, one very reminiscent of the ones you get in middle and high school. connie had tons of friends, meaning you couldn’t talk about your crush out loud — it’d get back to him.

“make up a codename for him. something you and me can know. he won’t know, and nobody else will either.” your roommate, sasha, said as she wrote down her notes. “good idea – what’s a good one for him, though?” you ask, a sigh coming after. “something that stands out, maybe? something he wears?” “i got it! red, i think i’m gonna go with red.” connie’s new name, ‘red’, was made because of his adoration for cherry red jordans, shoes you wore that garnered a compliment from him.

but, the codename wasn’t as incognito as you thought — at least not when you and sasha was the ones using it. it didn’t take long for him to catch on, because the two of you were painfully obvious. “look, red’s here.” sasha poked your shoulder, making you look up to the doorway that he’d just walked through. “he’s never on time, you guys really have a lot in common.” sasha joked, making you roll your eyes and direct your attention back to him. you made accidental eye contact with him, causing you to immediately look down, making him smile to himself.

yeah, he knew. he knew very well, but he just liked pretending he didn’t know. it was fun to listen to you and sasha talking about ‘red’, like you two weren’t talking about him. connie had only talked to you a couple times, usually because he lacked a pencil or a pen, and you were the closest person who would have one. he liked asking you, though. some part of it was just enjoying watching you fluster and trip over your words, when the only answer to “do you have a pencil?” was yes or no. but also because you were pretty.

“hey, y/n.” connie said, pulling your attention away from your phone — while immediately making you nervous. “i have a question.” he continued, making you put your phone down. “what’s up?” you replied, although in your head you were reeling, this is the longest you’ve held a conversation with him..ever. “why red?” connie asked, a smile growing onto his face as pure humiliation grew onto yours. “oh my god. you know about that?”

[fakirchan]

Long ramble about trauma under the cut because I was just thinking and writing, sorry guys . Like really long

This is a memory I don't think I've ever told anyone... when I was a kid (10~12), I remember my relative demanded to see my first laptop; I don't remember why, but I was scared because I was never allowed to have any sort of online privacy, and at the time, I was already using and talking to people on Tumblr. I actually had Tumblr open when this was happening, and I hadn't really learned to use things like Incognito. I had refused and it really made her mad, so mad that she would start beating on me while I tried to keep her from taking my laptop out of my hands. Eventually I pushed her away, and she fell. I took the time to delete all of my history, but afterwards, I realized she couldn't get back up. She didn't want me to help her or even get near her, and she instructed our other relative to call the police on me. When the police came, I was chastised for not "listening to my family." I was barely a tween and I was living in horrible conditions at my house—the house was very unclean—and the whole reason this happened was because my family was trying to steal my things to search through them. But the police did nothing, and even scolded me, which was crazy... Like be so for real, who even calls the police on an 11 year old boy in the first place. It's not like I literally murdered my whole family, how can you take the abusive adult's side over the abused child's...

On lighter notes, she also used to just do things like taking my tablet from me (which I used before I had a phone) and reading through my history in front of me. Even just last year, she took my phone out of my hands because she wanted to see what I was doing and looked through my tabs and history, then looked through all the recent calls to my phone, demanding to know who each number was and calling each one back (they were just calls my phone received that I never even answered).

Anyway, I just thought about all this because I went to my room with my laptop and realized that my relative woke up. She came in to my room and asked what I was doing on my laptop, saying that I "really didn't want [her] to see." I panicked because it reminded me of those times, and I shut down my laptop and said I was just going to bed. Really, I wanted to make GIFs of a video I was excited about for a little bit, but now I'll have to wait 'til tomorrow.

It's just that it's humiliating being on the cusp of a 20 year old man and having to tell people that I still live this way. I imagined being so much stronger when I was a 12 year old boy.

[bakugohoex]

[15:35]

part one | part three

atsumu miya checks his phone every time he gets even an ounce of a break. he knows you’re in the middle of a lecture currently, probably typing away at whatever your lecturer is saying. he can envision your furrowed eyebrows, your coffee stained lips and most of all the ogling eyes of the man who has been harassing you for weeks.

he sent a text to you, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply till later on he knew he would be finishing early. deciding to pick you up after you were finished as a surprise, he grabbed his stuff, changing into joggers and a hoodie as he said goodbye to his teammates.

going into his car, he made a pit stop at a florist, picking up your favourites as he parked near campus. he checked your location seeing you in one of the buildings, he wore sunglasses and a baseball cap as he walked inside the automatic doors.

he saw people come out from two wide doors, assuming you would come out as well, he sent a quick text saying to stay put as he paced around. you saw the text just as you were packing your bag, deciding that you needed to leave before a certain man who sat two seats above you stopped you in your tracks.

you quickly walked down the steps, going pass the creep as you stopped to see a certain blond in incognito. “‘tsumu,” you cooed as you started to walk towards him, he took his sunglasses off as he brought the flowers forward.

before you could even meet your boyfriend, a certain classmate decided to intercept you. “y/n why in a rush?” you stop in your tracks as you give a look of disgust.

“my boyfriends here,” you try and barge past the but he puts an arm out.

“hey, hey, hey, what boyfriend? i thought we had an ongoing date going.” he moved towards your side, putting his arm on your shoulder, you finally saw atsumu, a look of jealousy and disgust on his face.

atsumu began to walk towards the two of you, already seeing how uncomfortable you were. you could hear the irritable boy beside you as you tried to shrug his arm off you, “baby who’s this?”

you knew atsumu was acting dumb as he grabbed your hand pulling you towards him. “this is the guy i told you about, who keeps trying to hit on me?” you stress the last part.

atsumu stares at the man up and down, he was much taller than your classmate, he gripped your waist pulling you into his side. “agh, he looks exactly ‘ike how ya describ’d princess,” he seethed out.

“yeah, are these for me?” you both ignore the man, as atsumu instead hands the flowers to you.

he nods happily as you can see your classmate try and but into the conversation but as you and atsumu kept speaking he had no opportunity. “ya tryna really ‘ard aren’t ya,” atsumu mocks out as you give a light chuckle.

you smell the flowers, loving how he knew to get your favourite. grabbing atsumu’s hand as you listen into the reply, “i didn’t know my girl had a man.”

atsumu clenched his jaw, “firstly, she’s not ya girl.” he steps closer to the man, “secondly, she’s told ya many times.” before finally bending down to reach his ear, “and lastly, ya’ll neve get to sleep with her, so stop trying.”

you didn’t hear the last part but a sense of shock went onto the boys face. “come on baby, let’s get ya some food,” he tugs you away as your classmate remained still in his place.

you both walked away, speaking about both your days as atsumu kissed the top of your head. directing you towards his car, he held you tight as he knew no man would ever get in your way.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

lazy drunk, thinking of chris just sending seb the sluttiest lil tit pics, beggin to get them sucked and fucked and made so sensitive…maybe I’m projecting, but it’s so much fun!!

Listen-

I have had this idea in the back of my mind for literal years at this point that I think of as the "rowdy Evans cumming" pile of ideas. That this idea fits perfectly into. Allow me to explain:

I've never been able to articulate the "rowdy Evans cumming" ideas fully (because they short circuit my brain to the point that what comes out is just feral nonsense), but, basically, it's born from the idea of Chris after he's been back in Boston for a while, reacclamating to his environment, off from work, and allowed to get drunk and party a little and eat horribly greasy food but good food. He is having a good™️ time. Plus, he's incognito in order to not get swamped when he goes out, living his life, so... as a bit of a disguise, Chris is letting his hair get longer, he's letting his beard grow, only trimming it when he has to, never shaving it though, so it's nice and thick. His body is thicker, too. That drinking, hangover food, and workouts for ridding himself of his extra energy add up to him being big. Thick.

I'm picturing--

That Chris.

He's in his home city, and he's feeling loose and relaxed, and I would bet money that when he gets that way, he gets loud, and his accent comes out when he starts getting horny.

And you know... it just so happens that beer tends to bring out the horny side of Chris, plus the drunker he is, the more that accent comes out...

So, when he's in the mood and relaxed and loose, he's reckless with it. Words fall out of his mouth so easily. Naughty jokes and innuendos for anyone nearby and whispered lines of filth into his partner's ear (or one-liners blowing up his partner's cell if they're not together in person). His lips always turned up into a lazy, charming grin that speaks of all those dirty thoughts firing through his head. He's only quiet when other people are within earshot. Otherwise, he's loud. He sounds like he's talking someone up for a fucking sports game, not talking someone through taking his dick. He can't help but spread out, too. He takes up space. Leaning back and letting his legs fall open. His hands wrapped around his beer bottle in a lewd way. He will be unstoppably handsy when his partner is within arms reach. And, of course, his eyes. They get darker and darker, more and more heavily lidded until whoever he sets his eyes on, his partner, might burst into flames from just a look.

He's a fucking smoke show.

So. Yes. This Evans is the fucking Evans that does that. The Evans that sends unsolicited (but extremely welcomed) tit pics to Sebastian when drunk in his home city.

Imagine, if you will, Chris being unable to take it anymore. He's hot to the core, and he needs to blow off steam. He has to. Now. So, he's half out the door, about to leave the party to go home and have a party of one (or two, if he can get Sebastian on the phone 👀). But, inspiration strikes before he's really left...

Chris heads to the bathroom.

Every step closer to privacy leaves him more excited for his plans. He feels reckless. He feels like he should get arrested for public indecency. Thank God, everyone else around him is just as tipsy, at least. No one is paying attention to his flush or the way he's a little too hyped to go to the bathroom. Good.

Good.

Chris slips inside the bathroom. Alone. He instantly recognizes that there's a mirror with bright lights around it. Perfect.

Without waiting for anything, Chris locks the door and loosens his belt. He leaves the red, worn strap rest loose around his hips. His dark blue jeans slide down a little, exposing more of his overheated skin. He doesn't give a shit about that, though. He's too interested in untucking his undershirt--a tight, white tank top--from his pants. He lets his flannel shirt stay open, framing his torso, and pulls his undershirt up more. Higher. He tugs and tugs, roughing himself up, until he can grab the hem of the shirt between his teeth because he needs his hands for other activities...

In the mirror, Chris finds himself so flushed from alcohol (and being on the edge, feeling himself) that his hairy chest is pink, not just his face. He heaves in a breath and sighs it out, letting his hands travel up to cup his exposed pecs. Massaging the thick muscle and soft skin overlaid with fuzz. His fingers zero in on his nipples, pinching and twisting them, letting the sparks of pleasure shoot down to pool in his gut and it feeling fucking good as hell, but really, he's playing with himself for the sake of someone other than himself...

Sebastian.

Chris groans a little around the mouthful of fabric he's got, just from picturing his partner. God, he's pretty. Chris can see his face plain as day in his mind's eye. He can see his face when he crumbles in pleasure, wanting him so bad. And, fuck, yeah, he'd fucking love this--he will love this.

Chris gropes himself juuuust a little more, going a little harder, breathing heavier, wetting the fabric of his tank top in his mouth. Making sure his nipples are a little puffy, nice and red, and a lot hard.

He can't wait until he gets home to execute this idea. He needs to do this now. He has to. So he's gonna.

He's gonna--

Chris grabs his phone.

And with heavily lidded, hungry eyes, he holds his phone up to the mirror, capturing himself in an impressively filthy photograph. His baseball cap shadows his flushed face, but it doesn't obscure the lust in his eyes or the way the pink of his cheeks melts into his full beard. And he might have his teeth sunk into his own shirt, holding it up, but his mouth is still visible, too. It's not overshadowed. His upper lip is red and pushed forward, looking wet and swollen. Thanks to his mouthful, his chest is on full display. The open flannel does nothing to hide his tits. His other hand is resting on the edge of the counter to keep himself steady when the world is fuzzy in tipsy and lustful feelings. He's leaning on his hand. Leaning forward. Sticking his chest out. Showing off his tits. (And more, too, his jeans are still riding low on his hips, showing off his treasure trail, Adonis belt, and the ink he has down there.)

His tits.

God, he sees what Seb means when he says that when he looks like this.

His nipples are swollen and peaked with attention. Eager for more. His body hair does nothing to lessen the curves of his chest. His tattoos do nothing but call attention to the full shape. And his pendant necklace dangling between his tits doesn't help either. Not at all.

All he can think about is that necklace hanging in Sebastian's face as he fucks him, or, shit, about Sebastian painting his necklace in cum. Dirtying him up.

Chris snaps a flurry of photos.

Hopefully not all of them are blurry but they might be because he fucking misses Seb's mouth on him--on his nipples and sucking wet kisses to the underside of his pecs--with such intensity that he's shaking a little. He misses Seb's wet, hard dick between his tits, too. He wants him to fuck them again. Slide right in between them and have Chris to hold them together tight and go to town. Losing himself in it. Painting Chris' chest and collarbones and open mouth. Please.

Chris realizes he's said that out loud, around the chunk of shirt between his teeth, slurring, "plllease."

Chris can't hold back anymore.

He sends every. fucking. photo. he took to Sebastian. One after another. He doesn't care if they're all shitty. He needs Sebastian to see what he does to him.

Please.

Chris drops his phone too hard onto the counter in favor of pushing a hand against his cock through his pants. His phone doesn't matter anymore. Chris buckles forward, curling around the pleasure with a groan. His stomach clenches. He's actively getting his shirt wet with drool. It feels so good. Better than it should when he's all alone. He-

"You better not be throwing up in there!" Someone's laughing voice booms, along with their fist on the door. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Chris has to-

Chris has to take a minute 😮‍💨

He might have to run his head under the tap. Cold water.

"'M not!" He answers finally, yelling back.

He's gonna fucking run his face under the water and he's gonna fucking call an Uber and he's gonna fucking get the fuck home.

On the counter, Chris' phone vibrates loudly, moving on the surface with the intensity.

Sebastian.

Chris has to pick up his phone (which is not cracked, fuck yeah), he has to get out of the fucking bathroom of his buddy's house and he has to get the fuck home.

Now.

"SWEETHEART!" Chris shouts over the chatter and music of the party, one hand over his other ear, trying to block out the noise as he stumbles out of the bathroom half a second after he remembered to pull his shirt down and half do his belt up. Public decency. Right.

Sebastian doesn't even make a word at him in response. He just makes a noise. Groaning and impatient and mind-blown.

Anyway-

Can you tell I'm unhealthily obsessed with Chris' chest?

[captastra]

+ Last Line + Music Monday Whenever

Thanks for the tag @eclecticwildflowers @madparadoxum @the-lastcall @detectivelokis @poisonedtruth @kyber-infinitygems @roofgeese (tagging you all right back!) 💗! Its been a hot minute since I had something that was good enough to share but now I have one story for Writer's Month I am so excited to share! It's a bittersweet scene between Renee and Rick but it has me very excited to work on :)! And thanks @kyber-infinitygems for sharing the song with me!

Sniffling, Renee pressed the play button, willing her to feeling something other than the emptiness that was taking over. The message was less than a minute. His words the same as when she first listened, brief, borderline indifferent as he told her he was leaving, didn’t know when he would be back, if ever. And if he did, he wouldn’t come back to her, so it would be better if they never talked again. When the message ended, another message popped up asking if she wanted to save or delete. Her thumb hovered over the delete button and part of her screamed to delete it. A message like that was not one to take lightly. He meant what he said, whatever the reason and she would need to let him go… but not that night. Instead Renee sent a message to her sister, saying she was coming over. She didn’t wait to see if her sister responded as she got up and changed out of her dress. It was going to be a long night, but she would do anything to drown out the pain and memories of Rick. Grabbing her bag, Renee made her way out of her apartment and over to her sister’s home. ~ An unknown amount of miles away, Rick watched his phone as Renee’s name lit up the screen. The seconds ticked by as the phone continued to ring silently. Around him, men moved and prepared for the mission Waller had pulled him into, but Rick paid them no attention. He was already prepared and had waited for the inevitable phone call to come and sure enough, it did. It seemed to on go on forever, her phone call. Ricks mind was silent, jaw clenched as he stayed focus on this singular moment. He wasn’t going to imagine how she looked, dressed up for the date he had blown off. She probably looked beautiful.

You know I love you, boy In every single way Though I love you, boy I'll miss you every day Oh, I love you, boy I wish that I could stay with you And keep the life I made with you And even though this feels so right I'm holding back the tears tonight

It's true I'll never be over you 'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you And now the hope is gone There's nothing left for me to do You know it isn't true But I must say to you

That I don't need your love, no, no I don't need your love, no, no It'll never be better than it was, no, no But I don't need your love, no, no

I've got no choice

No Pressure Tags: @kourumi @confidentandgood @poetikat @incognito-insomniac @awhellstothejoe @bearcina @galaxycunt @marivenah @bitchesofostwick @spaceratprodigy @darkfire1177 @theelderhazelnut @shegetsburned @galaxymermaid214 @transcaster @clonesupport and anyone else who'd like to share anything :)

[cherrysoulth]

In The City - Chapter 3: Dark Secrets

🏢 What are you hiding? 🏢

💕Pairing: Jimin x Reader

✏️Genre/au: Non-Canon, Action, Smut, Sci-fi, Supernatural world AU

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 3270

⚠️Chapter warnings: explicit smut

<<<𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2 | 𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 3>>>

Dawn breaks in the horizon with candy-pink notes that bring your mood to a bust. With your face over your arm at the edge of the window - without poking out- the last days of summer seem to have come too fast.

“Do you think we should do a last round before heading home?” says Jimin, gently, as he eyes the incognito car behind his. 

“I think that would be great,” you say, drawing an imaginary heart in the sky. 

“Who is that for?” he says, making you move to look at him, although it doesn't seem as if he has turned your way. 

“Summer. I’ll miss it.”

“Ahh, me too. It was nice to have a week for us and go visit Rome, though.” He then puts a hand on your leg and turns a second to wink. “A practice for our honeymoon.”

“For that,” you say, pulling his hand away from its ascending trip. “We should get married. And I see no ring in this finger, Sir.GropyHands.” you tell him and he starts giggling. 

“I have been thinking about it,” he says, getting shy all the sudden. 

“Oh, I didn't mean-”

“No. Even if you did it would be right. I-” he stops for a second and makes a turn, steering the wheel in the next lane. “I acknowledge that we have dated for a really long time and it's probably due.” 

He then turns in the direction of the Haeundae Beach. 

“Jimin…” you say with concern. 

“No, listen. I just wanted to make sure that I could have the means to settle down. A career and the skills to maintain it before I could take that step.” 

The last turn is to take a parking spot with views at the first line of the beach but your eyes are glued to him as he finally stops the engine. 

“My parents have now known you for quite a while and I’d dare to say they see in you the daughter they didn't have.” He takes your hand in his. “I promise you, that by the time I take you here again, to my hometown, you will have a pretty ring on this finger.” he adds, rubbing the empty spot. “In the meanwhile, hold the thoughts that even if there hasn't been a ring on it, I have always had it clear that you are the one.” 

With that, he leans forward and kisses your lips gently before deepening the kiss in that way that makes you feel the connection between your two beings. 

Then the buzz of your phone interrupts your moment.

“I should…” but before you finish the sentence he is nodding and you take the call, stepping out of the car, under the attentive eyes of the two bodyguards parked in the spot behind you.

“Miss Urey,” a voice you know well, pronounced at the other side of the line. 

“Yes.”

“We are sending a taxi to your location,” instructs the voice. “A folder will be waiting for you in the back seat.” says the voice before hanging the phone and drains the colour out from your face. 

The lie you have to tell starts its way from your brain to the muscle inside your mouth as you open the door and enter the car to tell Jimin that you will have to leave for a bit.

Jimin has never really questioned these sudden calls for duty. You told him from the beginning that you were taking side deals so old posh ladies would feel safe going shopping with their pomeranians and you would be adding up to your savings with it.

This time however, feels different. 

He would never ask you to not go. With how cutthroat workspots are in this country, having two good ones is a privilege and he knows that. But it’s evident it bothers him that work cuts short the nice moment you were living.

The only thing you can do is promise him that you will be there as soon as you are done and resume where you left off which he responds to with a gentle smile and a kiss but no shift of energy.

As you sit on your spot in the taxi, accompanied by him, his eyes land on the brown envelope laying at the other side. He says nothing before planting a kiss on your cheek and saying goodbye.

Inside the car, as it moves, you open the folder, ignored completely by the driver who is most likely in the business conducted by the secret society you are part of and who has sent him your way.

What Jimin doesn’t know is that you have never accompanied a single old rich woman to do anything and that what holds you away from him this time is just what has always done.

The folder shows you the details of the subject you are meant to take care of. This time, like others, the job is simple: use your special sight to see who is whispering in his ear to commit the atrocities he is accountable for and get rid of them. The police will take him in after you have taken care of the master who is pulling the strings.

You let the folder slide from your fingers and then close your eyes, remembering what brought you to this point and the hundred lies you have told your soulmate. 

Born with eyes that could see what others couldn’t, you tried to ignore it as soon as you were conscious of how unusual your behaviour was to neurotypicals. One thing you understood really quickly was that you were not supposed to see the face behind the human mask that the seeds of hell had. 

Such as in the times, where you got inside a crowded train or a busy street, and they would stare at you intently to scare you. Nor did the grey wings, opening from a very selfless firefighter who surprisingly had come out of a building eaten by flames on your way home, scare you. People would talk about those things as fantasy, as the made-up stories from movies, and nothing more.

So you looked away. Over and over. Until you could no longer see them. 

The sudden atrocity of a man going berserk and killing his family was just one of those things that happened sometimes. Attacks on the street by people who everyone had seen as good up until that moment. The incredible fast action of a policeman saving a full room of hostages. A woman giving her kidney to a complete stranger to save their life. Those were just things that happened–“the balance of life” for everyone else- how the world works. 

One afternoon when you came back from school, you left your friend in front of her house, just a couple of blocks away from yours. A man was standing next to a streetlight, smoking a cigarette. He wore a suit; that's probably what caught your attention. He looked really neat, really posh. He didn't match the normal office man visual, and that's probably what stuck with you. You didn't even look at him in the face. You wish you had.  

As you walked, you felt eyes on you, but he didn't follow, and you didn't dare to look. Right as you were taking the corner to your street, a man running grabbed you with a knife to your throat and took you to another street. He tried scaring you into giving him your wallet, which you did. But his greed was not satisfied with that, and looking at you up and down, he closed the distance in that dark hallway. Without a word, he stabbed you in the stomach, or so he thought. 

He had pierced one of your ovaries, and it had to be removed upon arrival at the hospital. But that wasn't the biggest problem.

A neighbour had seen the events happen from the window of their bathroom and called the emergency services before coming from his house screaming for help. He had tried to apply pressure to the wound with his shirt, to no use. The blood still flowed from the wound, soaking the clothing in a way that was horrifying to him. Before the ambulance arrived, you were dead for a whole minute. 

Dying, however, felt like hours. It was like time slowed and suddenly came to a halt. You saw your grandma extend her hand and a lot of light, how she walked you through a dazzling path where you couldn't distinguish anything. She spoke to you in silence and with even more love than you had perceived from her when she had been alive. Before everything rushed back into place, you remember fluttering your lashes and then falling into a dreamless sleep. It was during your recovery that you realised what you had seen as a child was indeed real. A nurse who patrolled the ward extended her wings as she gave good news to a patient, and you saw the relief in their face. 

Jimin thinks you had cysts when you were younger, and that's the reason for a single oophorectomy; that’s what you told him. Nothing else. He doesn't need to know the truth. Or so you have always thought. 

Now you question whether you should tell him. Will he understand that you were protecting him? Will he understand you had a blood-sealed pact to keep quiet unless someone is in danger? Will he still love you after knowing how much of your life is made up? Seeing how tense he was earlier, maybe he won’t. 

Grasping the immensity of these issues turns some people insane to the point they lose themselves. You decide you won’t risk it. Not unless he finds himself facing that reality by himself. 

There’s a van and a normal-looking car in the deserted park where the taxi drops you. As you enter the van, you are greeted by Exa and Hak-Kun with a set of clothes and a wig on a bag. 

“Long time no see,” she says, gesturing for Hak-Kun to step out of the vehicle and when he does, you start pulling off your t-shirt. 

“I didn’t choose to fall in love,” you joke and she smiles at you. Then you look at the clothes before taking more of what you wear off.

“I can only imagine how difficult it must be to have to keep this from him,” she says, looking at the screens attached to the structure of the van. She looks sad and you know she probably thinks it’s better than losing a partner the way she did. 

The tragic night in which Lloyd died, almost six years ago, you were happily celebrating Christmas with your parents and hadn’t been working in the society long enough to know all the hunters that were under its wing. But Lloyd's death was big news all across the country and even out of it, and you found yourself driven by your parents to the funeral the day before the new year poked in. 

He had been smashed on and on by an invisible force when they were trying to exorcise a demon-soldier out of a young man’s body. He had broken almost every bone in his body and had internal bleeding so severe he had been dead before the blows stopped. 

The casket was closed during the ceremony and his parents and Exa were unconsolable.

“It is. But I also think it’s for the best. My parents still struggle with it and it wasn’t new to them,” you respond, putting on the wig carefully and spraying cologne to mask your scent to any being who may recognise you by it. “Ok. Done.”

“I’ll see you at work on Wednesday,” comments Exa, and you respond with a nod before you jump out of the ban. 

“May you be seated in this carriage, Milady,” says Haku with a bow, opening the back door of the car you will be taking on the mission. 

Always teams of at least two during research. At least four in confrontation. Never alone. 

“Kh, cut it off.” 

There's a certain dread that has your back better than your teammate. The city center is so full of people going about their summer day, that walking with Haku as your black-wigged fake-boyfriend makes you feelless safe than being alone. 

Cambions, half-breeds of demon and human, are smart and will never call attention upon themselves by attacking directly. They whisper in the air aiming for any weakness a human has and exploit it to condemn their soul, so it later can be harvested by hell when that person dies. 

Nephilims, on the other hand, are born of humans and angels. They try to counteract the influence of cambions by whispering in the moment that a person may make a decision. These whispers cause regret, second thoughts, and a call to self-awareness, and allow the soul to make a decision that will keep it safe, keep their destiny going towards Heaven.

If you have to pick a side, you’ll say that you are for the latter but things don't always work out that way. 

Since the free will that was provided to humans is unbreakable for any of these creatures, there's only so much the good side can do to counteract the dark and venomous influence of evil. 

Their lack of active involvement irritates you and so, you don't exactly love Nephilims either. 

Here, however, in the crowd you have to be so aware of everything that your whole body is in distress. You don't show it, but everything is under your scrutiny. 

You meet up after lunch with Jimin in Magnate, his dad’s café to have some tea and pastries as dessert.

He sits at a table in the furthest corner with a stern face that you haven't seen on him for a long time.

“How was work?” he asks, without changing his expression. 

“Boring,” you tell him, with a small smile. “I thank the fact that your mom was home and I could take a shower because this last bit of heat has done me dirty.”

He chuckles at the comment and looks at you more tenderly. 

It is true that you went to his parents’ house because you can't really lie about something like that and also that you were sweating profusely. But it wasn't just the heat.

The anxiety of feeling the perfume wear off as you sweated, still looking for the man and therefore the near entity, wasn't boring. Making it through further streets to the darker spot of the city, wasn't either, but gave you time to reapply. 

The good thing about half-breeds was that they normally work alone so it only took a while for you to find the criminal, in his frequented area, and the ugly putrid-faced bastard acting as a customer at the money-laundering restaurant. 

Hakun was supposed to take a picture of you and capture them both, as if two tourists had lost their way and found the old buildings fascinating. But you couldn’t resist the urge to grab the sanctified pocket-sized bible in your bag and hit him across the face and multiple spots of his body as you saw him walk near the subject with his eyes fixed. He was doing the so-called “whisper” and you couldn't just wait for backup. 

The few criminals occupying the restaurant and the criminal got alarmed the moment that smoke started coming out from the places where the religious sacrament had hit him. She then took the enochian knuckleduster and started hitting it as Hakun called for backup. 

The element of surprise had been your best weapon.

Now, the thing was barely able to defend itself against you and Hakun’s combos. Less even, when Hakun took out of the back of his trousers the most effective replica of the cross-handgun Constantine used to destroy the great threat that Baltazar was, and blew out the part of it that was most human: the brain. 

Just as Constantine described in his second book, the thing was still able to speak, paralysed and disintegrating as it was and you could see the confusion in its expression before stepping on his face to end the job. 

“Let’s go for that bastard,” you told Hakun. But he stopped you.

“He isn’t going anywhere,” he spoke and rubbed his face, “the way Reign knows you… You could have fucked this up, you fucking brat.” He was so disappointed and angry he walked out of the restaurant and lit a fire with shaky hands.

“I’m sorry, I-” 

“Not right now, Reyna,” he said, taking a step forward then turning around. “It’s shit like that that gets us killed. Do you have nothing to worry about?” he added, raising his brows with a little shake of his head. “What about us? What about your family? Your boyfriend even? What the fuck where you thinking!?” The more his brain processes, the angrier he gets and the more he speaks, the more you realise he is right. 

“All that training and discipline you have. The responsibility you always show, blown just like that.” He takes a drag and lets it out before chuckling humourlessly. “I know this is a tough case… Who was going to be named The XXI Reaper for his methods and victims but once we and the police have them there is no chance for them to harm anyone again and you know it.” 

He speaks fast but the way the place is filled by the sound of a patrol car makes it all make even more sense than the words alone.

“If you have a death wish, or even if you are just tired of the fucking job and want to play houses with your boyfriend, do us all a fucking favour and step out,” he added as he got near you and past you throwing the cigarette to the floor. The words he had just let out in the air burned in you just like what he was smoking and you stomped on the item as you walked out of the place and called a taxi to get to Jimin’s parents’ house. 

Needless to say, the taxi driver looked at you like a three-headed dragon when you took off your wig and started washing the perfume away with an odourless wipe. 

“I don’t believe you,” Jimin says, and you can tell he has let out a bit too much seriousness for what he had intended. But you can now tell he is troubled or at least concerned. “I mean. It can’t be that boring… you even get folders.” At those last words, his smile is all but gone and you know he has caught on to the lie.

“I can’t talk about it, Jimin,” you tell him, reaching for his hand but this time he pulls away, sitting back. 

“Secrets?” He looks disappointed, upset and he is being even more emotional than you would expect of him on this matter. 

“What do you think this is, Jimin?” you ask him trying to get to the bottom of it, since you know he didn’t ask you to meet in a semi-public place to cause a scene or have any kind of argument. 

The way he puts his elbows on the table and covers his face tells you his mind is racing and he is trying to control the rareness of an outburst, so you wait.

He rubs a hand over his face before crossing his fingers in front of himself but he still doesn’t look at you and you know better than to push him. 

“There was a moment during that call that I thought you were cheating on me,” he admits. 

You can’t avoid gasping. 

“I know that was stupid of me to think,” he admits. “But it felt like you were lying to me and I could only guess so much. That or your jobs not being the kind you were talking about.” He rubs his face again. “I decided to have you followed. In fact, I even thought you could be selling me.” You pale at that. “I know it was stupid of me and I apologise for both those thoughts. I feel guilty up to this day for it and I will understand if you are mad at me for that. There was so much going on with the fandoms and the rumours that I felt I wasn’t safe anywhere.”  

You give a confused nod, surprised at how slowly you are processing it. But this comes from Jimin after all. 

“Worse part. I was told by the investigator that you were definitely not cheating nor selling me. But he had discovered something that was best left alone. I asked for more details,” he  pauses. “He told me I was safer not knowing. That I should just keep on going with my life as if nothing happened and not dig deeper. That you were safe to have around. Wanna know what? I did.” he says. “I buried that in the back of my mind, but..”

“But…” 

“Today… You lied and you fucking sucked at it. I think it was probably because of what I said to you. That indeed it has such an effect on you that you lowered your defences with me about something you shouldn’t have. Likely.” he rubs his face. “I saw the folder and I suddenly got so concerned.” He takes a deep breath. “Are you ‘intelligence’ or something like that?”

Your eyes widen. ‘Oh my god…’ 

🏢 Who are you? 🏢

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Let me know your thoughts and reblog if you liked it. 😊 See you!

I want to thank @lunarelle1013 the beta of this work 💜

Taglist @lemarkjun

© 2021-2024 Cherry Soulth, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[redroyalblues]

listened to my rwrb playlist tonight so i’m just gonna… spitball some thoughts into the tumblr sphere in case anyone like. enjoys the lyric tie-ins and such. but this is mostly my venting about random songs i like and think about firstprince to, so:

all-american bitch just straight up is about alex. “just like a goddamn kennedy i swear” “i don’t get angry when i’m pissed, i’m the eternal optimist” are just like what i imagine his entire thought process is behind being someone who has to be on all the time and their best self or else the entire country goes to shit. and “all the time :) i’m grateful all the fucking time :) i’m sexy and i’m kind :) i’m pretty when i cry :)” is just straight up an acd people pleaser mantra

alex claremont-diaz the kinda bitch to be obsessed with cool for the summer for a long ass time and then realize exactly why like five years later

THE VERY FIRST NIGHT BY TSWIFT… OKAY. “i remember the night in the hotel, i was riding in the car when we both fell, i’m the one on the phone as you whisper, “do you know how much i miss you?” what more can i say honestly

on that note. PAPER RINGS!! this is such a henry’s sappy ass song it’s not even funny. “went home and tried to stalk you on the internet, now i’ve read all of the books beside your bed” is just a reminiscent thought that he has had before idk. “i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this” exactly EXACTLY

i feel like henry had a tumblr phase as a teen where he went incognito and was very passionate about the arctic monkeys and other 2010s tumblr interests therefore in my head he listens to i wanna be yours and thinks of our beloved first son

but his fav is david bowie so i know he listens to young americans and “young american, young american, i want the young american” gets stuck out of context and on repeat in his head

nonsense by sabrina carpenter 🤭🤭 i’ve talked about my thoughts on this being a song alex would have loved in rwrb-2020 before but it bears repeating. “think i only want one number in my phone, i might change your contact to don’t leave me alone / you said you like my eyes and you like to make ‘em roll / treat me like a queen, now you’ve got me feeling thrown” long lyric but alex would twirl his hair kick his feet giggle over it being exactly the way he feels and i love that for him

first verse of strawberry blond by mitski. that is all

another taylor song but PARIS. this was like a formative firstprince song for me. if you haven’t listened to it please do and then come back and scream about it with me. “privacy sign on the door, and on my page, and on the whole world / romance is not dead if you keep it just yours” and “i want to transport you to somewhere the culture’s clever / confess my truth in swooping, sloping cursive letters / let the only flashing lights be the tower at midnight” OK?????

physical by dua lipa is another just really random song i feel like i just Know alex enjoys

finally, go your own way by fleetwood mac. alex listened to that shit on repeat for the entire flight to london after henry left the lake house and i will fight for that opinion “if i could, baby i’d give you my world / how can i, when you won’t take it from me?”

[madiwritessin]

Oral

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Character/s Included: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Word Count: 1589

Series: Sub, Dom and The Switch

Part 1 // Part 2

You hadn’t expected anything to actually happen, you were sitting in the university dorm living quarters after class to just relax while the rest of your class were playing around outside for who knows what reason probably from the snow that had fallen during classes. You flicked through the tv stations when a movie came across the screen that looked kind of interesting.

You were so intrigued in the movie that you hadn’t heard anyone come in so you just started yelling stuff at the main character like they could have actually heard you.

“Why are you yelling? That girl can’t hear you through the tv, Y/N.” came the snarky voice of Bakugo.

“You wouldn’t understand, that girl is in love with the good guy.” You replied, still looking at the tv.

“Isn’t that the point of movies like that, Girl falls for the right man and not the asshole.” he said sitting beside you on the couch.

“I guess so but his character is so boring its like watching Uraraka and Midoriya’s relationship. Where’s the fun?”

“Probably locked away with their dark side.”

When the other male in the movie came on you let out, “See that’s the guy she needs, he pushes her to achieve things and he’s more…”

“Dominate, that other guy looked like he took the orders in the bedroom, he looks like he makes the orders and would rewrite them.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s my favourite character…” You mumbled out, getting up and grabbing a drink of water having not expected that response to the character. 

Bakugo was still watching the movie, “He’s too soft on the main character, he may be a switch which i guess isn’t bad.”

Bringing your drink back with you, you sat down beside him and looked at him, “Like Kiri or Denki?”

“Like Jiro” He replied almost instantly, “Kiri is a switch but he takes whichever role seems fit at the time and Denki is on the more Submissive side.”

“Jiro is a dom but is more submissive with certain people.”

“Exactly.”

Looking back at the tv you curl up against the arm of the couch mumbling, “of course he would say that stupid dom.”

“Who you calling stupid, Brat?”

“Not you..” you started confidently before letting out a soft, “sir.”

Standing up he walked in front of you and crouched, grabbing up chin and forcing you to look at him , “Wanna repeat that a little louder I think I missed something?”

You shook your head looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

His grip tightened on your chin, you could feel his annoyance, “Repeat it. Now!”

Mumbling again you repeated, “Not You Sir.”

“Louder!” He said his other hand moved to the back of your hand grabbing on incase he needed to pull.

Looking him in the eye, you smiled, “Not you Sir, I certainly wouldn’t be talking about you.”

Then he just let go and walked outside to the rest of your friends while you just sat there on the couch in shock of what had just happened.

It took you a few minutes to recover from the interaction before you got up and walked to your dorm room and pulled out a toy from your box of toys and your mobile before heading to your bed.

Unlocking your phone you went straight onto the internet and went into an incognito tab pulling up a hard rough sex video.

Tapping on the video you often watched to get off you but as you watched the video you just closed your eyes to listen to the audio of the video allowing you to make up the male partner in the scenario.

Throughout the video your mind plays tricks on you somehow making the man in the video sound like Bakugo making your body feel like someone is actually touching it.

You enjoyed the tricks but it was an added bonus that everyone was outside and you could make a little bit of noise. 

As you got closer and closer to your climax your body decided that it would make you think that there was a hand around your neck that was getting tighter as it grew near and when you finally did cum all you could do was whimper Bakugos name and enjoy phantom kisses that your body was feeling as you were coming down.

You cleaned up the mess you made from getting off like packing away your toy box back to where it was normally hidden before grabbing your phone and walking back out to the movie that was still playing.

As the movie ended you got up and looked out the window to see who was closest to Bakugou, which just so happened to be Kiri.

Typing on your phone you sent Kiri a message that said, “Tell Bakugou, the main character chose the boy and I think I may have to by the end of the movie.”.

You watched Kiri pull out his phone and look at it before showing it to Bakugou. When Bakugou made eye contact with you from downstairs you knew you were in big trouble.

As you watched him walk away from the group and towards the front door you quickly ran into your room sitting at your desk pulling out one of your college textbooks acting like you did nothing wrong.

You could hear Bakugo’s heavy footsteps coming up the hallway and you had to suppress your desire to look at him when he opened the door.

“We both know the message was a total lie,” Bakugo said, walking towards you and spinning your chair so you were facing him.

“No actually, the main boy didn’t hurt the girl in the end unlike the other boy.” you said proudly.

“That girl doesn’t know what she is missing in her life than,”

Looking into his eyes you said, “He’s gonna treat her softly, that's probably what she needs in her life,” standing up you came face to face with Bakugo, “She’s not just gonna be another notch in some wannabe doms belt!”

“What a waste of a perfectly good belt,” Bakugo sighed, before placing his hands back on your shoulders pushing down, “Knee’s now!”

“No,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“SIT!”

It was as if he had pushed the right button as you just sunk to the ground, “Good girl,” He said, placing his hand on top of your head, “Are you going to make me feel good now?”

Nodding you moved your hands to pull down his sweatpants and boxers but before you could do anything else he just grabbed your chin to open your jaw before his other hand grabbed ahold of his dick to place it into your mouth doing one slow thrust.

You thought he was just going to let you take your time to get use to him thrusting into your both but he just let go of your chin and his dick opting to thread his fingers into your hair and forcing his dick deep into your mouth. 

He was enjoying the feeling of his dick hitting the back of your throat along with the sounds you were making around his dick.

The sounds you were making seemed to have been making him move your head faster leaving barely any time for you to catch your breath.

When he finally pulled you away from him he moved your desk chair so it was now in front of you and sat down fisting himself. He gave you only a few seconds before he tapped your head.

“Balls!” He said, which you instantly did.

You wrapped your mouth around his balls as he continued fisting his length. You played with each ball separately before moving yourself back to his length.

He let you take him into your mouth twice before his hands returned to your hair to roughly thrust himself into your mouth setting the pace he liked rather than the one you chose.

It was slow but deep to begin with but the pleasure that was causing made him pick up the speed. It was his kind of punishment. He let you start at your own pace before picking his own speed before he would hold your head down for a few seconds before letting you go back to just playing with his balls. That routine continued for about five minutes before he stood back you to just use your mouth like his own personal hole to fuck.

He collected all of your hair making a ponytail with what he could before just thrusting in without warning not even letting you get close to leaving his length he just keeps thrusting until he just holds your head against his body making his whole length in your mouth for a few seconds before pulling you away from not even five seconds before thrusting back in. 

As he grew closer to his climax his thrust started getting shorter when all of a sudden he just pushes himself all the way into your mouth holding your head there until he let out all of his cum before pulling himself out of your mouth watching as some of his cum came out with the strings of spit that attached to him length from your mouth.

All of a sudden the sound of footsteps in the hallway made you both freeze leaving him still on full display and you covered in your own drool.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps stopped but the door to your room opened

[caregiverlad]

mhm!! and good morning :3 i've been up since 5:30ish (bleh) on a saturday too!! either way i'm home alone all day and i just showered, and m gonna do a few chores eventually once i get motivation back. i spent it all on showering i guess :] i ended up driving yesterday, i had to drive a minivan which was not fun but i survived. and and and!! i figured out a way that i can use tumblr on my phone! i have the google app and can go incognito on there and use tumblr that way!! ;3 and i think me and my mom are driving to a mall a couple hours away tomorrow so i can go school shopping!! i'm really excited because they have a miniso, and i wanna get stationary stuff from there!! + it means a long car ride so i'll be able to just read and listen to music the whole time, i just started a book last night so it's perfect timing!! :3 anyways that was a lot, i hope you slept well!!

[and side note to 🦕 anon; i wish i could say yes, and i really appreciate the offer, but i'd rather have someone in person because i'm more of a visual learner + i would be more comfortable with someone i know irl!]

-🏳️‍⚧️

i’m glad you had a good time! excited for you and your fun day tomorrow. hmm what did i do today..? i got a haircut! just a little trim since the ends were getting long. and i watched a football game on tv today, and i got a new watch band for my apple watch!

[snonkerdoodledreams]

something that happened at a library that made me really uncomfortable

Tw: mentions of child abuse, self harm, nosy people

A few days ago I was discussing something with a friend. This was in the library and there was another friend there.

Let's call my friend Nattie and this other friend Dana.

Basically me and Nattie were sitting together on one side of the table and Dana was sitting on the other side. Nattie doesn't like Dana because they have a tendency to diss other people and look at things they weren't specifically invited to look at. I didn't have any such compunctions against Dana other than the fact that I'm pretty sure they lied about their skill level to get into the orchestra.

A little background about me--I'm extremely hesitant about sharing certain things with my friends (like the reality of the abuse I'm going through, my presence on Tumblr/my fanfiction writing [because that could get back to my mother really quick]) because I shared some of them once and my abusive found the text messages while going through my phone and my sane parent and I had to come up with a whole bunch of excuses really quick. It had to do with my self-harm incident a few months ago.

I had written a Planes fanfic earlier that day which I wasn't planning on sharing with anyone, rather opting for getting home, proofreading, and then publishing. I was putting the final touches on it in the library when Nattie leaned over to see what I was doing. Cut to the worst cover up in history as I attempt to open multiple tabs that are Incognito (because I was working on the fic in Incognito mode) before realizing that Incognito looks sketchy and then attempting to open tabs in my normal account which somehow opens up to the Planes movie and trying in vain to open a window in my school account so that it would look normal. Oh, and during all of this, Dana comes over and tries looking over my shoulder at what is going on. I'm nearly cussing and Nattie is dying of laughter, while Dana (it didn't seem like this to me at the time, but since she did what she did this is what I'll say) seems to be silently judging me. Finally Nattie reaches over and closes my laptop. Dana goes and sits back where they were.

Nattie knew that I was writing something and since I was helping Nattie with the story that they were writing (original), they wanted to see mine.

So I relented, and opened another tab in my browser, typing into the search bar that this was the way we would talk about It because I wasn't really comfortable talking out loud because Dana was there. Nattie understood and typed out some funny things, which led to the both of us typing roasts and stuff out to each other in the search bar.

Remember, this Is all to keep Dana and the rest of the people in the library from knowing what we're talking about. This is the part that nettles me the most--Dana literally comes around and tries to look at what we're typing. I don't remember what happened next because I might have closed the computer or told Dana that this was private. Either way Dana goes to talk to another one of our friends, Rory. Nattie reads the rest of the fic and complains (verbally) about my purple prose and teases me about writing Planes smut (which I didn't do!...yet).

But the thing I am literally absolutely hung up on is what changed my perception and if I'm being honest respect for Dana drastically. Listen, I get it--I'm the kind of person that likes to look at things and gets a little nosy while doing it--Im a serial accidental eavesdropper. But still. I would've thought that even from an outsiders POV it would be obvious that it was private. I mean, why the fuck else would we be typing out messages to each other rather than speaking out loud? I'm just confused as to why Dana tried to come and look over our shoulders at what we were doing--it was clear that it was not for them to see. It just bothers me a lot, especially since I'm already really uncomfortable sharing this stuff and Nattie was the only person I felt comfortable sharing it with.